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PREFACE For God And Mars is inspired by Takamo, a science fction game created in the early 1980s, and Takamo Universe, the massive multiplayer online (MMO) version now under development. Te Takamo Universe back story is based on the writings of Randall Ritnour, game play events that occurred in Takamo, and the creative contributions of a host of Takamo players and fans.
This his the start of the story of Mars, of a planet peopled by humans, and yet not Earth.
Expansion of Will: With the Martian government puting pressure on the Ammanian eastern provinces, civil leader Eshe Tordis faces a tough batle convincing her people to fght back. As her community splits into warring factions, she fnds that her greatest enemies may be those standing behind her.
Turning the Tide: Alic Ollsen is an Ammanian in Terran clothing. To pursue his dream of being a terraformer, he had to give up all trace of his Ammanian beliefs. But when he’s asked to help the Ammanians win the war against the Martian government, he fnds himself caught between faith and career...life and death...right and wrong.
Vows of Assimilation: Te wounds from the frst Martian war haven’t yet healed and Isak Morven’s parents—Terran in thought and belief—hold everything Ammanian in disdain. He knows they barely tolerate his mingling with the despised victors of the war but, until he decides to marry his Ammanian girlfriend, even Isak himself isn’t aware of how deep his parents’ hatred runs.
No Reward: Ryne Morven has been fghting against Ammanian rule his entire life. When Earth forces invade the red planet to take back control, Ryne is exultant. Joining the rebels against the Ammanians, he can’t wait to shove his brother Isak’s nose in it, but when the war fnally ends, will the price paid by the Morven family be worth it?
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INTRODUCTION
T
he story of Mars cannot be told without also relaying the story of the Ammanian religion, founded by humans at the very start of their journey to the stars.
The Ammanian philosophy was originally established within what was then known as the European Transection, the entity that arose from the ashes of the failed European Union. Tired of the rampant consumerism that they felt was consuming the human soul, the Ammanians—led by their prophet, Surias Demsel—instead preached a life of simplicity and knowledge. Demsel thought that human society could be changed through the virtues of serving and learning, the culmination of which would be a complete repudiation of all physical desires and cravings and achievement of a state of purity. During the time that the teachings of Demsel were gaining ground, around 2033, the first Mars colony was founded. By multinational treaty, colonists were chosen by an annual examination that took place in the one hundred and forty-two member nations. In 2053, Mars was opened to public immigration and nearly thirty thousand people made the trek aboard government subsidized flights that first year alone. Back on Earth, while initially regarded as a benign belief system and tolerated by all, the Ammanians proved themselves to be capable of violence when an Ammanian suicide bomber detonated a one-megaton nuclear device on the Ho Chi Minh City to Hong Kong leg of the South China Sea Mag-Rail Undersea Tunnel, killing 1,578 passengers and rail crew. He did this, he stated, in retaliation for a lack of concessions and “respect” accorded to Ammanian adherents. Unfortunately, the bombing had larger repercussions, causing a tsunami that afected China’s southern coastline and claiming a further one hundred thousand lives. Unsurprisingly as a result of this catastrophe, Ammanians began to sufer persecution within several nations on Earth and, in 2055, sectarian warfare broke out in Africa between Ammanian, Christian and Muslim sects. As a result of such conflict, Africa was reduced to a post-apocalyptic nightmare. The only place, it seemed, where the Ammanians could find a semblance of peace was on Mars and so in 2056, led by their prophet, Surias Demsel, Ammanians began to emigrate to Mars on a massive scale. By this time, private space freight corporations, such as Earth-Mars Freight, had also begun servicing routes to the red planet and, by the end of the 2060’s, to the dismay of the original colonists and treaty nations, millions of Ammanians had joined the colonists on Mars.
