"John, can you move? We got to get moving now!"
The signs of destruction were everywhere. A troop transport was almost completely shredded to pieces; the front was ablaze. The injured walked around almost silently, in shock of the bomb that had ripped apart a beautiful day under the clear, pink sky. An old man just sat on the curb staring blankly at the carnage, missing the hand on his left arm. Many of the nearby buildings remained intact (right along with the "Terrestrials Go Home" and Ian-ite names graffiti), though glass was everywhere.
A man in a red uniform with a bloody gash on his forehead approached a thin, red-headed woman in another red uniform who was trying to use a radio. He was yelling something at her as she pleaded with both him and the person on the other end of the radio. The ringing from the blast must be keeping...
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!
John Thompson seemed to have that same nightmare at least once a month for the last ten years. Every time he woke up from that dream, he had the exact same solution, have a sip of whiskey. It never made the flashbacks go away, but it never hurt either.
John got out of bed only to find that his sandals were no where to be found.
"That's just great."
It was time for John to wake up anyway if he wanted to be on the job on time. He found his nearly empty bottle of Irish Whiskey. Produced locally, John thought proudly. With a little extra courage to face the Monday, he went to take one of the few nice pleasures he had left in life: a nice, warm shower. Though he always seemed to rush out the door in the morning, he always took his time in the shower, enjoying every minute of it. Not to mention, that it still to a few minutes for the water to heat up to his optimum temperature. For John Thompson, his daily routine not only got him cleaned physically for the day, but it washed away all the thoughts that tormented his sleep.
While his nightmares were usually things to be dreaded, they usually woke him up a little earlier than John normally would have. This extra bit of time afforded him a rare pleasure: a chance to eat breakfast and to watch the morning news. True, John was now 32, but he still liked the childish goodness that is Mike's Sugar Flakes. After pouring himself a bowl, he sat down at his kitchen table and turned on the TV.
"...story this morning is the bombing overnight at a Terraforming Station at Apollinaris. Thirty workers are reported to have been killed, with as many as 200 injured. We have our Gusev Bureau Chief at the site of the explosion..."
"...Environment of Mars does not need to be fixed. The Green Party was entrusted with fixing the environment of Earth more than a century and a half ago, and they provided nothing but death and destruction in return and ended up screwing up the Earth's environment worse than it was. History is filled with the billions of victims of those butchers. The people of Earth may have been fooled into letting them back into power, but we will not be..."
On second thought, it was probably just better to eat his breakfast in silence. Next to his TV was his medal stand, trophies from a past life. A life he probably would rather forget, but always seemed to rear up at the worst moments. Even if the powers that be thought his actions were those of a brave soldier who merited commendations and medals, not a scared young man who kissed the ground every day he remained alive.
The ground was moist as John left his apartment as he went to work. It must have rained overnight. Of course, real rain doesn't fall in the Gish Bar Arcology. The occasionally variations in the climate apparently are psychologically important, so fake weather is generated to simulate the effect. Now though, the sky was clear with a crescent Jupiter on the eastern horizon. On one of those rare occasions, standard time morning actually corresponded to morning at Gish Bar.
The main square of the Gish Bar was bustling in the morning with people going to work or going to school. Kids were everywhere, obviously in a good spirits as the end of the school year neared. Most were playing the latest craze, a form of neural network wrestling. Good thing school can shut those off when kids get to class. Work in Gish Bar usually meant the Doute-Lopes Mine on the north side of the mountain out toward Estan.
Luckily, John owned one of the few, non-mining related businesses in Gish Bar, an adventure travel company. People from across the Solar System, particularly whales from Earth, flock to Io to see its amazing natural treasures, whether it be climbing a 17,000 meter tall mountain or getting up close with an erupting volcano. Io has no limit to its potential as a tourist mecca. Not to mention that Io's political climate is a bit more stable than Mars, which has only recently seen a boom in its tourism industry after the troubles of a decade ago.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Chapter 1 - Part 1
Outside Tucson, Arizona, American Province
The dirt road near the Cañada del Oro Wash was rockier now after last week's storm. Each uncovered boulder now shook the dice dangling from Curtis Erickson's rear-view mirror. This was Curtis first opportunity to test out his new truck's four-wheel drive. So far it was passing the test, but Curtis clearly was not used to driving a stick shift. Each rock he hit in the road would cause Curtis to swerve the truck in a seemingly unnatural direction. But with each, Curtis seemed to be getting the truck under better control.
