26 Sep Mars

Go, Light Your Torches

            A thin cloud of red dust whips outside the airlock window. I press my forearm against the glass and lose myself in the soft hiss of sand moving against the hull.

Wind. The thought almost makes me laugh. I always thought it was ironic that air, too thin to breathe, could shape the Martian landscape so dramatically.  The canyons and spires, the plateaus and unforgiving mazes of mushroom shaped rock… but now, it makes perfect sense.

 Laying my head on my forearm, I watch the plume twist around the greenhouse module and vanish beyond its curved white wall. I’ve always loved Prometheus colony. The idea of it. Humanity’s first real steps outside the cradle. A city on another world. Our bold march into the heavens. Our chance to be gods, to shape a world as we see fit. Neither handed to us by God, nor shaped by evolution. A world devoid of life. A blank canvass, an unexplored frontier. And I wanted to be Magellan, Picasso. To shape my own destiny, and that of humanity’s future.

And I have. I glance back at the pack laying against the wall beside me and cough out a single snorting laugh. Though not in the way I had hoped.

No, I was not among the first to land here. Those who came first knew they’d be remembered for all time. Heroes, though, like me, not in the way they expected. Despite all the rovers we sent, all the drones, all the samples and tests we ran, we could not have known, could not have prepared for every contingency. And, there were conflicting reports right from the beginning. Hints of magnetic fluctuations, pulses even. No, the original settlers knew the risks well, and gave their lives to establish a foothold here.

I cannot help but admire such men and women. Their vision. Their faith in humanity, in our future. Nor will I ever forget their story.

The lead pods lost power when the planet’s magnetic field pulsed. Too high to deploy their parachutes, and too low for the backup systems to kick in, they fell like asteroids. Those that followed made it through, but without the supplies of the lead pods, only had enough provisions to last a few weeks. Far too short a time for help to arrive. And of course, none of the pod’s rockets were equipped to launch, only soften the landing. Mars was ever and always a one-way trip.

Knowing their fate, the settlers used the time they had left to link the remaining pods together to form a base. They collected what they could, the solar arrays, batteries, and motors of the probes and drones that paved the way for their journey. They didn’t give into despair. They stuck to the mission, and did the job they were sent to do. They made a village, a port, a foundation on which to build. As a result, every child on Earth knows their names, their stories, and their courage. Margorie Green, Adolphus Henrich, Jose Lopez, Lee Feng, and Joseph Sitting-Bear.

It was they that called me here, that inspired me to work long into the night, even as a child, so that I might follow in their footsteps.

A dust-devil spins to life a few dozen feet off the far end of the living module, just beyond the greenhouse. I bend lower, trying to see how high it goes, but my view is blocked by the edge of the door.

I stand up and lay my head back against my forearm. It doesn’t matter. The fact that it formed at all is evidence of our ignorance. The unknown.

The thought always excited me before. Now? I don’t know. I had thought that here, we had a new beginning. A chance to do it over again. To do it right. I thought the mission, by selecting only the best and brightest, those with ideal characteristics, coupled with a selective breeding program here, we could rid ourselves of humanity’s weaknesses. Become more than we were. A better species. A better humanity.

After all, isn’t that what evolution had been doing all along? Shaping us over millennia, by trial and conflict? Until at last we transcended the other beasts of the Earth and were able to become like God? Isn’t our mere presence here not a testament to that shaping?

But now I feel as Noah must have felt when his son found him drunk and naked on the floor of his tent. That it was all for nothing. That the taint remains.

Leaning against the door, lost in the strange ethereal dance of the dust outside, I can’t help but think about how it all went wrong. How the entire venture was doomed from the start.

In The Beginning

I used to love science fiction as a boy: Star Trek, Star Wars, Firefly. But fiction is, well, fiction. The reality of space travel is quite different, and if you’ve never been to space, it’s a reality I can only convey to you in vague shadows of understanding.

Imagine being a mouse, shoved into an empty beer can, without gravity. Now, imagine you’re not the only mouse. There is no privacy, and using the loo requires attaching your nethers to an unreasonably cold vacuum hose. There’s food, but not the cheese and seeds your accustomed to. No, all your meals squeeze out of a foil pouch. Beef flavored ooze, maybe peach or fish, but all with the consistency of rubberized snot, and consumed via straw.

There were ten of us on my transport. All crammed together in a tube only slightly larger than a delivery van. Under showered, breathing one another’s filtered stink, with barely enough room to float around and stretch. For seven months.

There is no such thing as warp, or hyperspace, or hibernation, not yet. Oh, technology has improved significantly since that first mission, but not that far. The magnetic field of the planet still claims pods, though far fewer now that the landers’ size and electrical footprint has been lessened. Unlike the first mission, the main body of the transport is reusable. More of a carrier frame than ship, it never enters the magnetic field of either planet. Once the pods are attached to the superstructure, it departs its orbital station and heads on its way. When it reaches Mars, it makes one orbit, jettisons its pods, and returns to base. All completely automated, which fits rather well, I think. After all, there is absolutely nothing natural about space travel.

