Chapter 15 - Prax
Here we go. D-Day.
After a full week fine-tuning the plan, it’s finally time to act.
Nothing revolutionary—not yet anyway. For now, I’m just walking Neela to the Cydonia center.
She’s riding her snowmobile, doing exactly what she always does.
I’m following on foot, hidden among the trees.
Stealth is kinda my thing, so this should be no problem.
I’ve never been this far down the valley. The temperature gets milder the closer we get to the center, and the more clustered the housing units become. That means I have to put more distance between Neela and me, which I don’t love. But as long as I can keep her in sight, I can deal with it.
She suddenly stops in front of three people standing on the roadside. She greets them cheerfully and, according to plan, tells them she’s going to the gym and will spend part of the day at the social center. She’ll repeat that routine as often as possible so no one ever wonders where she is.
By the time she reaches her destination, she’s passed by at least a dozen people.
That’s at the low end of what we were hoping for, but still acceptable.
She pulls up in front of a big greenish building with fully transparent walls.
I can see several people inside stretching.
According to the schedule, Esteban’s supposed to already be there and leave right when Neela arrives, after greeting her loudly.
Before heading inside the giant cube, my Human slows down and scans the area. She won’t find me—I’m perfectly hidden in the trees lining the outskirts of their little town. She gives up and enters the so-called gym.
Fifteen minutes later, Esteban leaves the building.
Reluctantly, I abandon my Human to follow him instead—he’s headed for the Palace.
It’s not Neela’s time to act yet. She’ll make her move this afternoon when the first symptoms appear.
By then, she’ll be at that infamous social center.
It’s where people meet, hang out, and chat about this and that.
She’s supposed to meet Kiran’s wife and their little boy there, just like she often does. Everything has to look totally routine.
Esteban walks slowly—maybe to help me keep up. He can’t see me, and neither can any of the pedestrians along this gently sloping avenue through central Cydonia. He suddenly turns right, away from my position. I need to cross unseen.
Between two housing units, I spot a tall rock topped by a pine tree.
On the far side of the path, a thick snowdrift offers a soft landing.
I check that the coast is clear, sprint, leap onto the rock, and dive into the powder.
Quick, silent, clean. I crawl out, dash into the nearest bushes, and start tailing Esteban.
His scent drifts on the air just a few dozen feet away.
I skirt around the back of the small houses, invisible.
Then suddenly, I’m not facing housing walls anymore, but an unbroken row of greenish composite walls. The Palace. Its residents, ever so secretive, have made all their facades opaque. Helpful, really—makes sneaking closer much easier.
I spend the next hour studying the layout of the place, trying to spot which parts are original and which were added later. That’s where I’ll find the galactic transmitter—my main target. It’ll let me send a message to my chain of command and to the colonists.
Around lunchtime, Esteban shows up about 100 feet away, emerging from a now-dematerialized doorway. He scans the area, looking for me. I make sure he’s alone, then step out of hiding and approach cautiously.
“Over here, quick,” he whispers.
Nice. If I can get inside the Palace, my chances of finding what I need go way up.
I join him, and we slip past the threshold together.
“Lunchtime,” he murmurs. “They’re all eating. Stay discreet.”
Then he vanishes. Classic. But we’ve studied the Palace’s (admittedly rough) blueprints.
The structure is a giant square, with a double row of rooms lining a central hallway.
The middle is an open courtyard. Originally planned as a large garden space, it’s now a relaxation zone, with buffet tables, chairs, even a pool.
And to think Neela uses barely three quarts of water a day for hygiene. ..
According to Kiran, the rear section is rarely used—that’s where the original terraform control post must be. Esteban and Kiran never do maintenance there. That’s where I’m headed.
My heart beats slow and steady as I move silently through the corridors, focused on my target. Through a few semi-transparent walls, I spot people eating and chatting. My nose confirms it: roasted meat. My mouth waters.
Passing one room, I see a Human reading alone, his plate untouched. I’m this close to knocking him out and stealing his meal. But I stop myself—I have no idea which dish Esteban spiked with laxatives. Shame to waste good meat, though. Criminal, really.