Curtis bought the truck with his advance payment. It was a vintage 2021 Dodge Ares. It was difficult finding a retro-fit early 21st Century car. Most had been banned when the Green Party took power in the 2070s. It was luck that Curtis and his brother Steven were able to find one at a local dealer who sells antique vehicles.
Would his bosses find out about his new car? A truck from the 21st Century costs far more than a code monkey can ever hope to afford in a lifetime. Certainly, Curtis could not drive it to work. His parents did not die wealthy. Curtis' mom was a high-school physics teacher. His father was the chair of the local Green Party, but the party had been out of power for almost his entire life, so that certainly was not a cushy job. Curtis and his brother did not grow up poor, certainly not. However, a vintage car was still beyond the means of most. Curtis could not drive his truck around town, that's for sure. While the car itself was vintage, its engine was brand-new, and everything about its electronics was modern. In other words, the innards of Curtis' new car would make a car thief drool.
Just as Curtis was getting the hang of driving his new prize, he was approaching his objective.
Curtis was driving to a clearing near the edge of wash. Waiting there was a much more modern hover convertible, with black exterior, and apparently, leather seats (likely not REAL leather). Waiting at the back of the car was a tall man with black sun glasses with a green polo shirt and black slacks, his short, cropped hair slicked back. Much more fashionable than Curtis expected.
Curtis pulled the truck up beside the convertible. He hesitated...was he doing the right thing? What if he gets caught? Could they trace the download to his system? He opened the glove compartment are removed the data card, then slowly opened the door.
"We told you not to buy anything flashy."
"Well, it's my money; I can spend it how I like. I just have to be careful where I drive it, that's all."
"It was still idiotic. You have the information we want?"
"Yes. It was not easy to get. I had to use some safe guards to keep them tracing the transfer. I may need to run."
"That's not my problem. That truck could put suspicion on you. You really should get rid of it. Regardless, let me see the card."
The buyer took the data card from Curtis and put it into his PDA.
"We will transfer the money when I verify the contents."
"So do all you guys go by pseudonyms? The guy I talked to said his name was Mammon. That's from Paradise Lost, isn't it?"
"Yeah, one of Lucifer's lieutenants."
After a few minutes, the man in dark sunglasses' PDA started to beap. It had finished analyzing the card. The man clearly was satisfied.
"Well, that's a shame... Anyways, the contents look like their in order. Enter your account number and verify your identity."
Curtis walked up to the nameless man's laptop and entered the information he wanted. As he did so, the man in dark sunglasses took out a gun from his left pants pocket.
"It will take a minute to confirm the transfer. You know, I only got about halfway through Paradise Lost in college. I could never get past the language Milton used. Worse than Shakespeare, I think."
"Well, that's a shame..."
A gunshot rang out.
The dirt road near the Cañada del Oro Wash was rockier now after last week's storm. Each uncovered boulder now shook the dice dangling from Curtis Erickson's rear-view mirror. This was Curtis first opportunity to test out his new truck's four-wheel drive. So far it was passing the test, but Curtis clearly was not used to driving a stick shift. Each rock he hit in the road would cause Curtis to swerve the truck in a seemingly unnatural direction. But with each, Curtis seemed to be getting the truck under better control.
Curtis bought the truck with his advance payment. It was a vintage 2021 Dodge Ares. It was difficult finding a retro-fit early 21st Century car. Most had been banned when the Green Party took power in the 2070s. It was luck that Curtis and his brother Steven were able to find one at a local dealer who sells antique vehicles.
Would his bosses find out about his new car? A truck from the 21st Century costs far more than a code monkey can ever hope to afford in a lifetime. Certainly, Curtis could not drive it to work. His parents did not die wealthy. Curtis' mom was a high-school physics teacher. His father was the chair of the local Green Party, but the party had been out of power for almost his entire life, so that certainly was not a cushy job. Curtis and his brother did not grow up poor, certainly not. However, a vintage car was still beyond the means of most. Curtis could not drive his truck around town, that's for sure. While the car itself was vintage, its engine was brand-new, and everything about its electronics was modern. In other words, the innards of Curtis' new car would make a car thief drool.
Just as Curtis was getting the hang of driving his new prize, he was approaching his objective.