For the living, space travel can be summed up in one word. Tedium. It means forgetting what it means to be human, little by little. Oh, you fight it at first, disappear into the worlds of thought your mind creates to deal with the trauma. The monotony. But with no day and no night, only the rhythm of your heart, the constant resonating hum of the ship assailing the mind, time loses all meaning. Your attention turns to the ever more irritating sounds of those around you. Not the talking. No, talk dies as monotony chips away at even the hope of new conversation. I’m talking about the other sounds. Breathing, the little smacks and slurps people make with their mouths, a whistling nostril, the brush of skin against clothing, anything that pierces into the fantasy you’ve created to shield your sanity, and drags you back to the soul shattering doldrums of real space travel.

So, when I say that there are no words to describe the exhilaration of seeing your destination rise out of the black, knowing your ten thousand years of purgatory are nearing their end, I want you to grasp my full meaning.

Mars, that pinprick of light, after a mere handful of weeks, ever there, never changing, becomes less of a destination, and more a font of despair. An icon of the lifeless existence you’ve been banished to. You stop looking. You try to forget it’s there at all. And then, almost in defiance of sanity, you look again. Everything about it is brilliant. An open doorway to heaven that beckons you. “Leave your suffering behind,” it says. “Embrace life.”

Your blood stirs. Tingles race down your spine and arc out of every pore. The same unfathomable jubilation the angels must have experienced when, in the beginning, God said, “Let there be light.”

You don’t notice the weight of your body growing as gravity takes hold. You forget that your pod could be the one claimed by Mars’s field. The blazing fire outside the window holds no terror. Only ecstasy. You can’t help but smile when the airlock hisses open for the first time in nearly a year. You laugh at the sight of people walking on their feet. You don’t notice the way your hands tremble as they unbuckle your harness, or how thin you are when they lay your atrophied body on a gurney and wheel you out.

Because you are out. You see the sun, shining dim through the portholes as you pass. A strange pale diamond floating alone in a cold dark sky. A new sky. A harsh alien landscape. But, land nonetheless.

It’s like waking from a dream. Like being born. Reincarnated. Too soon, the portholes pass. It takes all your strength to lift your head, to keep it all in view. But it will never leave you. Because, now, you remember something you’ve only forgotten. You remember what you are.

Human.

And It Was Good

On Earth, people always talked about rehab being bitter work, and I suppose it is. If you’re recovering from an injury. If your normal everyday life were stripped from you in one horrifying moment, coupled with the fear that you may never reclaim more than a shadow of what you lost. But after near a year, the excitement of new conversation, of movement, of purpose, sparks life into every fiber of your being.

As for me, I never was able to release the reins, to trust my fate, my destiny, to others if I had any other choice. Even in rehab. Even before my legs were able to support my own weight, my mind was at work. Learning everything I could about the intricate web of personalities of those who lived here. Studying every flick of the eye, every unspoken thought betrayed by the shrug of a shoulder, or the stiffening stance when a superior entered or left the room. Getting to know the clay I was to mold.

Being a leader is more than having a grand vision. Hitler, Mao, Stalin. They all had vision, a world they wanted to create. But ultimately, they failed. History would tell you that it was because they were evil, that good always prevails… or some other such nonsense. But, like space travel, the reality is somewhat different. They ignored the clay.

Most people are sheep. They follow anyone, any leader, so long as he’s strong. Thinking requires effort. Independent thought bears the risk of being at odds with others, and there is nothing our species hates more than nonconformity. Following is safe. Easy. A single straw in a haystack becomes part of the whole, and is lost. If the crowd is wrong, they don’t bear the shame alone. But neither do they attain greatness.

Their kind was not the clay I cared about. Oh, they had their uses, but what I was searching for, the seed of others failure, was the individual who didn’t care about the crowd. The free thinker. Those who had the potential to lure the sheep. These, I must win by other means, or eliminate if they became a threat. Only then would my power be absolute. And here, in this wasteland, on the precipice of destiny, so far away from help or supply, I could broker no rebellion.

I had just begun standing when I met my first challenge, still supported by a harness and the hands of the doctor behind me, panting for the effort of taking my first steps.

“Director.”

Shaking, I lifted my head. “Yes?”

“Sub-Director Thomas reporting.” His left eyebrow arched. “Shall I come back later?”

I watched him fold his hands behind his back before I answered. The way he puffed out his chest and widened his stance accentuated his muscles, which I believed was the point. But, it was the way the doctor’s fingernails dug into my sides that told me what I needed to know. The strain in her voice when she hissed, “Thomas-”

I cut her off with a wave. I’d dealt with his type before, and Thomas didn’t choose this moment by accident. He wanted to catch me at my weakest. To test me. To see who he was dealing with. To establish dominance if he could. Everything that followed would be cast in the light of this moment. And so, summoning every ounce of strength I had, I forced myself to stand and meet his challenge. “Now is fine. What is it?”