Eventually, I get a clear view of the central courtyard.
About ten people are... not eating. Under the full sunlight streaming through the transparent ceiling, they’re engaged in group physical activities of a very non-dietary nature.
From here, I can’t tell if they’ve already eaten or just skipped to dessert, so to speak.
I hope it’s the former; otherwise, our plan might get off schedule.
I try to spot Vassili—Neela’s shown me plenty of photos—but it’s impossible to tell faces apart in the sea of bare skin. Whatever. I take advantage of their very occupied state and slip toward the back of the building.
You can say what you want about Polarians—and I usually do—but when they find an optimal design for something, they copy-paste it ad nauseam.
Clothes, showers, control panels—they’re all identical.
That’s how I was able to tweak Neela’s unit.
And right now, I’m grateful for their utter lack of imagination: this place is just as I hoped.
I spot what looks like my objective—a solitary panel on a rear wall. I enter, close the door behind me. The room is dark, lit only by a faint glow from the ceiling set at 5% transparency.
It’s a perfect match for the early terraforming bases.
No frills. The Confed definitely started here when they came to Mars.
They must’ve set up a similar base on that other site Neela calls Arabia Terra.
But in Cydonia, this is ground zero. They probably deactivated everything when they left and handed the planet to the Humans.
But if you know where to look, reactivating systems isn’t that hard.
I head to what I suspect is the main terminal.
It takes me a moment to find the hidden switch, but I do.
I hesitate briefly, then stick to the original plan: contact Akifumi.
The Confed general who recruited me two Polarian years ago.
Same guy who sent Pherebos to Vagantu to save the beautiful Ileana.
Akifumi is loyal, devoted—no doubt about it.
So I send him a short update on the Martian situation.
I’m pretty sure he’ll send someone to retrieve me.
But as I warned my little Human rebels, there’s no guarantee he’ll send a warship to clean house.
So for now, I’ll help the colonists. It probably won’t be enough, but it’s their fight.
I fiddle with the system and locate the code that limits broadcast permissions for housing units. I should now be able to override their screens from anywhere with a simple connection. If Neela gets photographic proof of Vassili’s crimes, I can spread it to the whole community from her place.
Task one: done. Time for more digging. I need to understand how Vassili and Bully are working together.
If, as Kiran said, the Penubian regularly visits the Palace, that means he lands somewhere remote—but not too far—and gets discreetly shuttled in.
Figuring out how could give me a way off this rock.
Weirdly, that thought doesn’t thrill me as much as it should. I’ll miss my little Human.
Focus. Keep going.
The system’s data scrolls by. Atmospheric entry logs show multiple breaches in the last month. I can’t go back further. Damn. If Azkarra weren’t at the bottom of a lake, she’d be processing this ten times faster and giving me coordinates already.
Still, I deduce there are at least two ships besides mine.
I even spot the violent atmospheric breach from my crash—35th of Aitnee, as they call it.
If Bully sent me crashing then left Mars himself, it’s likely he’s not around now.
Meaning no usable ships are currently on the planet. But that’s just a theory.
Eventually, I narrow down two likely landing sites. One’s about 30 miles east, just outside Human territory but close enough to reach the Palace unnoticed. The second’s way farther south, in the wildlands—probably a hunting zone. I also spot traces near Arabia Terra, but I’m not sure they’re real.
Still, that eastern zone? I’m pretty damn confident.
Excitement surges through me. I’ve got something. I stash all the data in a hidden system folder for later review. Either way, multiple access points from orbit means their operation is up and running. They’re already well established.
I pause when I catch a certain smell and some nearby noise. The laxative operation has begun. I wait it out—I don’t want to bump into anyone.
According to Neela, most of them will run to their private units for... urgent business. Once the coast is clear, I check the halls. The stench confirms the herbs did their job. Unfortunately, it also masks Esteban’s scent.
The courtyard is empty now, littered with dirty buffet tables. No way I’m touching any of that.
From a nearby room, I hear voices:
“Call Salvatore!” someone moans. “The meat was spoiled. Tell him to hurry!”
“Vassili, I already pinged channel 3. But Salvatore’s up in the highlands handling another emergency.”
