28

{Archivist's Note: This entry appears to be written almost two weeks after the last one. The chronological data is unclear; timeline states that Derek Rayne was hospitalized approx. 48 hours after the instigation of the Mars Riots. There is no official release on record.}

I've waited here for a long time, not sure what to write. I don't know why.

He was here today.

"The windows are barred," I murmured. Because I wanted to fill the silence.

"It's for your own safety," he told me. "The mob's only three blocks from here."

If I shifted position, my leg - ankle to thigh - was in agony.

"Nice to know."

I knew it anyway. I could hear the thrum of the crowd through the floor.

"We can't risk you getting hurt." Or killed, he didn't say.

"Would that really be so bad?"

You'd be rid of - whatever it is you see in me. I'd be rid of this obligation - I'll stay loyal to Mars, no matter what, but I don't want to be trapped where that loyalty means nothing. You can see that, can't you?

"You don't want to die, do you?" he asks. Surprised.

- no, I suppose I don't.

There were four of them; there was one of me. They were trained to kill. I may have been lucky. More likely, death wasn't their goal.

The news anchor says that almost a fifth of the Martian officers relocated to Earth were killed in the last week. I recognize some of the names.