Curtis was driving to a clearing near the edge of wash. Waiting there was a much more modern hover convertible, with black exterior, and apparently, leather seats (likely not REAL leather). Waiting at the back of the car was a tall man with black sun glasses with a green polo shirt and black slacks, his short, cropped hair slicked back. Much more fashionable than Curtis expected.
Curtis pulled the truck up beside the convertible. He hesitated...was he doing the right thing? What if he gets caught? Could they trace the download to his system? He opened the glove compartment are removed the data card, then slowly opened the door.
"We told you not to buy anything flashy."
"Well, it's my money; I can spend it how I like. I just have to be careful where I drive it, that's all."
"It was still idiotic. You have the information we want?"
"Yes. It was not easy to get. I had to use some safe guards to keep them tracing the transfer. I may need to run."
"That's not my problem. That truck could put suspicion on you. You really should get rid of it. Regardless, let me see the card."
The buyer took the data card from Curtis and put it into his PDA.
"We will transfer the money when I verify the contents."
"So do all you guys go by pseudonyms? The guy I talked to said his name was Mammon. That's from Paradise Lost, isn't it?"
"Yeah, one of Lucifer's lieutenants."
After a few minutes, the man in dark sunglasses' PDA started to beap. It had finished analyzing the card. The man clearly was satisfied.
"Well, that's a shame... Anyways, the contents look like their in order. Enter your account number and verify your identity."
Curtis walked up to the nameless man's laptop and entered the information he wanted. As he did so, the man in dark sunglasses took out a gun from his left pants pocket.
"It will take a minute to confirm the transfer. You know, I only got about halfway through Paradise Lost in college. I could never get past the language Milton used. Worse than Shakespeare, I think."
"Well, that's a shame..."
A gunshot rang out.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Preface - Part 2
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then hee
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.
- Satan in John Milton's Paradise Lost
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then hee
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.
- Satan in John Milton's Paradise Lost
Monday, August 27, 2007
Preface - Part 1
I can still remember the escaping gas...
I fought in the Battle of Danube Plain. I was there when the Pwyll Guard tried to force us out of our cliff-side fortress by blasting a hole in our shielding and letting our oxygen escape. I was there when they attacked our airless base, and I was fighting with my last oxygen pack. I was there at Radebaugh Point where we were finally able to rout them and take the then provincial capital of Pele.
I met Maximilian Matthias, known then by his nom-de-guerre Ishmael, only twice. I saw him at one of his rallies in Prometheus when I was 16. His command and strength seduced me. Just by hearing his voice, I believed that we were being repressed. That the terrestrials were the enemies of freedom. That the only way we would be free would be to rise up. The second time was at Danube Plain, at the ripe old age of 19. This was maybe a few hours before the Europans assaulted our base in the canyon that bisects Danube Plateau. He gave no grand speeches to rally the troops, and seem distracted. To this day, I have no idea what must have been going through his mind as what seemed like the last hope for the revolution was surrounded and cowering in a small cavern. Given his actions after Danube Plain, I don't feel sorry for him if felt a little frightened of his precarious situation.
Fifteen years after the Ionian War of Independence, the effects can still be felt. A week before writing this preface, a man was dragged from his apartment and was brutally beaten and killed simply for displaying an Europan provincial flag. Every year, new laws are proposed to curtail the rights of or to outright expel Martians and Europans living on Io. The recrimination of Europans and Martians for the actions of their compatriots during the War even reached a point where for several years, Europan water was rejected in favor of locally-extracted sources. It was only after the Fredericks Mine on Mount Gish Bar dried up did the democratic Ionian government back down. Mention the Pywll Guard or the Tyre Brigade to any Ionian on the street, particularly those with obvious war injuries, and the only words you are likely to hear are not printable here (though the Tyre Brigade will likely include the word "Flying" and rest is unprintable). No member of the Pwyll Guard can set foot on Ionian soil without risk of arrest for war crimes related to their actions at Danube Plain.
I am not beyond this pettiness. Not a day goes by that I don't curse the Terrestrial government in Geneva who, rather than send a single Terrestrial soldier, sicked those Europan religious fanatics on us at Danube (and let's not get into what happened when they occupied my hometown of Gish Bar). Not a day goes by that I don't curse the Martians who fought beside us at the beginning when we were winning, but turned their backs on us when we needed them most. Like most Ionians, I cheer the heroes of the War every October 8th.