So this is his suite. I briefly consider settling the Vassili problem.
.. permanently. But I decide against it.
Hitting a weakened man isn’t honorable. My father would call me an idiot for missing the opportunity, but ever since I joined the Confed, I try to follow my code.
Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want done to you.
Help where you can. Act with honor—a rare thing these days.
“I don’t care about that emergency—get him back here now!” Vassili snaps. “I’m the Regent, dammit! I come first!”
“Neela’s been at the center since this morning,” says the other guy. “She was at the gym, now she’s with Meghan at the lounge. It’s her rest week.”
“I don’t give a damn! Get her here now! I’m leaking out of every hole!”
“I’ll call her right away!”
He runs off. I retreat to my hideout. Neela’ll take at least half an hour to arrive. That gives me time to keep investigating.
I ask the AI about local resources Bully might want. Mars has no gold, silver, or diamonds. But it’s rich in iron oxide—hence the red soil. Not super valuable.
So what about lifeforms? That’s what ended my partnership with Bully—he wanted to start trafficking animals. As a Sadjim, the idea of cages makes me insane. Why inflict that on other beings?
The AI gives me a list of imported Earth species that adapted to Martian conditions: yaks, Tibetan antelopes, red foxes, beavers, caribou, bighorn sheep, snowy owls... My stomach growls at the thought of lemmings and arctic marmots. Way better than hares and pikas.
I rule out Siberian brown bears—too big and hard to keep in captivity.
But four species could be targets for trafficking: the Canadian lynx (I’ve seen one near the lake), the gray wolf (majestic predator), the snow leopard (rare and elegant—collector bait), and the manul (a fat, fluffy wildcat). No idea why Kiran keeps calling me “kitty”—we look nothing alike.
So yeah, four viable candidates for illegal trade.
Still, why does Bully need Vassili? He doesn’t. He could poach creatures on his own. That part puzzles me.
I save everything into a secure folder that I can access from any individual unit—like Neela’s. I also back up detailed maps of Human zones and their borders.
Time to go find my beautiful brunette.
The stench of the place is overwhelming. The sounds of digestive misery have faded. I move silently, ears perked.
My left ear twitches. It’s Esteban, motioning for me.
“Did you find what you needed?” he whispers.
“Partly. Still some missing pieces. Where’s Neela?”
“Making her rounds. Everyone will remember this crappy day,” he chuckles.
I grin silently—then freeze. A sharp, metallic scent—blood.
“What’s that way?” I ask.
“The kitchens. This is where food’s delivered. There’s an exit outside too.”
“Wait. Show me the kitchens. And tell me exactly where you put the herbs.”
“Why?” he grumbles, but leads me in.
The massive prep table holds a dozen pots. It smells amazing—so much better than the bland stuff Neela usually eats.
My nose hones in on a meaty stew. Jackpot.
“I wouldn’t,” Esteban warns.
“Don’t tell me you poisoned this masterpiece,” I mutter.
“Then I won’t tell you. But I wouldn’t eat it.”
“Damn! Which dish did you spare?”
“None. I wanted everyone to suffer.”
“What a waste! And from people who treat anti-waste like a religion!”
Reluctantly, I turn away from the glorious, tainted feast.
Back in the previous room, we hear a woman’s voice:
“What are you doing here, you little snoop?”
“Oh, Marjorie!” Neela replies. “They said someone was sick in this section. I came to check before heading home.”
They’re out of sight, behind a wall. Esteban and I freeze, listening.
“Don’t play dumb,” Marjorie snaps. “You know residents’ rooms are the other way. Why are you here in this restricted section?”
“I promise, I got lost. We mountain folks have two-room homes. This Palace is huge…”
Sweet, innocent voice. She’s good.
“You know what? I don’t care!” the woman says.
“You’ve pissed me off long enough with your judgy looks.
Everyone else is out of commission from that spoiled meat.
But not me. I was... otherwise engaged. So now, it’s just you and me.
And I finally get to do what I’ve wanted for a long time: I’m going to kill you. ”
My heart skips a beat.
My Human is in danger.