Chapter 11: Harlan

Convalescent Unit

Eden Military Detention Facility

Sunday, January 3. 2151

Eric Callahan walked into the Physical Therapy Wing and waved at the nurse at the front desk. He walked up to her and stated, “Eric Callahan,” and then placed a finger on a derm pad.

“Identity confirmed,” came from a speaker.

“Welcome back, Eric,” said the nurse. “Who are you here to see today?”

“Annie, good to see you again. I understand Harlan Jones is getting out today.”

She nodded. “Him and a few others. You know where to go.”

“I do.”

There was a major difference between the prisoners captured during Martian Justice and the other prisoners captured by the MPG. Most of the prisoners captured during the Revolution, over thirty-five thousand, were taken prisoner without putting up a fight. Most of them were caught unawares and unable to fight back. Martian Hammer was different in that while there was a lot of combat, the prisoners captured were mostly taken intact. The WestHem Internet companies had spent months telling the Marines and everyone else how the communist Greenie terrorists sent captives to torture and death camps, recording their inhuman treatment, and broadcasting the death screams of their prisoners. When Martian Hammer collapsed and the broken Marines began walking back towards their landing zones, many who were left behind committed suicide rather than be taken prisoner. Still, forty-one thousand Marines and Navy were captured or surrendered rather than commit suicide.

Martian Justice was very different. The combat was even more brutal than in Martian Hammer, and when the Marines were beaten back, they were mostly able to walk back to the landers. The major difference was that the Marines left behind were not the ones running out of air, but the ones severely wounded and unable to be carried back to the landers. Instead, they were left behind by the Marines to be taken prisoner by the Greenies, in the hope they wouldn’t be tortured to death. Almost twenty-five thousand Marines, many horribly wounded, were taken prisoner.

The healthy ones were placed in warehouses hastily converted to prisoner of war camps where they were well treated. The wounded and injured prisoners were taken to various Eden hospitals, where they were treated and sent to convalescent detention facilities. On Earth, the wounded to killed ratio was roughly three-to-one. On Mars, under near vacuum conditions, the ratio was in the other direction, to a lopsided extent, perhaps one wounded for every ten killed. The wounded prisoners were often terribly wounded, with multiple serious wounds each.

Martian medical science, a phrase that on InfoGroup and NewsSys was a joke, was at least as advanced as WestHem’s. The big difference was that in WestHem, medical treatment was considered a profit center. On Mars it was considered a human right. Medical treatments that on Mars were routine were very expensive on Earth. Since the Martian economy used credits and not dollars, profit and loss were not a factor. The WestHem medical system was oriented towards treating symptoms and not curing diseases. Even though a cure for rhinovirus, the common cold, had been developed a century before, the pharmaceutical companies made more money selling treatments than they would ever make ending the disease. The same occurred with any number of other diseases, like heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and the like. If you wanted to be cured, the price started at a million dollars and went up from there.

Mars handled diseases differently. Across Mars, clinics were being set up in neighborhoods and former ghetto complexes. Residents were invited into the clinics, where a full physical was performed, and their medical condition was ascertained. If somebody had a chronic illness, treatment was offered, usually for free. The effects were amazing. Healthier Martians, now able to access high quality healthy foods and quality public education, were able to get jobs that paid enough to move into better housing. Millions of unemployed vermin were moving into the middle class.

The wounded WestHem prisoners were given the same medical treatment as other Martians. While they were young and healthy, their bodies were broken in innumerable ways. Lieutenant Harlan Jones, commanding officer of Bravo Company, First Battalion, Forty-Second Armored Cavalry Regiment, had been wounded in an artillery bombardment in the approaches to the Jutfield Gap south of Eden. His armored personnel carrier had been hit by the concussion of a 150mm shell, so close that the APC was lifted off the surface and crashed back down on its side. Harlan was the only member of the squad to survive, though at the time that seemed questionable. Almost every major bone in his arms, legs, and pelvis were broken, and he lay in agony for two weeks, surviving on recycled water and APC air to stay alive. When the MPG finally found him, he was taken to Eden General Hospital just hours away from death.

Treatment consisted of multiple surgeries and two months in a full body cast. Along the way it was discovered that his time hanging sideways in his biosuit without food and only water from his waste system had destroyed his internal organs. One kidney needed removal and the other was damaged, as was most of his liver and a meter of intestine. His kidneys and liver needed to be cloned, and a new intestinal system had to be grown. Months of physical therapy were required. Finally, eight months after being wounded, Harlan Jones was being released from Eden General.

Callahan walked into Harlan Jones’ room, knocking on the door jamb as he entered. “Ready to go, Harlan?”

Harlan stood up from where he had been watching MarsGroup on the monitor. “As ready as I will be getting. It’s not like I need to pack anything up.”

“Your new life starts today, Harlan. Just remember, the Greenies aren’t the ones who stranded you here, no more than they stranded me here. That was the work of our former bosses, the guys who sent us here and then decided it was better to tell WestHem the Greenies tortured us to death.”

“Yeah, yeah, you told me that already.”

Eric motioned for Harlan to join him. “Come on. Let’s check you out and go get a drink. Once you leave here, you’re allowed to drink and smoke and do all sorts of things that are bad for you. Hell, maybe you can get laid. I mean, you’re ugly as sin, but crazier things have happened.”

“Eric, I know you’ve been helpful to me and the other guys, but you can go fuck yourself. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.” Harlan stood and went to the door.

Eric led the way to the front desk. “Checking this sorry ass out.”

“Hopefully for good,” said Harlan.

The paperwork involved in leaving the convalescent unit and becoming a Martian resident was almost nonexistent. For months, three person teams had met with each Marine prisoner and laid out their options. Each team was made up of somebody from the Martian Immigration Service, a member of the Martian Employment Service, and a former Marine POW. As far as Immigration was concerned, there weren’t many options available. All the prisoners had their identities reported to WestHem through the somewhat neutral Swiss. WestHem had denied they even existed, abandoning them on Mars. The Greenies offered to send them back to Earth but could only guarantee getting them to EastHem. EastHem didn’t have any obligation to take care of them, so they would probably end up in an African ghetto, unless they could find a way to travel to WestHem. That wasn’t great either; officially disavowed by the Marines and the government, that meant they were probably going to end up in a WestHem ghetto rather than an EastHem ghetto.

The other option was to stay on Mars as a Martian resident. Life on Mars was radically different than life on Earth. Immigration also required all the prisoners to watch various ‘Life on Mars’ vids, just like the immigrants EastHem dumped on them. The former POW on the team also helped with that, simply by showing the Marines that there was life after the Marines. That was Eric Callahan’s job. The MPG had reached out and asked prisoners grabbed during the Revolution and Martian Hammer for assistance; Eric had said yes.

The nurse, whose nametag said she was Ann Buckley, said, “Computer, call up records of patient Harlan Jones.”

“Records accessed.”