Silt was dead. Even his supernatural ability to move dirt had proven inadequate to the task of surviving the kind of orbital bombardment that Turing and the USSF was subjecting known and suspected Patriot bases to.

Whether it was bad luck or precog intervention, nobody knew, but either way the man was more than six feet under.

Chimera, on the other hand..

I stood awestruck at the entity gestating in a massive pit that seemed too small to contain it. When I'd read his dossier on the bumpy ride over to Mars, I'd dismissed him as inconsequential, the kind of supe who eventually developed acute lead allergies when you shot them, even if his healing factor and ability to morph form made a flamethrower more appropriate.

Right now, the biomass with the biggest claim to the name filled up the volume of a football stadium, the gelatinous surface gently pulsing, while unseen forms slithered underneath. If this was the amnion overlying the uterus, I didn't want to see what kind of child was growing beneath.

I still did stick around to see for myself, of course. Every few minutes, a gestational sac would bubble up to the surface, through tunnels I could have walked through with plenty of clearance, pushed along by wet squelching peristalsis. They'd plop forth and fall a few feet to the floor, and with the sound of tearing meat, rip open to disgorge a Centaur Warform.

"Fuck. How'd he learn to do that?" I asked Frostbite as we traversed one of the walkways above, trying to zone out the unpleasant smell of exposed meat. It was hospital met abattoir there, the stink of amniotic fluid overpowering.

"Apotheosis event. I'd presume you're better qualified to discuss that than I am." Machina called out from ahead of us.

"I can hear you, you know." A voice emanated from the mass below, sounding like pretty much what you'd expect from a monster that size. The walls shook, congealed biomass trickling back down after whatever eruption had put it a dozen meters above the ground.

"Err, hey there, Chimera. Or do you prefer Peter?" I yelled, unsure as to how acute its hearing really was.

"Peter is fine. Tell the boss that I'm not going to make the meeting, I'm in labor."

I chuckled alongside the others, the joke relieving the pall that had overcome them when we'd received word of Silt's death.

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"I'd like to claim I'm an expert on Apotheosis, and that's true to an extent, but only because I don't think anyone else really understands it." I told Machina, ducking beneath a massive conduit pouring nutrients into a gaping maw. While Chimera didn't conserve mass or energy in his growth, this made it considerably faster.

That was true enough, Apotheosis was ill understood, another aspect of the metahuman life cycle that was the domain of more questions than answers.

I'd seen a few events since encountering Hu Junya, who went by Tieyi these days, but he'd been my first and most intimate glimpse of the changes. I suspected that Lady Purple couldn't induce it in just anyone, it had to be primed somehow, the circumstances just right. If she could reproducibly induce it in any meta, well, Lumen wouldn't be fugitives on the run from the law. They'd be the Law itself.

The best analogy was a kind of phase transition, a breaking of the inherent rate limiters and inhibitions that kept metahuman powers in check. Often, but not always, it was associated with a massive increase in power, but it was nearly universal that those with powers amenable to discarding their human form could do so if they wished. A electrokinetic could turn into ball lightning, a hydrokinetic into water.

Tieyi had been a monster of pure living metal the last time he'd shown up on UN records, the size of the Statue of Liberty strapped onto to a skyscraper, and the Clairvoyants hadn't been able to locate any identifiable human tissue underneath.

His initial designation as a Class 4 had likely been in error, or due to an intentional attempt by the man to lay low and hide the strength of his powers. Even then, though he might have actually been a Class 5 when I met him, these days he merited a low 6. I'd seen the videos of him tearing apart warships from a thousand kilometers away, and traveling at enormous, if not relativistic, speed with incredible agility. He'd survived being nuked before by cladding himself (and me) in layers of armor, now he could take it on the chin and reform from the molten slag that was left. I wondered if he still remembered me, but I knew he was unlikely to forget.

So yes, Apotheosis was associated with a jump in power, be it in quality or quantity, it would hardly be worth the name if it wasn't.

Severe stress and trauma could sometimes provoke it, but not reliably so, or else there'd be a lot more metas waterboarded in Gitmo. Usually there were no obvious triggers, albeit the erratic changes in personality that preceded and followed were worthy of concern. In this manner, it sometimes resembled the process of a normal human awakening into their powers, just scaled up. Even that had a notable risk of inducing psychosis, antisocial personality disorder, or other forms of mental illness that kept me in gainful employment as a shrink.

If the paranoid schizophrenic tells you he's seeing people in the walls, you take it seriously if he's also got powers to make it so.