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But the reputation for violence that dogged Ammanians on Earth refused to leave them. Tensions between Ammanians and the secular forces on Mars escalated until the violent death of Demsel himself triggered an Ammanian rebellion. In 2073, the Ammanian Principate was declared, ushering in decades of conflict between the Ammanians and the pro-Earth Mars (or Terran) government… There, amid the frantic terraforming eforts taking place, each side atempting to outdo the other and thus dominate a terraformed planet, the Ammanian disciples—some pacifist, some not—tried finding their own space where they could concentrate on their core values: simplicity, modesty and evolution of the soul through education. This is the start of their story, on a planet peopled by humans, and yet not Earth…
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EXPANSION OF WILL 2092
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“You’re making a mistake.” Sal Catin crossed his arms as though the conversation was over. Eshe pressed her lips together. The conversatian was far from over. He had to realize that people were tired of being treated as lesser just because of what they believed. Around Eshe Tordis, the Cathedral of Ata hummed with voices as people discussed everything from the latest terraforming technology to the tensions on Earth. Even though most of them had been born on Mars, people still felt the need to know what was happening on the planet that had spent millions of years leting humans evolve into space-faring creatures. “It is you who are making the mistake,” she said. “You fear confrontation.” When they’d been together he’d always tried to avoid arguments. She hoped that he wouldn’t go against her in the coming debate, and had only come to see him to get an idea of where he stood on the issue. She’d expected him to take the easy path and was frustrated by the fact that she’d guessed wrong. “I do not seek confrontation. There is a diference.” He spoke in that infuriating way, calmly and reasonably, as though he expected her to suddenly realize he was right. They had almost married five years ago. With two of the biggest Ammanian families joining together, it had seemed like political heaven. In reality, Sal was more concerned with his teaching and seeking enlightenment. Afer they had broken up, he’d taken the resolution to become a Pure and now shunned all physical pleasure. While his soul might be pure, it was a hard way to live, and if he broke those vows, he’d be damned to be reborn into the physical world, an environment Ammanians regarded as Hell. Eshe wasn’t that good. Most people weren’t that good. The Ammanian prophet Demsel had known that; all he’d asked was that people turn away from the shallowness of material desires and seek joy through serving and learning. Ammanians usually took the Pure resolution on their deathbed, fasting until death to show that they no longer were sustained or lured by the physical. It was one thing to know that the physical world was created by the Devil and filled with all manner of temptations to distract the spirit from reaching enlightenment, but another to resist those temptations altogether. People needed to eat and work and love. Eshe flicked a glance at the tall figure of her ex-lover, quiet and yet so righteous. Pure. He would never have been happy as a married man. Eshe saw that now. In walking away she’d done him a favor and saved herself from misery. Life wasn’t about sufering—although those who weren’t Ammanian seemed to think that was what they believed. Even other religions didn’t like
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what the Ammanian faith stood for. The puzzle was, how could a simple life be seen as something radical and threatening to other belief systems? It was a topic that was ofen debated by new members. “I do not seek confrontation, either,” she said, “but I will do what is required to ensure our people’s future.” “Like your grandfather.” Eshe raised one eyebrow. Was he suggesting that being like General Kossa was a bad thing? Surely he wouldn’t go that far. “There are many who are happy here, who do not seek more.” He smiled. Unfortunately, giving up the physical hadn’t made him any less atractive. “Acquiring more territory is simply obsessing about your belongings on a grand scale. Perhaps you should atend more of the lessons?” Eshe bit back her anger. Atractive, yes, but still as annoying as ever. He knew all of the prophet Demsel’s teachings by heart and was more than happy to debate the most trivial of details. He thought peace came through talking. Well, talking hadn’t saved Demsel. No one for a moment thought that the prophet’s sudden and suspicious death had been anything but an assassination. His views on capitalism and wealth for wealth’s sake had upset many, on Earth, the Moon, Saturn and Mars, and they had been even more upset when he amassed a large amount of followers. She lectured in history so she knew what had happened. Ammanian belief had gone from being a fringe Christian belief system joked about in the media to gaining enough support that those in power felt threatened; threatened enough to atempt to wipe the theology from the solar system. Her voice was firm. “There will be debates on the issue.” Her family had almost enough support to take control and lead the Ammanians into a war with the Terran-backed Martian government…if that was what was needed. It was just what Kossa had done when he’d established the Eastern Martian Provinces for the Ammanians, but this time her people wanted to expand in to the Western Provinces, too. Maybe, eventually, Mars would be theirs. There would be no more persecution from those that called them heretics. “But not here. I will see you at the Citadel.” She turned and began walking away. “Eshe…” Sal called. She stopped and glanced back at him. “Are you sure you want a civil war?” His face was unreadable. She smiled. Did he mean between Martians or within the Ammanian community? “What’s wrong, Sal? Are you afraid of dying all of a sudden?”