He held my gaze unwavering as I rose, but I couldn’t help notice the subtle twitch in his eye, nor the hint of the smirk on his lips when he said, “Several pods did not survive entry.”

So that was it. Any of the pods might had been lost, passengers or supplies. It was part of the risk we all took, but better accepted in theory than practice. He wanted to gauge my reaction. My emotional fortitude.

Resolving to control the exchange, I nodded. This was to be expected, and seeing as I was currently alive, that left only one option. “Which were lost?”

“Hard tack, environmental control modules, and the other passenger pod.”

“I see…” I took a deep breath in through my nose. “Regrettable.”

Hard tack was only food under the vaguest possible definition. “All the calories, vitamins and minerals a body needs,” was the sales pitch in basic training. And, they certainly got the mineral part right. Hard as granite and the gritty aftertaste of sandstone. After eating my share in training, unlike Sub-Director Thomas, I wasn’t entirely convinced they hadn’t survived the crash. Regardless, I would not mourn them.

Being that as it was, their loss was potentially problematic. “Brief me on the situation with the greenhouses. How far from sustainability are we?”

Thomas blinked. “Sir, perhaps you didn’t hear me. We lost a passenger pod.”

“I know. I heard.” My shoulders slumped in what I hoped looked like a mournful gesture. “And we will be holding a ceremony to honor the dead, but they are beyond our aid. My concern now is for the living.”

His gaze drooped for a moment, only long enough to mumble, “Ai.” But, when he raised his head, his demeanor had changed. “Without the control modules, we’ll need to rob a few parts from the outlying residential units, but we should be a self-sustaining outpost by this time next year.” A hint of his probing stare returned. “Provided you don’t mind sharing a bunk.”

Still testing. “Not at all. Give me as many roommates as it takes.” I huffed out a laugh and slapped his shoulder as hard as I could manage. “I have many faults, Tom. But, pretention is  not one of them. There are no kings here.”

But as my hand slid from his sleeve, his face became a mask. “Good to hear. Without the hard tack, things look to be a bit slim for a while.”

“How slim?”

“Well,” he sighed. “The next shipment is due in four months. Assuming everything runs to plan, we’ll make it. But it means cutting rations by a quarter.”

“Hmmm…” The new director arrives, and his first act would be to cut rations by a quarter. Not a promising start, and no good for morale. “How would your former director have dealt with this?”

Thomas snorted. “By claiming more food was lost than was. Probably go to half ration to build up a stockpile.”

“What?”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t exactly well liked.” Thomas scratched his nose in a failed attempt to hide his disgust. “Kept himself one hell of a stash. Enough to buy people with in an emergency.” He leaned forward and pressed his index finger to his lips, as if sharing a secret. “I’m not entirely certain his enviro-suit malfunctioned, the day he died, if you get my meaning.”

“Hard not to.” But what really caught my interest was the manner in which he said it. Matter of fact, without the slightest hint of warning or threat. Regardless, I needed to separate myself from the former director’s methods immediately. “What happened to this ‘stockpile?’ Could we add it to the tally, and not cut rations at all?”

Thomas winked. “Already done.”

“Good man.” I offered him a slight smile. “Get to work on reassigning quarters, and get those greenhouses up to specs as quickly as possible. Let’s see if we can shave a few weeks off that sustainability estimate, shall we?”

“Ai.” Thomas gave a slight bow, turned on his heel, and left the infirmary with his hands still folded behind his back, whistling.

I forced my body to stand until the door hissed closed behind him, then flumped down on the support bar.

“That,” the doctor chuckled. “That, was incredible.”

“Oh?” I groaned.

“I think you may have actually made a friend of bloody Tom.”

I rolled my head around to look at her. “Bloody Tom? Why bloody?”

“Because, he’s rumored to be the reason you’re here.” She slid her hands up under my arms and coaxed my weight from the bar to the harness. “He’s the last one to see the former director alive. There’s no proof, of course, and suits do malfunction on rare occasion.”

            “Oh.” I swear, my body gained thirty pounds in that moment. “Thanks for the warning…” But then it occurred to me, I didn’t even know her name.

            “Lisa.” She stepped over to where my wheelchair stood waiting against the wall, and pushed it under me. “Doctor Lisa Chaves. Chief Medical Officer.”

The Tree of Knowledge

“Thomas,” I whisper, watching the thin ribbons of dust cling to the outer layer of the airlock window. They float for a moment, held aloft by the wind, then fall in thin ribbon like trails as the wind changes.

Snakes of Martian dust. I drag my finger down the glass, following their fall. Snakes, Seraphim, in the Hebrew…the irony steals the moisture from my tongue.

I hadn’t gleaned much from our initial meeting in rehab.  But, as the days passed, the more I came to realize how Thomas thought, how he moved. Snake like. And, just as the snake of Eden, Thomas never lied, exactly. He was far too clever for that. Lies require breaking the continuity. One has to remember what lies you told so they don’t conflict with one another. Thomas’s way was far more devious. Reveal a fraction of what you know, at the proper time, in the proper way. Always in your favor. Always to advance your cause. “You will not surely die,” immediately. “You will become like God, knowing good and evil,” in the way a virgin learns of sex. By losing what she was, forever. For knowledge, once learned, can never be undone.

