Kigen Tsuwamono

As an urban child from the Utopia region on mars, city life was nothing new to me. The city was always a tangled mess of colors and gleaming structures under the orange dusty sky, and worked in a cyclical class system. The older the father of the family was, the higher up in the hexagonal skyscrapers the family would live. It was that simple. Class seemed automatic and lifeless, yet peaceful, and with one hundred and fifty as the maximum age a Martian could legally achieve, our lives were a simple cycle that was always evolving. Anyone older than age one hundred and fifty participated in a glorious ceremony atop the spire of Cydonia to meet the Archon of Mars himself. Not much is known about the ceremony, or the Archon himself. There’s even a rumor that he isn’t Martian at all. Everyone on the same floor had the same experiences, while everyone on the bottom brought about their own fresh experiences.

At the age of twenty five I decided I would join the military. The military was considered the most honorable profession there was. The idea of giving up your life to protect the common good seemed admirable. It also served as the only means of escape from the city. Those who served in the military would be regarded as nobility.

So I decided to take on that offer and join up. Not only was it the worst decision of my life, but the best one. We were spoiled to excess, yet tormented. The food was not the usual watery bowl of nutrients we ate in the city but entire exquisite meals. The beds had stuffed mattresses, the sinks had drinkable tap water, and we were issued an entire set of clothing to wear around the barracks. It was truly magnificent. At the same time, they worked us hard. If we managed to get two or three hours of sleep during the day, it would be divided up amongst physical training, target practice, and unit tactics training. After a full day of training I would drift silently over to my cot, shoulders immobile and limp, and fall strait onto the bed with the weight of a hundred Cydonian rust oxen.

Time was spent sprinting from one event to the next, several miles apart along the thick martian desert region of Mare Erythraeum. The sprint wasn’t the worst part, it was the sandburn. We wore small goggles and a breathing apparatus to help us navigate, but the power of the sand would cause men to glow cherry red with small trickles of blood streaming down their bare necks. One by one my friends emerged from the orange cloud of dust, diving headfirst into the shaded bunker airlock where we stood still under the heat lamps. Jiro, Yuuki, and Kinjo were their names. The purpose of all this was to get accustomed to the harsher martian biomes, and learn how to focus and stay on track without getting distracted by pain or fear. Our runs included sprints through the polar regions, some caves, and some jungles. When men complained, they were grabbed and taken to a far room to be beaten. It was against the code to complain and spread negative thoughts to comrades.

The trainers wore full martian field uniforms, complete with scarlet spaulders and tiered cuisses. They were a sight to behold, and the thought of attaining that uniform alone drove us through the day.

Jiro sunk to his knees gasping for breath as he entered the airlock. Kinjo sat with his head tilted back against the wall staring incoherently.

Yuuki looked around the room and shook his head in agreement while the four of us shivered in the freezing winds. The doors to the metal airlock shut, cutting off the sandstorms last few attempts to scratch at us. The lights snapped on and the door opened to our next station, where we would enjoy heat, warm food, soft blankets, relaxing conversation, and then sleep for the rest of the day in preparation for our next beatdown.

            Lasting about two months long, the training camp was not the worst part of our career. Stories about our enemies, the Mechs, were intimidating, but didn’t stop us. They protected earth’s former inhabitants, Human kind. It was a privilege to fight alongside other Martians, and brought us honor to know that we fought with our own blood while our cowardly enemies fought with soulless machines. The Mechs were a formidable enemy, as small as they were in number. Living somewhere hidden out in space, their efficiency was something to be reckoned with in proportion to their scarcity.

            We secretly hoped to never face one of the Mechs. Their aggressive attacks were unpredictable and guerrilla in nature, and while we knew they were a threat, we never understood the conflict between the Mechs and Mars. When we asked questions about the war, the officers were just as clueless. We were just glad to serve and defend our planet.