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His expression was grave. “No. When I am dead, my soul will be free. But that is my choice. Thousands of others will not be able to make that decision. You will be making it for them. I fear the Devil whispers in your ear too much. He always did.” “You need evil for there to be good.” Her voice was tight. If she didn’t do enough in this life to earn her soul’s way out of Hell, there was always the next life. Unlike Sal she wasn’t worried about geting it right this time. And if she was reborn, she was sure that Sal would be looking down and laughing at her—when he wasn’t too busy polishing his soul into shiny white perfection. She probably didn’t spend enough time contemplating her soul but there were other things to do. Life was meant to be lived, she firmly believed that. When she finally took the resolution it would be knowing that she had done everything she could to ensure the Ammanians had a future on Mars. Sal shook his head and Eshe tamped down on her annoyance. She’d never been able to win an argument with him—another good reason why they had separated. Still, she had to try to make him see her point of view. “Many would see an expansion of our territory as security,” she said. “The Martian government hates us as much as those on Earth. If Mars were entirely ours, we’d be safe to pursue enlightenment.” Surely that had to appeal to him? He watched her for a moment and she thought that she’d won him over. Then he spoke. “Safety is an illusion created by the Devil to make you complacent.” Eshe flicked her hands and stalked away. Some things never changed. Coming to the Cathedral had been a waste of time, but at least Sal would be too busy gazing inward to gain much support. She lef Ata’s Cathedral—the biggest atmospheric dome in the province—and moved briskly along the walkway. Beyond the safety of the dome was Mars. The air was still unfit for breathing, but at least there were now spindly forests of trees now atempting to grow. Terraforming was a slow process. She touched the wall. It was thicker than it appeared. Sal had been right about one thing. Safety was an illusion and it could be easily destroyed.
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The Citadel was full. It was one of the few military-grade domes in the Eastern Provinces, and was also the first time Eshe had seen so many people in atendance. The issue of expansion was that important. She knew many supported the move, but then her family wouldn’t have started this process if they hadn’t already ascertained how the population was feeling. While individual conversations were conducted quietly, there were still so many voices that a constant hum filled the air. It was easy to spot the Pures in their white or cream clothing. Everyone else wore color. The clothing was plain and serviceable, unadorned since it was just a covering for the body, but that didn’t mean that people didn’t choose tones that flatered them. The people in the Citadel were those that had been chosen to represent the various domes. Mars was covered in cities where no one went outside except for a few suited-up workers. It was a wellpaid job because of the risks. No Ammanians were ever employed outside the domes. The government didn’t trust Ammanians, because they held themselves apart. They didn’t understand the diference in values and refusing to employ them in well-paid positions was a way for the government to ensure the Ammanians weren’t giving too much to the Kortan Principate for use in the Ammanian schools and hospitals. The government hated that the Ammanians could function without them—they had to as for a long time the government had refused to ofer even the most basic of assistance. While many sneered at the Ammanians lack of wealth, many Martian parents tried to get their ofspring into Ammanian schools because they knew their children would be beter educated. Jarrell Tordis—Eshe’s father—walked into the center and raised his hands. There was no need to make any other move; the Citadel fell silent. Tordis was the current Speaker. He’d been elected three years in a row, and this was to be the last year he’d be allowed to serve in the Ammanians’ highest role. Because he was the speaker she’d been elected the representative from their dome, and now the Ammanians were ready to make a very political move. They had been waiting, biding their time and growing in numbers. They had dutifully paid their taxes and got nothing back for too long. The same problem had already been resolved a litle more than a decade ago. It had taken the Ammanians great efort to get the Martian government to do anything for the people in the Eastern Provinces, but the government had finally bowed to pressure and were paying tribute. It was still less than what the Ammanians were owed, but it was something. “Today we will debate and vote,” Jarrell told the assembled crowd. “You are all aware of the importance of this decision, so do not rush your deliberation. Do not think of the fleeting present moment and your own fragile flesh but of future generations who will have to live with your decision.” He pulled out a piece of paper.
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Everyone knew what the ballot was about; it was why so many were here, and Eshe knew it would’ve been foolhardy not to have spent months fueling the fire for expansion. Mars was huge and the Ammanians had only been allowed a tiny corner of it. That biterness lingered in the old and the desire for more burned in the young. Once he had their atention, Jarrell read out the proposal. Eshe knew it word for word. It even referenced her grandfather and his plan for the Ammanian community. It was because of his willingness to fight that they had the Eastern Provinces. Done reading, her father refolded the proposal. “Does anyone have anything to say before the vote?” People stood, some of them she knew were supporters of theirs, while others would speak against. Sal was one of those standing. Of course he was. She silently groaned. It was going to be a long day.