But as the crisis over water a few years ago showed, the pettiness has gone beyond mere words. I fear, with Europa's new found autonomy, likely granted for its support of the Terrestrial government during the War, we will be at war with Europa in ten years. Our ban on trade with Mars, the "financial gateway to the Solar System," has hurt our economy, which I fear will put us at risk for falling under the spell of madmen like Matthias.
I write this book to get over my own prejudices. I write this book because we need to move on from what happened during the War. Mistakes are made in war and to believe that even your own side can't make mistakes, is foolish.
This book is based on the events of the War of Independence, some based on my own experiences. The primary plot thread is fictional, though it does involve real people, like Matthias, President Samual Ikes, and Matthias' chief of staff Hector Boreas. The book is set in three parts. The first, Afterword, is set shortly before the start of the War and covers the run-up to the War on both Io and Titan. The second two parts, On Danube Plain and Nestor covers events during the War.
I fought in the Battle of Danube Plain. I was there when the Pwyll Guard tried to force us out of our cliff-side fortress by blasting a hole in our shielding and letting our oxygen escape. I was there when they attacked our airless base, and I was fighting with my last oxygen pack. I was there at Radebaugh Point where we were finally able to rout them and take the then provincial capital of Pele.
I met Maximilian Matthias, known then by his nom-de-guerre Ishmael, only twice. I saw him at one of his rallies in Prometheus when I was 16. His command and strength seduced me. Just by hearing his voice, I believed that we were being repressed. That the terrestrials were the enemies of freedom. That the only way we would be free would be to rise up. The second time was at Danube Plain, at the ripe old age of 19. This was maybe a few hours before the Europans assaulted our base in the canyon that bisects Danube Plateau. He gave no grand speeches to rally the troops, and seem distracted. To this day, I have no idea what must have been going through his mind as what seemed like the last hope for the revolution was surrounded and cowering in a small cavern. Given his actions after Danube Plain, I don't feel sorry for him if felt a little frightened of his precarious situation.
Fifteen years after the Ionian War of Independence, the effects can still be felt. A week before writing this preface, a man was dragged from his apartment and was brutally beaten and killed simply for displaying an Europan provincial flag. Every year, new laws are proposed to curtail the rights of or to outright expel Martians and Europans living on Io. The recrimination of Europans and Martians for the actions of their compatriots during the War even reached a point where for several years, Europan water was rejected in favor of locally-extracted sources. It was only after the Fredericks Mine on Mount Gish Bar dried up did the democratic Ionian government back down. Mention the Pywll Guard or the Tyre Brigade to any Ionian on the street, particularly those with obvious war injuries, and the only words you are likely to hear are not printable here (though the Tyre Brigade will likely include the word "Flying" and rest is unprintable). No member of the Pwyll Guard can set foot on Ionian soil without risk of arrest for war crimes related to their actions at Danube Plain.
I am not beyond this pettiness. Not a day goes by that I don't curse the Terrestrial government in Geneva who, rather than send a single Terrestrial soldier, sicked those Europan religious fanatics on us at Danube (and let's not get into what happened when they occupied my hometown of Gish Bar). Not a day goes by that I don't curse the Martians who fought beside us at the beginning when we were winning, but turned their backs on us when we needed them most. Like most Ionians, I cheer the heroes of the War every October 8th.
But as the crisis over water a few years ago showed, the pettiness has gone beyond mere words. I fear, with Europa's new found autonomy, likely granted for its support of the Terrestrial government during the War, we will be at war with Europa in ten years. Our ban on trade with Mars, the "financial gateway to the Solar System," has hurt our economy, which I fear will put us at risk for falling under the spell of madmen like Matthias.
I write this book to get over my own prejudices. I write this book because we need to move on from what happened during the War. Mistakes are made in war and to believe that even your own side can't make mistakes, is foolish.
This book is based on the events of the War of Independence, some based on my own experiences. The primary plot thread is fictional, though it does involve real people, like Matthias, President Samual Ikes, and Matthias' chief of staff Hector Boreas. The book is set in three parts. The first, Afterword, is set shortly before the start of the War and covers the run-up to the War on both Io and Titan. The second two parts, On Danube Plain and Nestor covers events during the War.
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