The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds by Michael Rizzo

sake of
variety in your diet wasn’t worth that kind of effort or risk.”
    “Unless you’re so sick of fresh produce that you’d
rather eat non-perishable rations,” he plays. His smile is heavy,
weary.
    “So what’s worth them doing it?” I prod. “Weapons and
gear just supports the trips. It’s not a reason to keep going year
after year. I’d see it if you were willing to do it for the good of
your own tribe, but Abbas says the food runners are free agents. I
could also see it if they just supplied themselves and then brought
back a little extra to trade for whatever else they needed. But I
checked with Abbas: they carry back enough to feed his band,
Hassim’s and probably Farouk’s as well. And they get paid in
weapons more than anything else—more weapons than they could
possibly use. How do they profit?”
    “Running the weapons to Tranquility,” Matthew makes
my conclusion. “Supplying those cavemen against the better-armed
security suits that seem to be hunting them.”
    “That would take a lot of the risk out of the game:
The traders don’t take the food under fire; they buy it.”
    “And probably have a deal to eliminate any potential
competitors,” Matthew takes it further. “Did you clue Abbas?”
    “I figured I owed him some kind of explanation,” I
admit. “He said he’d been suspecting something similar since the
‘market’ shifted from food and gear to weapons and armor about a
decade ago. I doubt he’ll challenge things, though. The system
works for everyone. The Nomads trade salvage and scrap and the
sweat of their craftsmen for enough to eat for a whole tribe until
the next load...”
    “And it feeds a war in a terrarium…” He tries not to
cough in front of me. Then changes the subject like he’s trying to
keep me distracted from his condition.
    “At least trade implies the Tranquility faction can
be negotiated with.”
    “Assuming you have something they want and approach
the deal carefully,” Matthew takes it. “Still no new marching
orders from Earthside?”
    “Nothing since Richards confirmed receipt of the
mission file and expressed his professional regrets over Regev and
Wasserman. Satrapi called in a similar condolence, but at least she sounded like she was upset. Richards just sounded frustrated
in a way that reminded me of his grandpa, stuck passing down orders
he isn’t fully behind.”
    “That’s not a good sign,” Matthew tries to make light
of it, but looks like he’s in pain.
    “No, it’s not,” I agree, but still trying to keep the
mood from pitch-dark.
    “I just saw Park down in Medical. He’s looking
better,” he offers something brighter. “Lost a kidney, but his
vitals are strong. Ryder’s a good cutter. Couldn’t do much for his
missing fingers, though.”
    “Did you see Jenovic?” I ask him, avoiding the
question about why he was in medical himself.
    “Pissed and hurting. Choice between a permanent limp
or finding a new knee, which we don’t happen to have in stock.
How’s Lieutenant Thomas taking it?”
    “Pissed and hurting,” I give him back. “I think worse
because she didn’t get a scratch.”
    He shakes his head. Coughs. Sips more water. Clenches
his teeth like he’s in pain.
    “We can’t keep walking into shit like that if the ROE
is to avoid killing what has no such rule about us,” he complains,
more weary than his usual rage. “We’re either going to lose more
good soldiers or up our defensive fire. If Earthside chooses option
one, they can have my commission.”
    “Or we sit tight and make them do it themselves when
they get here, hopefully with a lot more support.”
    “Assuming this little clusterfuck doesn’t put them
off coming,” he bites. “They sure seem easily discouraged for being
so excited to find out we’re still alive.”
     
    I meet Rios down in the launch bay as soon as his ASV
engines spin down. He clumps down the ramp heavier than his armor
would account for, and promptly hands me the