Afer hours of debate there was no resolution, but there were clear factions. Three of them. Those who were happy as things were. Those who wanted to ask the Martian government for more land. Those who wanted to take more land by force. None of the factions could agree on a single resolution, although all three knew that the Martian government barely tolerated them. It happily collected taxes but then willfully ignored them when they asked for assistance. And if they refused to pay into the government cofers, they knew the Martian army would evict them from all government-owned domes. In a hundred years from now— when the atmosphere was capable of supporting life in the open air—that wouldn’t be much of a threat, but right now it was a death sentence. It was Eshe’s private opinion that Sal and his supporters, those who said they were content with the status quo, were afraid. That was exactly how the Martian central administration wanted to keep them. If they were constantly afraid then they wouldn’t be any trouble. “That didn’t go as planned.” Neco jogged up beside her. He wore bright blue, the color of Earth skies, to match his eyes.
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“No. Pure Sal managed to gather plenty of support.” More than she’d expected him to get. His tongue must have become more persuasive since their break-up. “We can bring them around.” She shook her head. “We won’t need to, when the ‘ask politely’ faction comes back empty handed and with boot prints on their asses it will be clear, again, what the government thinks of us. Sal and his supporters won’t be able to stay neutral.” “I hope you’re wrong and that the government does give us more land, but I think they still hate us too much to ever treat us with respect.” “They hate that we don’t need their money, but we take the tribute anyway. They would prefer us broken and needy.” In theory the government was supposed to fund all schools, hospitals and new works, and they did, but only in the Western Provinces. The Ammanians in the East had taken over such roles. In addition, they were guaranteeing their future through the purchase of several militarygrade domes that were now on their way from Earth. They didn’t need to wait for breathable air outside the domes for the government’s threats to become empty. Once they owned their own domes they couldn’t be evicted. “Did you want to meet later?” Neco lifed his eyebrow in suggestion. He wasn’t interested in studying anything other than pleasure. “Or do you have other plans?” “I’ll come and see you.” He grinned and strode away. She watched him until he was lost in the crowd of people leaving the Citadel.
Even though the Principate made sure that everyone had their basic needs met, there was no tolerance for those who refused to work. Eshe taught one history class and the rest of the time she worked in food production and listened to the people who lived in her area so she could represent them beter in the Citadel. This evening there was another meeting being held by those were preparing for war with the Martian government. Here there was no arguing about whether they should or shouldn’t use force. It was a question of how and when.
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No one was impressed by the outcome of the first debate, however they all conceded that the session had been useful, with many valid points. Today the “ask politely” group had reported back that the government had no land or dome space to give them. That was no surprise to Eshe, although it had been disappointing to all Ammanians. It would have been nice to have had this issue resolved peacefully. Tomorrow there would be another debate in the Citadel, and it would be interesting to see how faction support shifed. “And yet, despite the facts presented, they fear upseting the Martians.” One of the old generals leaned back in his chair. He’d been a young man when he’d fought with Kossa. The Pure who had remained silent so far spoke up. “Life cannot be lived when restricted by shame and fear.” And yet it was how so many ruled. They feared an education population. They feared the Ammanians because they questioned and looked deeper. Eshe shook her head. “They do not believe that. They speak of protecting the people.” Sal had presented that argument in the Citadel. The Ammanians, he said, didn’t need more space to be content. Contentment was an internal process, not an external acquisition. But this wasn’t just about space. It was about being seen as equal citizens of Mars, and they weren’t. The conversation kept bouncing around the room. “When the domes arrive, we will be able to protect everyone.” “Then we cannot atack the Martians until the domes arrive.” “We may as well wait until we can breathe outside.” “By which time the government will have found another way to keep us suppressed. No working on the terraforming projects. No erecting domes. What next? No working at all? Then we would be reliant on the tribute…ah but then we wouldn’t be paying taxes and all of a sudden we are noncitizens. Does that sound familiar?” The general lifed his hands as though it was clear. To anyone who knew their history, it was. Ammanians had been declared non-citizens in several sectors. While the reasons varied, it usually came down to fear and control. People didn’t like what they couldn’t understand and most people didn’t understand why Ammanians didn’t want a bigger house and the latest disposable “must have” toy. Even when the Ammanian philosophy was explained to people, they still didn’t get it. The average Terran thought that stuf enriched their lives. They had been told that for generations and they blindly believed it. The prophet Demsel, when he was still alive, had reminded people that nothing was needed in life but an open heart. Jesus had owned nothing.
