Tensions

Nav Tanadarin, Chief of Security for New Armstrong, sat in his official rover. He had left the retractable roof up because of the heat. It offered some relief, but not enough. Propping his leg on the open door well, he draped his right arm over the steering wheel and watched passengers waiting to board the next transport. Most of them remained inside to stay out of the sun. The facility is the only one on the planet built only for human interplanetary travel. All the other spaceports around the globe serviced nearby mining facilities. Nicer than those, but not by much. Sand and dust on Mars are a constant problem. It covered everything in a fine layer of powder. Maintenance crews came out every two weeks to clean, which proved pointless. By the following day, the wind had already replaced any signs of cleaning.

As he sat there surveying his surroundings, his eyes spotted something scribbled on an exterior wall. Defamation of public property irritated him more than anything else. Keeping structures on Mars from being reclaimed by nature proved challenging. It didn’t need any help. He reached behind the seat and found a stray rag and some turpentine. He walked to a hidden spot beside the second entrance. 

The spray-painted graffiti depicted a large half circle with a smaller complete one inside and a red dot in the center. The circles had two parallel lines underneath them. It was called the Reval, the logo of the growing Maur-tan youth movement against the status quo. So far, there had only been a few protests and vandalism, but he feared it might get worse.  

Using turpentine, Nav wet the rag and cleaned the spot. He garnered some attention while scrubbing away, with several people coming up behind him. Aware of the curious onlookers, he turned around.

“Nothing to see here folks; move on,” he told them.

His intimidating nature made them lose interest, and they left him to his work. After several minutes of putting some elbow grease into the effort, it began to look better. He heard a loud burst of air overhead as the transport entered the atmosphere. 

He looked up, shading his eyes from the bright rays of the sun. In the blinding light, descending to the landing pad, he could only make out a large silhouette.

Nav crumpled the rag, grabbed the can, and returned to the rover. He stowed the cleaning supplies in the rear.

Sol Mendez reclined in his seat aboard the transport entering orbit around Mars. Scanning the holographic Interplanetary News headlines, he grimaced. It reported nothing but the potential conflict between the Eastern Alliance and official government forces. They had split from the World Government twenty years earlier.

Tensions had risen since the shooting down of a military plane over the contested area. The leaders on both sides threatened nuclear war if the other did not relent. Sol flipped off the screen, no longer wanting to see. 

But his expression did not fully capture all his worries. In his hand, he held a folder labeled PLANETARY AMALGAMATED MINE CONTRACT in large red letters on the front.

He opened it and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. He preferred to avoid this, but he had to. It meant their survival as a colony. For the longest time, he tried to keep operations away from Olympus Mons, but it proved unavoidable. Unscrupulous surveyors had discovered a super-rich vein of gold and silver. There are also indications there might be copper and aluminum as well. But the issue lay in the Maur-tans viewing the mountain as sacred ground. For generations, the Mega Corporation had refrained from disturbing it. He had hoped to do the same, but the days when Mars brought in a profit won’t ever be seen again. Strip mining and land grabs had depleted the resources far quicker than expected. Earth’s corporations had made their profits but still wanted more. Iron ore and tin, the principal exports of his planet, are running dry. Those same tycoons now began to abandon Mars in favor of other planets, like the moons of Saturn. So he had to make a choice, and he took it. He fought for the very future of his world. The deal troubled him, and he had not slept. He’d be glad to get back to his own bed. Plus, he missed his daughter, Aeneas. She would be a welcome sight to come home to. 

As the transport descended, it passed over the Polar ice cap. He looked closer at it and saw the huge factory breaking up sizable chunks of it. The frozen blocks traveled on a long conveyor, which the workers used to send them to the steam pump house. There, it melted and flowed into the aqueduct. Through an intricate system of gravity, the river flows from here to the main colony and back again. It refroze and the entire process started over. An ingenious method, to say the least. But in all this time, scientists still hadn’t perfected a way to create a viable ecosystem. One which could produce clouds and natural rainfall to form lakes and oceans. He shook his head at the lack of progress, helpless to do anything about it. Earth supervised the planet, and he had little authority over it. They held his world for ransom if he didn’t do their bidding.

The transport touched down with the gentle efficiency of a skilled pilot at the controls. The seatbelt light winked out, and Sol rose from his seat. He reached over his head grabbed his modest briefcase, and stuffed the folder inside. A stately figure, tall for an Er-tral, he sported close-cut salt-and-pepper hair and a neat goatee.

He donned his coat and adjusted himself after being in the same spot for twelve hours. Other passengers traversed down the aisle, heading to the exit. He let them pass to allow the stiffness to ease. Sol eased himself out and walked to the front. Despite being the Governor, most of the population kept a respectful distance. Which he didn’t mind at all. They only got upset when their creature comforts were in jeopardy. He felt after his visit to Earth, it may become more of a regular issue. The flight attendant at the doorway smiled at him as he passed her onto the stairway leading down to the tarmac. The oppressive heat at this time of day resembled waves from a broiling oven. He put on his sunglasses to shield his eyes from the reflexive glare and breathed in deeply. It felt good to be home.

Getting to the bottom, he stepped off and headed to a rover parked next to the terminal. He saw his security chief sitting in it. They’d known each other all their lives and grown up together. Nav shared the same love of this planet as he did. But he feared any news from Earth.

As he approached, Nav spotted him and stepped out. Sol came up and shook his hand.

“Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“Fine, but exhausting,” he said, getting in and sitting down. Nav scooted under the steering wheel. Sol loosened his collar and set the briefcase in his lap. He huffed and Nav picked up on his discomfort.