A typical supe had a ~0.1% chance of such an event over the course of a year, maybe 0.5 if under acute, life-threatening stress. A big bump, but not usually worth pursuing intentionally. Still, that was about 1% per decade, so you saw cases every now and again. Hell, it could happen twice or more, but that was vanishingly rare.

Of course, another universal was the recurring dream of SAMSARA, but these were different, no two supes conveying quite the same recollection of the event. Most of them forgot what they'd seen shortly after waking unless they wrote it down or relayed it to someone.

The Warforms came in all shapes and sizes, from tiny rabbit-sized creatures that belonged in Caerbannog, to somewhat humanoid entities, including one I suspected was a throwback to the original Centauri form while they were planetbound. A few dwarfed me entirely.

They stood obediently, watching me go by with curious eyes and other more esoteric sensory organs. There were some spawn that weren't obviously Centauri, bespoke creations by Chimera. He had a kind of telepathic link to all of them, they were somewhere between obedient drones to extensions of his will, depending on how much brainpower they possessed. And they were multitudes.

Eventually, we made it out of the brood chamber to the briefing room, where several hundred humans with varying degrees of enhancement sat waiting, most of them too busy introspecting as they awaited the culmination of all their efforts, others carelessly chatting away or shooting the shit.

Me? I tend to become quiet when I'm preparing myself for a solid chance of dying in the name.

Now that the rest of BULWARK had arrived, the briefing kicked off in earnest. Large display panels and holograms kicked in, displaying a mission plan that had a great deal more love and aesthetic care put into than the overwrought PowerPoints I was used to in the military or UNSEEN.

The face of a man I hadn't seen but for posters on the walls appeared.

General Samanon Podiska, the Ur-Patriot, the longstanding leader of this merry band of rebels and revolutionaries. Or terrorists. Depending on if you asked them or USMA.

He was a tall man, assuming I was scaling down correctly from the larger-than-life projection of him that began the speech. He was middle-aged, apparently uninterested in the more cosmetic of the anti-aging therapies that were available these days. His eyes were sad, his gaze conveying a sense of having seen more bloodshed than he'd like, yet with a conviction that shouted that he'd continue watering the Tree of Liberty with as much as was needed to make it flower and bear fruit.

"Welcome. I welcome all of you, my fellow Patriots. Be you man, woman, or something more. I will not waste your time with drivel or boast, the clock is ticking, and it remains to be seen whether it's a time bomb or counting down to the hour of our freedom. Make no mistake, each and every one of you here before me has done their part and more. I will not ask any more of you, if you come with me today, you come of your own free will, of your own volition. I ask you, one last time, is a free Mars something you are ready to die for? If not, please leave, but take my everlasting gratitude with you. If yes. Then let me hear it!"

A resounding roar filled the space, the full-throated support of the hundreds here, and thousands elsewhere on Mars, their unified cries carried through my whatever microphones were listening in and pumped right out for us here. Even I, jaded as I was, felt my pulse quicken.

Beacon turned a slightly brighter shade of red, his grip tight on the bottle of water threatening to boil it, Florette looking haunted and alone, while Machina looked on impassively.

None left the room where I could see it. This was one of the major headquarters, everyone here barring yours truly was a true believer, or at least tied too close to cut loose now.

The projection of General Podiska smiled, a rare sight that made him look younger and more hopeful. He raised his hand to silence the crowd, and continued.

"Thank you. Thank you for your courage, your loyalty, your sacrifices made and yet to come. You are the true heroes of this planet, the ones who dared to dream of a better future, a future where we are not slaves to a distant power that cares nothing for us, a future where we can shape our own destiny, a future where we can breathe free air and live free lives. You are the ones who fought for this future, against all odds, against all enemies, against all fears. You are the ones who made history.

But history is not over yet. We have one more battle to face, one more challenge to overcome, one last victory to claim. USMA waits for us, the offworlders cowering, afraid that this battle will reveal their posturing as the True United States as the veil on a shambling corpse. They're out there, hunkered down, watching their radars, their scanners, knowing that today is the day when they reap what they've sown. Chang, the bastard, has sent their final assault force, their last desperate attempt to crush our rebellion and restore their tyranny. They are coming with everything they have, with their ships, their tanks, their drones, their toy soldiers and children clinging onto guns."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

They think they can break us. They think they can scare us. They think they can stop us.

They are wrong.

We have something they don’t have. We have something they can never take away from us.

We have Mars.