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“If the Citadel can’t agree on a single action, we can’t do a thing,” Eshe said. All this talk would be for nothing. All the planning…and they’d still be reliant on the goodwill of the government for every breath they took. “Then we make them agree. We start talking to those who wavered, not those who spoke out against any action. We’ve already showed that we’re happy to try for a peaceful solution by allowing representatives to speak with the government,” said the Pure. The government wanted them to stay in their litle area, that was clear. However people already moved across the border to work. Ammanian teachers were eagerly sought for schools and universities. Every so ofen, some bureaucrat would try and stamp it out, but the move was so politically loaded it ended up as litle more than talk, an opportunity to stir up distrust against the Ammanians in the public’s mind. “We still need secure food and water production,” said the general. That was the most critical resource and, unsurprisingly, the government had full control of it. They said it was to make sure there was no wastage, but Eshe knew it was so they could make living harder. The previous year, there had been water restrictions in the Eastern Provinces. The government had called it a “malfunction”. She called it a lie. “We have almost have all the parts. Self-suficiency has been something we have been creeping towards.” The woman who’d been quiet for most of the meeting finally spoke up. She didn’t care about military strategy. Her passion was making sure they could be self-suficient. For her that was what matered and joining Eshe and her father in their fight was a means to an end. “It sounds like we are still months away from launching an atack. Plenty of time to convince the Citadel.” The general stood. “I must go.” The meeting broke up soon afer that. The Ammanian push for independence was moving so slowly. No Ammanian was allowed to live outside the Eastern Provinces. It was as though the government was scared that everyone would convert. It was why Ammanian teachers were closely watched. She couldn’t imagine any of the surgically beautified, gold-wearing people of the Western Provinces stripping their life back to essentials and finding joy in learning instead of their own appearance. While she knew her Earth history, she really didn’t understand what had happened in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. A Pure would say that the world had fallen prey to the Devil’s tricks. That seemed the only likely explanation.
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Eshe and Neco lay on the bed, watching the latest news. While they were supposed to be a single colony ever since general Kossa had claimed the entire Eastern Provinces for the Ammanians, it was clear there were fractures within that society. Now the Martian government was widening those divisions. Whenever there was a problem in the West, the Ammanians were blamed. Not enough money for another hospital dome? Look at the two new domes that the Ammanians bought for themselves with your taxes. It was all lies. The Ammanians paid taxes, just like the other Martians. Her jaw clenched as she watched more political spin. While some Martian analysts pointed out the flawed logic on display, most people didn’t want to hear it. They were more worried that they might have to start giving away their money like the Ammanians did, and then what would they live on? Judging by the news reports, they seemed to think that Ammanians lived like paupers. Eshe glanced around Neco’s single-person dwelling. It was small, tidy and had everything he needed, much like hers. Sure there were no silk prints adorning the walls, and his hands had no fancy rings, but Neco had other riches. For one, he was a whip-smart math professor, much in demand at the Martian universities. She glanced up at him. “Aren’t you worried about tomorrow’s protests?” “No…I’m a math teacher, not a radical.” Maybe, but it was clear he was Ammanian from the way he dressed. Even though he favored bright colors, the lack of adornment made him stand out. He was a pigeon among Martian peacocks. “Be careful.” She kissed him then pulled away to gather her clothes. “When will it start?” His question was abrupt. She knew what he was asking even though he didn’t say it. “I can’t tell you.” He frowned. “The domes are almost up. And I know that we can make our own water now. Within ten days maybe?” She smiled. He was too smart. She leaned over the bed. “I’m not telling.” She kissed him again. “Stay, we can go and watch the first rain.”