His manner, coupled with Lisa’s warning, kept him always on my radar, and never in my trust.

Weeks passed. Our relationship remained unchanged. Until one night, in Ops, as I stood peering over the shoulder of the only technician on duty, Wu Yingjun, trying to make sense of the reverses we’d been suffering.

The readout for Greenhouse four indicated an energy fluctuation. It wasn’t much, only a few hertz, but enough to trip an alarm.

 “What’s the damage, Ying?”

He slid his finger across the screen. “No damage. Just a polarized negative power-coupling.”

Laying a hand on the side of the console, I leaned in to study the data. “Looks like a surge from the solar array.”

Ying nodded, pinched his fingers together, and pressed them against a schematic on a screen to his left. He opened his hand, and the negative power-coupling he pinched, quadrupled in size. “Ai.” He dropped his hands to the keyboard.

Rising, I sighed and drug my palms down my face. “We just installed that unit last week. What the hell?”

“Welcome to Mars, Director.” Ying shrugged. “Mars makes you work twice as hard for half.”

I patted him on the shoulder. “Get Tom up here.”

Ying tapped the side of his earpiece. “Sub-Director Thomas to Ops.”

Ying’s hands flew between the screens and keyboard as he worked to correct a series of malfunctions in three different systems. Power glitches, program hiccups, memory lapses, none of them in the old systems. Only the new additions.

I shook my head. It was a nightmare. A complete nightmare.

Behind me, the door hissed open. “Sir?” Thomas’s voice called.

I didn’t turn around. “Who did you have install the solar array on Greenhouse four?”

“That was B shift, Sir.”

I squinted at the screens. “And waste reclamation?”

“A shift, Sir.”

“What about environmental control, energy distribution, and water purification?” I turned on him, my face as stoic as I could manage. “Is everyone on this station incompetent, or just you?”

Ying’s typing fell silent. “Sir?”

“Quiet, Ying. Well, Thomas?”

Thomas blinked. “Sir, they’re the best of the best, or they wouldn’t be here. It’s the damned magnetic field.”

Excuses. Just what I didn’t want. The twinge of a headache gnawed at my sinuses. “That’s upper atmosphere phenomenon.”

“Sir.” Thomas sniffed. “With all due respect, it’s not. The magnetic field is everywhere.”

I glanced back at Ying, who’d turned his chair to face us. “It’s true, Sir.”

But that made no sense. “Then why are only the new systems affected?”

Ying shrugged. “Because… Well, we don’t know why. But, every time there’s a new upgrade, the magnetic field seems to congregate on it for a while. Almost like Mars is giving it the once over. Seeing what we’re up to.”

I actually snorted. “Ridiculous.”

Ying’s left eye twitched and he looked away. “Just my take, Sir.”

My sinus pinched. I didn’t need this. We had a very real problem. I needed logical solutions to logistical problems. Not some vague mystical mumbo-jumbo, especially from my lead controller. But, being my lead controller, I couldn’t afford to alienate him either. I needed to hear him out, at the very least. To build trust. A positive relationship.

So, taking a deep breath, I pushed down the frustration building in my chest, and somehow, managed to keep my voice cordial. “I’m sorry, Ying. I’m just disappointed. If you have anything to add, no matter how it sounds, please, share your thoughts. I assume there’s more than just the glitches…”

“Well.” Ying raised his head, but only met my gaze briefly. “Maybe.” He moved his bottom lip over his teeth as if considering his next words carefully. “There are the… reports.”

I’d read hundreds of reports.  On everything from Crewman Dobb’s unique strand of toenail fungus to degrading airlock seals. But, the way his voice dropped as he mentioned these particular reports, as if he didn’t want to talk about them, as if it were almost forbidden to mention them, told me they were something else entirely. “What Reports?”

“Oh, God, you don’t mean-” Thomas groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding.” I silenced him with a wave, but too late. Ying winced and turned back to his screens. Complete shutdown.

“What reports?” I repeated.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Some of the crew reported having lucid dreams that coincided with the magnetic storms. That’s all.”

Odd. “Every storm?”

Thomas nodded. “Ai. Medical looked into it for a while, Doctor Lisa had them keeping dream journals, did a few brain scans, I think.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Thomas laughed. “It was a bunch of poppycock, so I ended the research.”

“What? Why?”

“Sir,” Thomas sighed. “Look. We don’t have time to chase fantasies out here, and we damn sure don’t have the resources. The magnetic fields short out a few systems, which means more work. More work means more stress, and bam! Lucid dreams. You don’t need a study to see that.”

“Hmm…” Out of the corner of my eye I caught Ying wince as he shifted in his chair, but kept working, like he hadn’t heard. He knew that wasn’t the whole story. But I wasn’t going to get him to talk with Thomas there, so I shook my head, rolled my eyes and sent Thomas back to work on the next upgrades. When he had gone, and Ying and I were alone. I squatted down beside the controller. “What is it?”

