“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, Ican’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.
