We Are Martian

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Unfortunately, for Zyere Duschene, the scream of his best friend Solvi replayed in his mind every time he closed his eyes. The split second before her coms cut to the eerie sound of static-nothingness was his brain's new mantra, and it made for horrendous sleep. Was this his fifth or sixth day in isolation? It was hard to tell. The time seemed to be a blur, and the only true mark to it's passage was the change in guard duty. Every eight hours, the Martian Militia statue posted outside the isolation chamber would briefly animate before re-adopting a slightly new posture, position, and facial structure. No matter how much shouting or pleading he did would make one of those soldiers stir, but he tried anyway. Anything to take his mind off of Solvi's last few moments.

It had been an eternity since his last meal, and he felt like he could chew through the titanium cuffs that suspended his arms well above his head. He was currently going through the most intense physical and psychological torture a human body could sustain without the complete loss of its mind. Zyere knew before he even heard the rusty screech of the outer door's hinges, that he was ready and willing to say or do anything for the smallest reprieve. Hell, he had already done so a thousand times this would be the first time in front of an actual interrogator. As the heavy footfalls echoed down the hall approaching Zyere, he quickly betrayed his every darkest secret in a frantic jumble of moans and sobs. The loud crash of the barred metal door against its solid metal counterpart cut through his blubbering. Zyere hesitantly looked up through red ringed eyes at the entryway's new occupant. He was a looming, hard-faced man, with close-cropped hair and stone-dead eyes. In other words, another fine member of the Martian military. Not even the slightest look of pity or disgust showed in his face. The drug regimen, coupled with whatever they put those poor bastards through in Martian boot camp, rendered them obedient, empty husks. As the guard approached to remove the manacles, Zyere caught the heavy scent of starch used to press the man's uniform and his stomach protested in pain. The soldier unlocked the cuffs and pulled Zyere roughly to his feet. He then wrenched Zyere around with a vise like grip on his forearm and began marching him out of the cell. Something small and metallic uncomfortably dug into Zyere's tricep, and he craned his neck over to look. It was a small name tag that read “Sunny”. Zyere let out a small disbelieving snort that was completely ignored by his escort.

Zyere's forceful, and rather painful, march through the dim lit corridors of the deep underground prison, came to a halt at a steel, retinal locked door. The camera passed over both the gaurd's and Zyere's eyes with a faint blue light, and the steel door slid silently to the left. Zyere was instantly assaulted with bright UV lights that threatened to blind his solar-deprived eyes. Before he had a chance to get used to the sudden brightness, he was forced into a cold, metal chair and his arm was forcefully strapped to a table, fore arm up. On the outskirts of the sunspots he was trying to squint past, he saw a woman in white quickly approach and plunge a needle into his arm. A surreal feeling of peace and calm washed over him in that moment, and he slumped in the chair, narrowing his eyes to the faintest sliver until the painful onslaught of light dissolved into a tolerable illumination. He blinked his eyes groggily and slowly scanned the room. Across from him sat a hawk-nosed man with light brown hair that was turning white at the temples. He was dressed in a black suit with the collar unbuttoned and no tie. He was also receiving his own injection by the nurse he saw a moment before.

“Mr. Duschene. I am inspector Landridge. You have just received a dose of Pentothal, more commonly known as truth serum.” said the suit in a matter-of-fact tone. His voice was flat and had a nasal air to it like he was from the Governor's Court on Mars Proper. What he was doing here in Miner's District on Phobos Zyere had no clue, but he hated the man immediately. However, the feeling was quickly dampened and then overwhelmed by the drug. He found he really didn't care about much anymore; not about his torture, not about this inspector, not about... His attention snapped back to the inspector when he started talking again, “I'm going to ask you some questions and then we are going to decide your fate.” Inspector Landridge's pupils became pin pricks, and he focused on Zyere with an intense, unnerving gaze.

Zyere tried to say, “Alright”, but pushing the word through his raw and phlegmy throat it sounded like a croak. He cleared his throat with a painful cough and rasped it out more audibly, “Alright.”

“What do you know about the local faction of MM4?” MM4 stood for the Martian Mafia, but no one was sure what the 4 was supposed to represent. Some speculate that it is for the 4th planet from the sun, but the Martian Mafia is almost as old as the initial Martian colony on Mars Proper over half a millennia ago, and the actual meaning was lost over time.

Zyere stared blankly for a second before his mind registered the question. “The Mafia? Just what everyone else knows. Stay away from the third level corridors and casinos, yeah?”

Landridge pulled a tablet from his inside suit pocket. He flipped through a few files then flicked one forward toward Zyere. The table Zyere's forearm was still strapped to illuminated with a photo of a man with black-gray speckled, curly hair, thick eyebrows, flat blue eyes, and a scar that ran from his left eye down to his chin. “Do you recognize this man?”

“No. Wouldn't forget a mug like that.”

The inspector flicked another file forward, and the picture of the mysterious man was replaced with a symbol. It looked like an old Anarchy symbol from earth, but the “A” was replaced with an “M”.

The slash that dissected the letter had a small line that crossed it at the end. “How about this symbol. What does it mean to you?”

Zyere shrugged. “Old symbol that, means different things to different people. Me, disgust with Mars Proper and their greedy ways. I graffiti it from time to time.” His voice was starting to become more steady, though his throat still throbbed.

Landridge nodded slightly and then flicked one more file to the screen embedded in the table. “And how about this girl? Do you know her?”

The screen changed to a young woman about Zyere's own age. She had long, wavy, black hair, mocha skin, and piercing blue eyes. She stared coldly and defiantly at the camera and a chill ran through Zyere. He took a gulp of air. Of course he recognized her, it was Solvi. Her scream reverberated in his mind. “What is this about?” he asked shakily.

“Answer the question, Mr. Duschene.”

“Yes, that is my friend, Solvi. Look, we were just bending the rules. Sticking it to the Martian overlords, yeah? I don't know what happened to her. We were broadcasting on black channels, and I had to move the set up every 30 minutes to avoid the dogs. It was during the third move that her coms went out. I tried to call her but then the quake caused that breech and I had to shelter. I didn't know she died until I could review the footage at home. And then I only had audio. I came straight to the militia. Didn't try to hide anything. I knew I was going to be in trouble, but this all seems overbo-”.

Inspector Landridge leaned forward and interrupted Zyere's confession, “Wait. Go back. You called her before the quake or after?” If possible, the inspectors eyes seemed to penetrate even further into Zyere's own, and the focus became a physical force that made the small hairs on Zyere's neck stand up.

Zyere gulped again nervously, “Um... it was just before. See, her coms cut out so I tried her on her terminal.”

Landridge stared at Zyere until the younger man started to squirm. He then sat back in his chair with an exasperated sigh. “You stupid little shit. You don't even know what you did. This Solvi, yeah? Her real name is Tara Volshkoff. The first man I showed you is her old man, Pavel Volshkoff, leader of the Volshkoff Mafia. That symbol you ignorantly paint everywhere is the MM4 emblem. And that earthquake was really a high yielding bomb that ripped the maintenance sector off the surface level. You killed damn near a thousand people today with that phone call. I pity you because I can tell you are being honest and don't know squat. I still need to take you with me back to Mars Proper for public execution. Mars must stand strong in this attack and you are the Mafia patsy to take the fall.”

Zyere couldn't feel a single ounce of that calming drug at this point. He stared disbelieving forward and whispered, “It was just an exploration video.” repeatedly. Sunny stoically removed the strap from Zyere's arm and marched him back to his cell. As they disappeared back into the corridors, “It was just an exploration video”, grew louder and echoed down the dark hallways.