A red light flashed in the upper corner of a screen to Ying’s right. He tapped the warning, and one of the water purification units appeared on the screen. “That new pump has a glitch in its starting solenoid.” He typed a command on the keyboard and then his fingers stopped. “Sir, look. We aren’t much different than the systems here, sure, electrochemical versus…” He took a deep breath. “What I mean is, magnetic fields can affect biological systems. Especially brainwaves.”

My sinuses throbbed. His explanation sounded far too reasonable to dismiss. “Are we talking hallucinations? Memory decay? Or what?”

“It’s…” Ying shook his head. “Not that simple.”

I rubbed my forehead, trying to relieve the pressure building behind my eyes. “Of course not.” It sounded like I had some reading to do. Groaning, I glanced over at one of the empty workstations. “Bring up those reports. I’ll take them on console three.”

“Sure.” Ying tapped one of his screens. “Uh, never mind. They’re locked. Subdirector clearance required.”

“What?” My hand fell to my side. “You mean Tom locked the files?”

“Looks like.” Ying shrugged, eyes glued to his screens. “ You have the clearance to open them, but Tom will get a notification.”

Squinting at the little red padlock beside the file, I mumbled. “No.” There was more to this than wasted time and resources, or Tom wouldn’t have locked the files. “I think I’ll talk to Doctor Lisa instead.”

Glory of Kings

I tear my gaze from the pack to the enviro suit hanging in the corner. Ready. Waiting. “It is the glory of God to conceal a thing; The glory of kings to search it out.” The verse from Proverbs comes as a whisper. “But what if I’m not a king?” I catch my reflection in the visor, the monster I’ve become staring back at me. I turn my head.

I don’t think Solomon really understood what he was saying when he penned that passage. If he had, if he was here, if he knew what I know, I think he would have added that it was best to leave some secrets lying in the dark. Buried. That innocence, once lost can never be reclaimed. Sighing, I slump over to the locker and heft the suit from its hanger.

Between the various malfunctions, and personnel problems, it was another few hours before I was able to make it over to medical.

The door to the infirmary hissed open. Doctor Lisa stood beside one of the exam tables, her stethoscope pressed to the back of a teenage girl. Neither looked up as I entered. “Again. Deep breath.”

I took a seat beside one of the other tables to wait.

The girl’s shoulders rose when she inhaled. I watched the edge of her short dark hair brush against her earlobe as she moved, the nanosecond flick of her gaze in my direction, and the way her lips twitched after she looked away. Aware of my presence, but unwilling to acknowledge me outright. Not afraid, but cautious. Studying me from the corner of her eye.

My lips curled into a smile. There she was, twelve years old, maybe thirteen, possibly the first human born on Mars, and already showing promise. She didn’t cower to authority, but neither did she betray blind defiance. She was clever. Calculating. Attributes I could use. Mold. Despite the secret she was so obviously concealing.

“Yup, just as I thought.” Lisa lowered her stethoscope. “Pneumonitis.” She picked up her tablet and began scribbling with her finger.

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Is it serious?”

Lisa shrugged. “It depends.” She let the words hang a moment then peered at the girl over the top of the tablet. “Are you going to keep inhaling Vox?”

Vox. The word came like a slap to the face. A cheap narcotic made from everyday chemicals we couldn’t do without, and so, impossible to effectively outlaw. A rampant problem on Earth, and one I hoped to eradicate here. But her? I shook my head. So much potential. Such a waste.

“But…” The girl tossed me a nervous glance. “I didn’t. I don’t-”

“Look.” Lisa dropped the tablet onto the table with a huff. “Don’t bother lying. I can tell by the way you’re breathing. You know that little rattling hiss when you inhale? Everyone on Vox gets it. And, yes, I can tell this was only your first hit, but if you keep it up, your lung functions will deteriorate until you end up in bio-reclamation.” She folded her arms over her chest, and glared right into the girl’s eyes. “So, would you rather get a five-minute high, and have two more years before you suffocate on your own fluids? Or, live another hundred, live out your dreams, and breathe well? Your choice.”

            She didn’t respond. The poor girl just sat there, hunched over, trembling.

            After a long moment, Lisa spoke. “Look. I won’t tell your parents, if you swear to me you’ll never touch the stuff again.” The girl looked up, and Lisa tossed a nod in my direction. “I can’t speak for the Director.”

            I leaned back in my chair, studying the terrified look on the girl’s face as she waited for my response. I didn’t want to repeat the mistakes they made on Earth. The cat and mouse games the authorities played with criminals. I wanted to transcend all that. And, that required a new approach. So rather than ask her to give up her friends and supplier, I took a deep breath and gave her what I hoped looked like a sad smile. “What’s your name?”

            “Amber.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Amber Zawahri.”

            I made a mental note to check the manifest later. “Well, Amber, this isn’t my colony, or the Doctor’s, or any of ours who came here. You were born here. It’s your planet. What follows is going to be your civilization. You need to decide what sort of civilization you want to build.”

