Logan's Log 4: "Where Was I"
Logan's History and the History of Mars, continued
Logan’s Log 4: Where Was I?
Feeling a bit better today. The sleep did me some good, but it was Val who really lifted my spirits, the way she always does. With a couple of jokes and a hidden stash of contraband she had snuck onto the mission. You see, I’m a lightweight, pharmacologically speaking. So even a teeny-tiny baby dose of Bloom will go a long way to drive off the gloomies.
(Yawn)
Now then. Where did I leave off last night? Oh yeah. Ikari made an oopsy-daisy, and consequently everyone here got a case of the oopsy-deadsies. Blah blah fuckin’ blah.
When the Japasians finally folded, and all the other colonists were inevitably wiped out, it showed just how chickenshit the sponsors back on Earth really were. The “almighty”, “prestigious” nations and mega-corps that had been leading the colonizing and terraforming efforts out here… well, they all up and bailed. Just backed out like it was a bad deal. Their underwriters wrote the whole Martian thing off, and they decided they needed to “redirect their resources” to more “local”, terrestrial concerns.
(Sniff)
Hell, I can hardly blame the bureaucratic muckety-mucks for being craven. Especially since, to be fair, in this state there’s no point in attempting to terraform the planet. Not until all the Xenos are good and fuckin’ annihilated. So until this extermination is finally done, the best we can do is build the biodomes, live inside our shiny little bubbles, and maintain the status quo pest control.
(Spits)
Still, it’s the Earthers’ loss. The bigwigs can have what’s left of the Ol’ Blue Ball. There ain’t no future there. Humanity’s future? It’s here, right here, on this soil, in this sacred red dust. It’s Mars or bust, hombres.
(Chuckles)
I guess Lonestar, New India, and the Rooskies must have all cottoned to these particular beliefs of mine. In any case, those three came over a few decades later, thinking they could do it right with the Second Colonies, or at least a damn sight better than the First. And for a while, they were pulling it off. For a spell, they actually managed to clean up the whole fuckin’ mess. Because they had the manpower and the conviction to kill the enemy.
(Lights up a cigarette. Drag. Drag.)
Like I said, the Second Colonies held it together for a spell, but the situation wasn’t exactly peachy-keen. There were still losses. Heavy losses. Too many to ignore.
(Heavy drag. Long exhale)
And ya know, fighting Xenos was fucking expensive. And building new biodomes to house specially bred longhorns that had to be freighted on ships that defied science—all that was even more goddamned expensive and complicated… so…
Well, I’m ashamed to admit it, but Lonestar decided to cut their losses. They just up and let the colonies go, right after the Russians did. The same as those other yellow-bellied nations and companies had done a generation before us. At the time, we were no better than any of ‘em.
(Yawn)
But amazingly, New India held on. They stuck around. Just kept on surviving, despite it all. Thanks in large part, I think, to their long abiding cow-worship and their unparalleled Sikh commandos. I respect the Sikhs: great fighters, and really honorable guys.
(Cigarette sounds. The flask is opened again. He drinks.)
...Then came the Third Android War. The less said about that one, the better. Seriously, I ain’t touchin’ it.
(Sounds from outside. Sergeant Stanek enters and speaks. Audio unclear.)
What? Now? Well, what the hell do they want?
(Stanek whispers. Audio unclear.)
Ok. Ok, I got it. Alright, I got it! Tell them to hold their fucking horses. Jesus. Give me a goddamn minute, will you? Tell ‘em I’ll be right there.
(Stanek leaves.)
Shit.
(Crushing out the cigarette. One last exhale of smoke.)
Pause recording.
…
(Interval between recordings = 7 minutes, 43 seconds)
…
Resume recording.
(New cigarette lit.)
Pardon the interruption. That was the Czech informing me that I had an “urgent call” on the radio. So I had to waste several minutes conferring with the comm jockeys back at HQ in order to hear their latest batch of flawed intelligence.
Apparently, that massive horde of Xenos that no-showed at Dirtmouth might actually be heading our way. According to the operator’s “report”, if we’re not careful, then those freakies might pop up a few mikes South of here and ambush us before we make it back to the Mariner Valley. And the signatures number in the low hundreds, supposedly.