“Sorry about the heat.”

“Don’t worry about it. You need to see something right now.”

Sol opened the baggage and handed the folder inside to him. Nav’s face twisted when he saw the title “Mars Amalgamated Mine Contract”. He removed his sunglasses and read the contents. His eyes widened, and he closed them fast.

“You cannot be serious!”

“It’s the only way,” Sol sighed.

“There has to be something else.”

“No, there isn’t any.”

“If you go ahead on this project, it could mean real trouble,” grumbled Nav.

“Mining operations should begin in a week. Earth wants results, and I have to give it to them. There is nothing else I can do.”

“But sir, this is sacred land to the Maur-tans. We have an agreement with them not to touch it,” argued Nav.

“Not according to the partnerships. They feel they have a rightful claim since they established the colonies in the first place and made the atmosphere more breathable.”

“You’re nothing but a pawn for the Mega Corporations and don’t give a damn about the population,” Nav spat out his accusation.

“Hold your tongue! Aren’t you getting close to retirement? I’d hate to keep back your pension.” Sol hated holding that threat over his head, but Nav had gone too far, and the situation was dire.

Nav glared at him, put his sunglasses on, and started the rover.

On the plateau overlooking the Mons, a W’dover came zooming up the road before screeching to a halt. It was a vehicle built for the deep desert, with four huge tires and a standing cradle for the operator and passengers between them. The driver stood over the steering wheel, with two other Maur-tans in the rear.

These vehicles come from whatever parts they could scrounge together. Behind the driver’s cab stood a sail made of reflective fabric. During the day, it gathered up solar energy to power the engine. But the W’dovers did not have to rely on batteries; the sails were big enough to pick up the wind. At night, using its engines, the rovers could sprint.

The occupants of the craft removed their goggles and jumped down. They had long hair, braided in spots, and adorned with small animal bones and other trinkets. They wore large chained earrings and cuffs called ReStau’s on their left ears. The driver and the leader of the group, Rostol, had a longer earring featuring a feather dangling from one end.

The others are U-tev and Durban; they come from the clan of the High Wind. They had come to offer their evening prayers to the Mons.

Rostol had chiseled features and frightening eyes, starved, black, and dangerous. Each of the Maur-tans had on a Tal-kin jacket and boots. Made from the leathery hide of a Pic-rey, the genetic descendant of the wild boar on Earth. The interior lining of each garment had a thin layer of smart fiber, which could adjust if it got too hot or cold. These were creatures of the deep desert. Their clothes and expressions reflected a tough existence. 

“We must say our evening prayers, brothers,” Rostol said.

Rostol walked around the area looking for a suitable spot where they could set their prayer rugs called Scrufts Vols down. Walking behind a boulder, he noticed some disturbed earth. He bent down and saw somebody had been digging. He scowled and stood up fast.

“Someone has desecrated our holy lands. We must find them,” he exclaimed to the rest.

Rostol looked around with the eyes of a skilled tracker and saw leftover footprints and rover tracks. Noting their direction, he motioned to the others, and they all climbed back on the W’dover. The vehicle spun around and lurched forward. Rostol pushed the accelerator and sped down the road.

The wind whipped around them, tugging at their hair. Rostol, an etched, determined expression on his face, leaned forward.

He rolled the accelerator all the way over, picking up speed. His companions gripped the side railings for stability. The colossal wheels churned up the sandy terrain, creating a whirlwind in their wake. A giant plume of sand spewed up behind the speeding craft.

Rostol’s sharp eyes remained fixed on the road, tracking the path of the Er-tral rover. As the terrain inclined, the vehicle traversed the rising path cautiously. Rostol eased off the speed as they reached the summit.

It was a deliberate choice on his part to survey the landscape beyond before proceeding. The W’dover crested the top, coming to a gradual stop. As the expansive panorama revealed itself, his gaze scrutinized the surroundings. He honed in on Bend’s home and saw the rover parked in front. A furrow etched onto his face as displeasure colored his expression.

“Cousin! What are you doing?” he exclaimed.

U-tev watched and realized who Bend spoke to: the Governor’s daughter.

“Your kin seems infatuated with Governor Mendez’s daughter. That’s Aeneas down there,” said U-tev.

Rostol shot him a look.

“Even worse, she desecrated sacred ground. He should have made her leave. Now Mendez defiles our holy territory by sending his offspring.”

“Maybe he did, we don’t know.” U-tev offered a solution to Rostol’s growing agitation.

“They were digging up there. I found signs of the disturbed sands of our ancestors. No Er-tral should be up there; they are unclean.” His eyes fixed on Bend and Aeneas engaged in pleasant conversation. A devout adherent to the teachings of Ausé-Dom and the writings of the Sacred Scrolls, such perceived blasphemy fueled Rostol’s discontent.

As he started up the W’dover, U-tev cautioned against hasty action.

“If you do anything to harm her, it could mean trouble for us.”

Rostol glared at him as if questioning his loyalty to their doctrine. “We don’t care what they think. This is our planet, and the sooner the infidels leave, the better.”

Concerned about the escalating tension, U-tev proposed a solution to defuse the situation. “Look, the Naul festival is tomorrow. Bend will be there; he always goes. We’ll talk to him about it. If his answers seem suspicious, we’ll take it to the clan council.”

The wisdom in U-tev’s advice seemed reasonable to Rostol, and he nodded. His agitation subsided, and he steered the W’dover in the opposite direction, away from the potential confrontation, and headed back the way they came.

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