She sat there for a moment, staring at me. As if trying to make sense of what I was getting at before answering. “Soooo, you’re not telling my parents?”

The corner of my mouth tickled. She wasn’t ready for that line of thought. Yet. But, with guidance, she’d get there.

I leaned forward and tapped my fingertips together. “No, I won’t tell your parents.” I had other plans for her. “If…”

            Her eyes narrowed. “If what?”

            “Training. I don’t want Mars to become a second Earth. I want you and the other Martians, the people born here, to play an active role in developing this colony.”

            She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

            “And, I want you to take the lead on this.”

            She actually winced.

“Either that, or I can tell your parents.”

I didn’t catch the curse she mumbled as her gaze dropped to her knees, but after a moment, she nodded her agreement.

            Pushing up from my chair I clapped my hands together. “Wonderful, I’ll message you later to hash out the details.”

            “Whatever.” She slipped off the exam table and flumped to the door with all the over-the-top drama only a teenage girl could muster. Shoulders slumped, head hung low, heavy plodding steps, and finally a glare that could only be forged of hellfire as the door hissed closed behind her.

            I couldn’t help but smile. “It was nice to meet you too, Amber.”

            Lisa laughed. “You certainly have a way with people.”

            “She’s a teenager.” I shrugged. “If they don’t hate you, there’s something wrong.”

            “I suppose.” Lisa took the UV light from its hanger and began sterilizing the table. “But you didn’t come for her.”

            “No.” That was a happy accident. “I came to talk to you about a study you did a while back.”

            “I’ve done a lot of studies.” She continued to sweep the light over the table. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

            “On magnetic fields and brainwaves.”

            Her arm froze. “Oh.” She met my gaze for a fraction of a second, glanced at the security pad beside the door, and rolled her eyes. “Well, that was-” she coughed out a laugh.

But I didn’t understand. “Was what?”

“A while back, some of the settlers were getting wild dreams.” She finished sterilizing and hung the light back in its holder. “I suspected the magnetic fields might be disrupting neural activity, but as it turned out, no. Nothing so extraordinary.”

“Ah.” So, Tom was right. “It was stress.”

Pursing her lips, Doctor Lisa stepped around the table, closer to the security panel. “No.” She nodded at the door. “As it turned out, your new protégée was to blame.” She bobbed her head side to side. “Well, her friends, anyway.”

“How so?”

She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against the panel. “By mixing Vox in the most out of the way place Prometheus colony has. Air filtration.”

My headache came back with a vengeance. “You mean they were caused by Vox vapor getting into the Oxygen scrubbers?”

Behind Lisa, the panel beeped. “Warning. Medical surveillance deactivated.”

“Oops.” Lisa smirked. She stood up and her expression took on a far more serious cast. “No. But we can’t talk. Not here. Not now.” She turned around and typed a series of commands into the security panel. “We’ll talk in a week or so, maybe. One of the crew will come down with a possible case of Vendorian fever. We’ll need to discuss quarantine. We can talk then.” She caught my gaze and held it for a moment as her finger lingered over the enter key. “I can’t leave this off any longer. Shutting it down at all was a terrible risk, but you believed what I said about Vox being the cause of the dreams. So there is no reason to dig, or discuss this further with anyone else. Understand?”

No. Not really. Oh, I understood well enough that she believed there was a conspiracy, one I already highly suspected revolved around my second in command. But how the magnetic fields fit in with all this, I had no idea. I nodded anyway.

Lisa’s face relaxed. “Good.”

She tapped enter and the screen flashed green. “Security protocols engaged.”

The More Knowledge, The More Grief

“I have a secret.” That’s what she told me. “Something important.” That’s what she said.

Flumping down on the bench, I flop the enviro-suit on the floor in front of me, and slide my feet down the legs and into the boots.

Torture. That’s what it was. She didn’t explain, and obviously didn’t want to be overheard. True to plan, I never mentioned the reports again, but I couldn’t remove the splinter she planted in my mind. So, I poured all my curiosity into Tom instead. Delved into every file. Followed him on the security feeds. Spent every free moment getting to know the man. Probed his every thought, studied his every reaction. And despite Lisa’s belief he had a hand in my predecessor’s death, I found in him a mind much like my own, less intelligent, but the more I came to know Tom the more I liked him. The more I came to trust him.

I stand up and tug the suit up over my thighs.

Tom wasn’t my enemy. In fact, he too noticed that there was a definite pattern in the malfunctions. The fields didn’t affect every new system. Only those dealing with biofunctions. The greenhouses, air filtration, waste treatment, and the like. They never afflicted computer function or energy production, unless that array fed a bio-system. And even more perplexing, that these glitches, while troublesome, were not devastating to anything but swift progress. The malfunctions were repaired, and the grind continued.

More concerning still, was something he didn’t mention outright. Something more felt than seen. A crawling sensation I couldn’t put my finger on.  An incessant tingle that never departed. No one spoke of it. But I could see the unease hiding just behind his eyes. A shared feeling we dared not voice. As if mentioning it would make it real.