(Cackles)
Really, for real. No lie. Honest, true story. It’s a genuine fact. So listen up, do you copy? Do you copy? Affirmative, affirmative, affirmative...
(Drag. Exhale.)
Sure thing, boss. The dispatcher who cried “Wolf” is certain this time. We’re all shaking in our boots and power armor. Fuuuck.
I was courteous enough, thanked them for the info, and told ‘em I would take it under advisement. Which is more than those sons of bitches deserve, these days.
(Long drag. Cough.)
Back to my fuckin’ story. I was almost wrapping up! Sorta. Jesus.
(Drag)
All the Second Colonies were gone, except for them tenacious Indian hangers-on.
—Cut to the Third Android War.
And after the machines were finally defeated for good and all, the Earthers decided it was high time and only prudent to go back to killing each other some more.
So then you had World War 4. World War 4? Or just the “Big Pacific War”? Whatever. Whatever the fuck the teachers are calling the Blue Ball’s latest global clusterfuck. The name doesn’t matter. The titles keep changing ‘cause the clusterfucks keep on coming.
(Flask reopened. A long swig.)
...Anyways, after all that, I guess killing freakies on Mars suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea, I suppose. We had fucked up Earth enough with our own technologies and hatreds that anywhere else looked rosy. Especially the Red Planet, where there was plenty of water, and obvious proof of life (of a completely different, nightmarish kind, given).
The surviving New Indian Colonies were in trouble in those days, so it was about goddamn time we came back into the picture when we did. The Texas Rangers to the rescue again, I guess…
(Swig)
You see, the arcology tech became cheaper and better, the way tech always does, so Texas got back on that horse with gusto. So did the new Kremlinites and their cronies... whatever the Red Feds were calling their latest quasi-legitimate Politburo in those days.
At least this time around we were joined by a few fresh allies. They were greenhorns to Mars, but welcome nonetheless. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the Westslav Alliance, Greater Australia, and the Last Diaspora.
(Long drag. Exhale. A shorter drag, and a smaller breath)
The Russians had new old allies of their own. Enter “The Han Supremacy,” AKA “CHI-na.” All of which made starting up the Third Colonies pretty complicated, It was no easy thing,
(A final swig. The flasked is tossed aside with a clink.)
...And that brings us finally to me.
(Pause)
There’s not much to say, so I’ll try to be brief.
(Sniff)
(Sniff)
I was a Third Colony Texas Army Ranger Marksman, like my father and grandfather before me, and like my brother, “Lucky” Everett Aeneas Sextus. I was good enough to get promoted to Xeno Squad. I did that for a few years, and then I eventually transferred over to Eco Recon, good ol’ Bubble Patrol, because my core philosophy and geopolitical views can be summed up in three basic tenets:
Lonestar Land is Sacred, and must be Defended.
Neither Environment nor Beast, Terrestrial or Xeno, is as Dangerous to Man as Man is.
Never Trust the Soviets or the Chi-Coms, Even Bearing Gifts.
(Quiet cackles)
After I went up the ranks and showed promise heading up an Eco Recon squad, the T.I.A. tapped me for a short stint as a spotter and shooter for a “barbershop quartet” back on the Ol’ Blue Ball. So I did that ‘til I got tired of snuffing Volgatech chiefs and Morinaga Yaks on Earth, a heavy and dyin’ fuckin’ planet if ever there was one. As we have already gone over and over and over again…
(One more drag. Then the cigarette is crushed.)
...So, after getting discharged, I moved on back to my home country on Mars, to Bradbury County in fact. Where I was actually born.
I wanted to rejoin the fight o’course, but I was tired of taking orders and decided I’d like to take some contracts instead and get paid real cred for the effort. So in time I joined the Blue Sword Company, a local PMC under Martian Charter of big ol’ Militech. And I now got me my own group of Texan Mercs with a bunch of Eco Recon and Xeno Squad veterans to boot. Two years later, and here we are. Never happier.
Except…
(Pause)
I…Um… I forgot to mention…
That…I…I met Emily back on Earth, during the T.I.A. days. She was part of the quartet. We had Johnny in The Fort, back in the heart of Old Texas. Susannah too. But… like I said, that’s a dyin’ fuckin’ planet, and these logs are for the Mercs.
(End Log)