We have the red soil that nourished our crops and our bodies. We have the red rocks that sheltered our homes and our families. We have the red sky that inspired our dreams and our souls.

We have Mars.

We have that spirit of exploration that brought us here in the first place. We have the spirit of innovation that made us adapt and survive in this harsh environment. We have the spirit of rebellion that made us resist and fight against oppression. The ghost of pioneers watch over us, and they are proud.

We are Mars."

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With bombastic music, some Texan folk song adopted as the anthem of the Patriots, the lights dimmed and a projection of Mars appeared above us, the Red Planet standing proud even as visible spots of nuclear fire blazed on its weathered surface.

I zoned out more than I should have during the presentation, mind preoccupied by the various options I'd been presented for making myself useful. A lot of them involved armed conflict with USMA forces, and while I was no fan of the USA, this was a Rubicon I was deeply conflicted about crossing. Did I really have a choice in the matter? Well, yes, but sitting it out would plausibly lead to many more dying than needed.

Fuck it. I had enough blood on my hands, innocent or not, and switching them out for a cybernetic upgrade hadn't helped.

I glanced back at the depiction of troop deployments that presaged our deployment. A lot of it was, understandably, censored, because while the people here were true believers, there was always the risk of a mole. At this scale, it was nigh inevitable. Still, the gist of it was a large scale assault was about to take place, targeting dozens of USMA installations, culminating in a, what I considered highly inadvisable, attempt to take the fight to orbit.

Yes. This was as dangerous as it sounds, but Machina assured me they had plenty of tricks up their sleeve.

I'd be more sanguine about it if they didn't want me to go with them, eventually.

The Patriots operated in cells, this congregation represented the gathering of about five or six of them; the large number of people partially accounted for by the fact that a number of non-USMA citizens had joined in. They could operate with near impunity outside, neither the Californians or Texas had any interest in accommodating law enforcement from their bigger abusive sibling. Even then, from hushed discussion, I knew that several hadn't made it, likely killed in deniable ops by undercover Grey Men.

I knew that Lumen would make a move at some point, likely to help with assets in orbit, but right now, BULWARK formed the bulk of the metas we had access to. Sure, there were more of them here, a few with the power to make a difference, but I wasn't riding with them for this one.

Our first target, one that would require the bulk of the forces here, was a USMA orbital launch facility on the outskirts of Hellas. The target was a big one, a wide-gauge railgun capable of unleashing kilos of tungsten hell, which would, if not equalize capabilities, at least mitigate some of the disparity.

The members of BULWARK looked on as I grappled with a last minute case of cold feet, but sure enough, I nodded, confirming that I was on board.

After that bit of bloodshed, I'd be using my UN cred, which I felt a little better about, but I'll tell you about that when we get there.

The presentation wrapped up with everyone but me standing up for the old National Anthem. It didn't bring about the upwelling of pride and spirit I remembered it doing back in the day, now it only represented pain and a broken nation. Here's to breaking it up some more.

I dragged my feet as we dispersed, a clear contrast to the typical eager Patriot. Eventually, I caught up to Machina again, in a bay filled to the bursting with more pseudo-Centaurs, each one outfitted with a dizzying array of weaponry both Terrestrial and otherwise. I whistled, I wouldn't like to be the poor USMA grunt facing them down, I'd already seen the damage that the inferior models abandoned in Moshowitz had done to a prepared SpecOps team.

"Dr. Sen, did you finish gearing up?" He asked me, the circlet whizzing so fast it was a featureless blur as he stooped to fiddle with something attached to a car-sized beast.

"I'm content, I can say that your stockpile is no inferior to what I could expect from the UNSEEN armory." I told him, trying to ignore the ammoniacal smell as one creature discharged its metabolic waste into a bin.

"Remember to tweak the fire rate and velocity of your rounds as needed. Once in orbit, the highest setting will punch through more than you expect, and it's overkill for a standard military cyborg."

"No shit, it's fucking lethal. I managed to update my lace to interface with it, you sure I'm not going to catch some worm?"

"I can't guarantee it, this is Centaur tech at the end of the day, but if Prometheus decides that it's your day to die, you don't have much choice in the matter."

That was refreshing to hear, absolutely ameliorated my anxiety I tell you.

He'd reconfigured the housing of the weapon on my request, by default, it was distinctly nonstandard and might provoke questions, ones I didn't intend to answer, but now, it was in a sleek plastic and titaniun housing that made it close enough to some bespoke 3D printed gun that nobody would look twice. I was a bit miffed that it resembled an older AR-15 now, but I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, all the more if I knew it could bite my head off.