I found myself eyeing the security cameras as I went about my duties. Plotting out dead zones and blind spots I could stick to and remain unseen. A habit that drew my thoughts back to Lisa. The way she disabled the security feed, and what she said after. I needed more. But I had to wait.

I became obsessed with my communicator. Always checking the screen to make certain I hadn’t missed an alert. The ruse Lisa promised. And, my obsession was not going unnoticed.

Not that my station was one of leisure, there was always one crisis or another that needed attention, personnel, mechanical. But nothing so interesting as to chase this thorn from my mind.

 I needed something more. Something I enjoyed. And so, I decided to distract myself with my other project. Amber, and the Martians.

I hike the suit over my backside, pull the body around my shoulders, and let the memory overtake me.

I held our first meeting in the cafeteria. Uninspiring. A handful of sullen teens, lounged at the back table like laundry spread out to dry, heavy with the air of disinterest. Amber stepped forward as she entered, produced a short list of goals for the colony and flumped down in a chair beside the others.

I held up her tablet and skimmed through their thoughts. More freedom and free time, more control over their day to day lives, respect, and better food. Nothing unexpected, but that was the entire list. Not the effort I’d hoped for, but a beginning.

“Alright.” I handed back her tablet and folded my hands behind my back. “And how do you envision this working?” I walked along the long side of a table a few rows up as I spoke. “Respect is earned-“

One of the boys, Mathew, cut me off with a protracted tisking huff, which drew me to a stop. He tossed Amber an angry glare. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. You said he was different, but you know what I hear? ‘Do what I say. That’s how you get respect.’ The new man sounds just like the old man. Let’s go. This is a waste of time.”

I unfolded my hands and let my arms fall to my sides. An expected reaction, given the culture here, the culture we brought with us. And his response, typical of that paradigm. Rules are enforced, not taught, and so the reasons for the rules are not understood. “Do as I say, because I’m in charge.” And so, rules become a symbol of dominance, something for young males to challenge as a matter of biology. To test the Alpha.

He leaned forward and rose halfway from his chair, but then glanced over at Amber, still stuck in her seat, and settled back down.

My muscles relaxed. Apparently, he was only willing to push so far without Amber’s support. The support of their leader. Quiet, small, and unassuming as she was, his action left no doubt. She, the girl in the back row picking her fingernails, deliberately not looking at me, was the silent pin on which they all turned.

The corner of my mouth tingled. This was better than I’d hoped for. Here sat a leader after my own heart, an opportunity to change everything from this point forward, though I couldn’t deal with her directly, not yet. Amber was using Mathew as a mask, a tool to ply my authority. A test.

I took in his frame. Larger than the others. Older. An athlete, judging by the way his muscles bulged under his shirt. Old enough to play punchball. My gaze dropped to the thick callouses along the back of his knuckles. Not the hands of a player, but of an enthusiast. That was my opening.

“Mathew.” I cocked my head to the side. “When you play a match, what do you win?”

He turned his head, watching, but didn’t respond.

“This colony’s too small for leagues and prizes. So, what do you play for?” I shrugged. “For Vox?” Several of the others tensed at the word, but not him. His callouses already told me he’d never risk his game for something like that. Punchball was life. How he measured his worth. “Of course not. You play to prove you’re the best.” I gestured to the other kids, now watching openly. “To them, yes, but more importantly, to yourself. For respect.”  I let this hang for a moment before adding. “As I said, respect is earned. What would make you proud to be a Martian?”

            Amber looked up from her fingernails, her lips pulled into a tight pucker. “What makes you think we aren’t?”

            Her voice hinted at defiance, defiance offset by the twinkle in her eye. A mix that told me all I needed to know. That we were kindred spirits, her and I. That here, I had an ally, a rival, and protégé all in one. Someone to keep me sharp, so long as I proved worthy. And so, I folded my arms over my chest, met her gaze with an icy stare, and threw down the gauntlet, knowing she would take it up if for no other reason than because it was a challenge. “Then show me what it means to be Martian.”

            Hefting the suit around my chest, I slip my arms into the sleeves.

Amber proved to be more than I’d hoped. Brilliant, strong-willed, and curious. I soon learned that her brush with Vox was an experiment. To test herself. The limits of her strength. To see if she possessed the wherewithal to face the demon within, and master it.

Unwise, perhaps, and nothing I approved of, but impressive nonetheless. And master it she did, as she did all the challenges I presented her. It was her that ended the use of the narcotic among her peers. Her that led the physical regiments. Her that set the bar for academic excellence, creativity, and intellectual dexterity. It was her who pushed the other Martians to the limits of what they could be, and beyond. Not by force, but by awakening the spark of greatness within them. She never belittled another if they failed at a task. In fact, to her, there was no such thing as failure.

No, her view was entirely different. Her team was an orchestra, and she the conductor, the composer. Each Martian had their place. Each their notes to play. To expect a violinist to play the harp was asinine. She saw it as her job to discover each Martian’s place, their talent.