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It was tempting. Tonight the Martian government was showing of and promising rain for the first time. It was exciting, they were edging closer to breathable air—another decade, maybe two. “You think it will work?” she asked. “I heard there was test seeding done at the pole and it worked there. I don’t think they’d be promising rain if they weren’t sure.” He tugged on her hand. “Stay the night.” “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.” “No one will notice.” The smile on his lips was making it hard to refuse. She hesitated. “No…maybe next time.” “I’ll empty a drawer for you?” He watched her carefully. Afer breaking up with Sal, Eshe had been very cautious about rushing into a new relationship. She’d been seeing Neco for two years now. He accepted that she wanted to pursue a political career, serving the people before seeking her own enlightenment. “Okay.” His eyes widened. “Did I hear that right, or was I dreaming?” She laughed. “Don’t make me change my mind. Be safe tomorrow.” Hopefully the protest wouldn’t become a riot. She lef his dwelling and started the walk back to hers. There were people moving around—some would be heading for a location to get a good view of rain. Most people had only heard of water dropping from the sky, but had never seen it. Tonight—if it happened—they wouldn’t be able to touch it either. Wouldn’t that be something, Eshe thought to herself. To be able to stand outside, breathe the air and feel the rain. It would be like standing in a cold shower…maybe. That was how she imagined it would feel, since she had nothing to compare it to. As she got closer to home and the walkway emptied, she became aware of a Pure catching up to her. He wasn’t running, but he walked briskly and with intent. She slowed allowing him to approach. “Eshe Tordis?” “Yes. How can I help?” She didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t unusual. People knew of her and her family connections. “I want to talk to you about the expansion.” “That will be discussed at the next Citadel meeting.”
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“You are readying for war with the Martian government.” She managed not to stare at him. “I am on that side of the argument, yes. But I am no soldier. I have made no batle plans.” How did they know? Had they been betrayed? Did this Pure know the extent of their planning? The group she was part of had been careful to meet under the guise of friendship, nothing more. “You are Kossa’s granddaughter. Their figurehead.” And he pulled a knife from beneath his shirt. She struck first, not waiting to be atacked, but he counter-atacked with no hesitation. It was clear this Pure was of ex-military stock. He used the hilt of the knife to wind her then sent her reeling with a blow to the temple. She tried a kick, but he captured her leg and slashed her Achilles tendon. When she screamed and fell to the floor, no one came to help. Where had everyone gone? She dragged herself backwards, trying to stumble to her feet but unable to get up. His lips were moving as he watched her, but Eshe didn’t know what he was saying. Unhurriedly, he walked over to the corridor’s control panel, touching the butons lightly. She heard a small bang then the side of the walkway was ripped away. Alarms started wailing. Her fingers scrabbled on the floor but the surface was slick and she couldn’t avoid geting sucked out into the Martian atmosphere. No! She drew in a large breath of air as she finally lost her grip, somersaulting in the vortex formed by the breach, then she was flung down on the bare dirt. The outside air was frigid on her skin. The dirt was cold. Lifing her head, she watched the Pure let go of the controls and tumble out afer her, his white clothes flapping, his face calm. It was clear that he was ready to die. She wasn’t. She hadn’t had the resolution. She still had things to accomplish—or was that the Devil whispering in her ear the way Sal claimed? The tempest of the depressurizing walkway calmed as the emergency doors closed on the corridor. Emergency doors that she was on the wrong side of. Eshe finally expelled her pent-up breath and tried to take another, but her lungs were burning. There wasn’t enough oxygen around and she was sufocating. Refusing to give up, she started dragging herself towards the doors. The walls of the dome glowed. They were beautiful from the outside. Something landed on her bare hand. Then another in the dirt in front of her. Cold drops of water. Rain.
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COPYRIGHT FOR GOD AND MARS ISBN 978-0-988758441-0-0 Copyright Š Kgruppe LLC 2016 Editor: KS Augustin Ebook conversion: Challis Tower Cover art: Challis Tower A Takamo Universe book Tis is a work of fction. All characters, places and events are from the authors imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to events, places or persons, living or dead or residing on a planet other than Earth, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Tis ebook has been made available without DRM, subject to individual retailer conditions. Please don’t reproduce in any form. (An exception is the use of brief quotations for the purposes of critical articles and/or reviews.) Tat includes printing, photocopying, scanning, uploading to torrent sites or any other practice that is somehow meant to circumvent a royalty being rightfully paid to the author. Te author and cover artist have asserted their respective rights to be identifed as the author of this book and producer of the cover artwork. Te development team for Takamo Universe includes Randall Ritnour, Vanessa Emlich, Tom Walla, Bill Hayes, David Snodgrass, Aaron Groethe, Dale Hayes Sr., Sam Stockton, and Dmitri Borodin and Cooper the wonder dog. Special thanks to L. Emlich, A. Edecker, and many others for their support and encouragement over the years. Te members of the original Takamo development team were Randall Ritnour, Bill Bunselmeyer, Alan Edecker, and Bill Hayes.