I packed plenty of ammunition, if my problems could be solved by shooting them, I didn't want to be caught slacking. I picked up a wide array of explosives, a tiny microdrone or two, and some infowar gear that was spicier than it looked, again courtesy of Centaur tech. When I was done with this sorry planet, I intended to subject my lace to a hardware reset.

Why did I imagine a pang of sorrow, coming from near my spine?

"Machina, can you tell me what you did with my neuromorphic backup computer? The spinal one?"

"Oh, weren't you listening? It's a very interesting piece of work in the first place, but dreadfully underutilized. I patched some glaringly obvious vulnerabilities I spotted and plastered over the more benign ones. Did you know that if your eyes received a pulse of 923 nanometer laser light at just the right frequency and tempo, it was programmed to disable your motor functions and incapacitate you?"

"Are you shitting me? When did that happen?" I asked incredulously, bending to the side to try and glance at my back. I hadn't kept up with the yoga after Anjana left, so my mobility was insufficient to the task.

"Can't say. Might have been a mandatory backdoor straight from the manufacturer, but don't worry, it's handled. Overall, I managed to increase the system's flexibility by a great deal, decreased some truly unnecessary redundancy, and diverted resources that were underoptimized to other places. I must warn you, you might get a little constipated till your gastrointestinal tract adapts to the new schedule. If you ever get a tune-up, the changes should be robust to even a kernel update. Believe it or not, it passes the checksums." He seemed inordinately proud of that.

"Machina. I'd appreciate it if you're less vague next time."

He stopped to raise an eyebrow at me. "You expect there to be a next time?"

"Well, consider it advice on behalf of the next fool who lets you tinker with their intimate parts, or worse, an extension of their brain in all but name. Hey, is it supposed to feel emotions?" I asked him.

"It's very advanced tech Adat. You should be proud that UNSEEN trusts you enough to field it. But I can't really answer that question, you could be imagining it, or it's an unforeseen outcome of the degree of autonomy you invested in it."

They didn't trust me enough not to put a killswitch in.

I grabbed some more ammo, this conversation had me spooked, and I was trying to vent my frustration by overpreparing where I could. I couldn't bring this up with Van Der Waal when I got back, letting them know I'd disabled one of their checks on me would defeat the point.

I found Florette in a sideroom, she immediately stopped her conversation with Raul Graham, wiping her face and turning it away as if the redness in her eyes wasn't obvious.

"Are you sure I can't send a message, Raul?" She asked plaintively, looking like a little girl who was told her doll was torn beyond repair.

"I'm sorry Natasha. General's orders, no word to family or friends until this blows over." He said apologetically.

"It's just my parents, they haven't heard from me in months, and I'm scared there won't be a second chance."

"I know. I miss my wife. And my son. I promise you, if we don't make it, we'll get word out somehow. Do you want to pre-record something?" He fished out a video camera, the storage crystal memory likely holding no end of goodbyes.

I left her with an understanding nod, and walked to the final staging area, where trucks and more militarized vehicles awaited our departure. It was impressive, the kit they'd sourced, I spotted a hovering tank, a model that had been in breathless Popular Science articles before unsurmountable issues with the power delivery grounded it. Either Mars gravity was easier to work with, or they'd figure something out. How did it work anyway, it can't have been pushing off a magnetic field? Perhaps graviton engines were an explanation, they didn't have those in 2028.

Normally I'd gauge that by the ache in my teeth and the odd bout of dizziness as my vestibular system was confronted by gravity doing weird things, but I only had the one biological tooth left, and it was well past feeling anything. My inner ear was upgraded too, and probably just filtering things out.

There was a launch system for aircraft, hidden somewhere out there in the mesas. I noticed VTOLs being packed up for transport, and wished the ones that had manned pilots well. I wouldn't be getting in one, I didn't have a death wish.

I embarked on the transport earmarked for me and BULWARK, a massive thing with enough armor and active defenses to provide a modicum of security. I watched them filter in one by one, Machina looking back as the fruits of his labor were plucked and ready to be swallowed, Florette plucking a more literal fruit from her robes and handing it to a famished Patriot who took it with thanks. Beacon and Frostbite had already boarded, and I felt the temperature controls complain as it tried to adjust to their conflicting effects. The former had donned a bulky environment suit, one better suited to handling a body always at the brink of boiling.

And then, with the sound of klaxons and the grinding of blast doors lifting, the Patriots went to war.