On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes
struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official
Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom
directed against Christians, Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers,
Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who
threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It
makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a
societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a
Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters, go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on
the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read
it from beginning to end (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll
send you the unedited version.
Neither Stepan Izmaylova
nor Quinn was paying attention to the roof until a booming roar echoed from the
filthy wall of a formerly transparent Dome rim. A high-pitched whistle drowned
out Stepan’s shout. A moment later, it was followed by the hooting of a Dome
breach siren.
Stepan looked down at
Quinn, set to run to the nearest Seal Shelter, but Quinn had started walked,
poking the roof with a steel rod. Stepan said, “Aren’t you going to find
shelter?”
Quinn looked over his
shoulder, scowling, “Where’d we go?”
“There aren’t any
Shelters on the Rim?”
He shrugged and turned
back to probing the roof. “Shelters is for Humans. I ain’t Human.”
Stepan stared after the
boy, finding a literal growl rumbling in his throat. This whole thing –
everything he himself had set in motion – sent waves of nausea from the pit of
his stomach burning up his throat. He had to change it, no matter what. His God
had sacrificed his only son for the lives of those who had then slaughtered him
in order to bring men, women, and children whose lives had missed the mark; who
had not won the prize; like the artificial creations of Humanity. They and the
ones who had been branded as undesirable by the United Faith in Humanity – a
faith that prided itself of having set itself free of ancient religious biases
– were the ones he had condemned by his angry, selfish pursuit of free will.
“Well, I helped start it. I can end it,” Stepan said out loud.
“End what?” asked Quinn,
not looking up from his careful poking of the roof over the warehouse.
“Don’t worry, my friend,
stick with me long enough and you’ll find out.”
Quinn stopped and looked
at him, eyes wide. “What’d you call me?”
“My friend,” said
Stepan, locking the boys icy, blue-eyed gaze.
Quinn held it with the
strength of youth, blinked, then smiled shyly. “No ain’t never called me they
friend.” Nodding he went back to prodding the roof. Stepan cast a nervous
glance upward, but not giant cracks had appeared in the Dome. “Don’t worry,”
said Quinn, “The stupid siren goes off all the time. Least this time it was
during the day. I hate it most when it starts blaring and I’m asleep.”
“So there’s no breach?”
Quinn shrugged. “Who
knows?” He poked at the roof, then said, “Ya know, I could use some help here.
This roof ain’t gonna get tested all by itself.”
Stepan nodded and
resumed the careful tread across the warehouse. “We should go toward the edge
more. It’s more likely to be sound there. Here toward the middle, it seems like
it could…” Under his feet, came a squeal, then the material sagged under him.
Before it could go any farther, Quinn tackled him around the waist, twisting
both of them so that their hard fall was translated into a flattening roll.
They came to rest with Quinn on top. The boy’s eyes were squeezed shut and he
was shivering. “I thought you told me you aren’t afraid of anything?”
The younger man cursed
then jumped to his feet. “I ain’t – except letting my credit chip out of this
slum fall to his death.” Quinn’s accent was gone.
Stepan stood up as well,
then stared at the Artificial Human. He pursed his lips, shaking his head
slowly. After a moment, he smiled a bit. “Yeah, well, we can’t let that happen,
now, can we? Let’s head straight over and stay on roofing we already poked.”
Quinn turned abruptly
and led the way, sometimes walking saddle-legged, other times practically
heel-toe. They reached the edge without incident. The warehouse ended two
meters from the Base of the Dome, though four meters below, the wall of the
warehouse merged with it – most likely where the warehouse offices had been,
integrating the architecture into the existing structure. Stepan said, “I don’t
remember seeing any doors into the Base downstairs.”
“Prob’ly covered by the
owners when they vayked…”
“What?” Stepan shook his
head, adding, “Half the time I don’t even understand what you’re saying!”
QuinnAH…something in how
he looked up at Stepan made the differences between them leap to the size of Valles…said,
“The entrances into the shielded quarters and offices of the prior warehouse
owners were most likely sealed a short time before they vacated the premises.”
Stepan scowled, felt
anger rise up in him; privileged anger; anger at the temerity of a young,
unskilled, impudent Artificial Human that made him want to strike the thing
down. Then he gasped, stepped back, left hand holding right, staring down at
it.
“What?”
He couldn’t answer at
first, then finally said, “I know what’s wrong with this world and I know how
to fix it.”
“What’s that supposed to
mean?”
He looked up at Quinn,
rolled his eyes, and said, “You wouldn’t understand.”
The boy’s faced purpled –
literally – and he shouted, “I thought you were…”
“It’s because I don’t
think you know what the definition of propitiation is.”
“Huh?”
Stepan grinned and said,
“See, there’s stuff you don’t know!” He reached out tentatively and when Quinn
didn’t flinch, tousled his hair.
Then the boy slowly pulled
away and said, “Let’s get below. There’s enough stuff up her to start your
stupid garden.”
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