And the music they played together became flawless.

I lurch my body forward to toss the bulk of the suit higher, reach back over my shoulder, and pull the neck ring up and over my head.

They became everything I hoped to create here.

Sighing, my gaze drifts back to the pack by the door. I reach down to my crotch, activate the seal mechanism, and work it up along the front of the suit until it closes tight.

But that was then.

You Will Not Surely Die

Reaching back into the locker, I take the gloves from their place on the shelf, slide my fingers inside one by one, and snap the seal closed along the wrist.

I never considered myself a religious person. I trusted reason. Science. Oh, I studied the faiths of Earth diligently. But not as a believer. I studied so that in studying, I would come to better understand the human experience. How believers thought. Their motivations and likely reactions.

It’s not that I discounted the existence of God, or beings beyond our perception, spirits or whatever you wish to call them. Only that I had seen no hard proof, and until proof was given, I had no reason to give them a second thought. Now?

Well, now I know more.

Stealing a look at the pack, I press my hands together. My fingers seat into the gloves, and the internal pressure bags swell against my skin.

            I was in Greenhouse three, shirtless, and lying on my back under a plugged moisture condenser, up to my elbows in slimy brown algae when my communicator dinged.

            I turned my head and glared at the little black watch resting on top of my shirt and jacket. The blinking red light on its side. Highest priority. Lisa’s ruse. It had to be. “Took you long enough, Doctor,” I muttered as I worked my arm up into the pipe, searching for the clog. “Only a month late.”

            But in truth, it was the greenhouses I was annoyed at. The constant glitches and malfunctions that kept us perpetually at the same threshold as when I arrived. Nearly a year from self-sufficiency.

            Unanswered, my communicator beeped louder.

            From somewhere near the top of the unit, Tom called, “You’ve got a-” but another high-pitched beep cut him off. “I mean we’ve got a message.”

            Grabbing a fistful of slime, I pulled my arm free of the plumbing, and flung the algae into a tub beside my head. The stink of moldering decay hit like a hammer. “We-ugh-ll?”

            “Priority one. We’re needed at ops. No other info.”

            “Ops?” I squirmed out from between the plumbing. I thought she’d do this in medical. I sat up, snatched a rag from the tool chest, and mopped the filth from my face and arms.

One of the gardeners, David, the hydroponics expert, tossed me my shirt. I nodded my thanks as I struggled to get my sticky wet arms into the sleeves. “I think I got the bulk of it, turn on the pump and let it flush out the rest.”

By the time I slipped into my jacket and fastened the communicator around my wrist, Tom had already joined me at ground level. I left some hurried instruction about not neglecting routine cleaning in the future, and hurried to meet Lisa in Ops.

Except, when we arrived, Lisa wasn’t there. Only Ying, and a few other controllers.

“Director.” He waved us over to his station, keeping his voice low. “Sirs, there’s something here you need to see.” With a quick glance at the other controllers, Ying reached up, pulled one of his screens around so no one else could see it, slid his headset off, and handed it to Tom. “I cleaned it up as best I could, but the transmission came in while we were outside our communication window. We were almost completely turned away from Earth, it’s amazing we got it at all.”

            Blinking, Tom held the earpiece so we could both listen. When we were ready, Ying typed a code into his keyboard, and static filled the screen.

            “Prometheus colony.” The screen flashed. “Come in Prometheus colony.” A grainy image waved at the center of the screen. There, but unrecognizable. “If you can hear me, this is Admiral Barstow. There’s no time for details, and in truth, I don’t have many to offer. What I do know is that at sixteen hundred hours we were hit by a barrage of ICBMs.”

“My God…” Tom’s hand dropped.

I snatched the headset from his grip and held it up again.

“We don’t know who initiated first launch, or why,” the Admiral continued. “I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point anyway. All that’s left of humanity is either dying, hiding in bunkers…or you.”

The vague outline of a man sitting behind a table, or desk, appeared on the screen. “All orbital infostructure has been obliterated. Repeat. You will receive no more assistance from Earth.” He seemed to cover his face with his hands, and his voice fell to a low grumble. “I’m sorry. But you’re on your own Prometheus. God speed. Earth out.”

End of signal.

For a moment I just stood there, staring at those three words hanging in the center of the screen. It was a joke. It had to be.

“My God,” Tom croaked.  “They did it. Those fools. They finally did it.”

My head nodded without conscious will. “Yes.” My voice sounded stoic. Emotionless. But inside, my mind was reeling. Four hundred colonists. Supplies enough to last until the next shipment, which wasn’t coming, plus another two months as an insurance policy against pod loss. Greenhouses one and five suffered sixty precent loss due to malfunctions. Two, three, and four wouldn’t be ready to harvest for another three months, barring further malfunctions. But the fish tanks, the biological systems that acted as filter, fertilizer, and protein were only functioning at seventy percent. The hives, the trays of insects that made up the initial phase of bio-reclamation, were functioning at full vigor, but even adding maggots to the menu, there wouldn’t be enough food to support the entire colony, even at starvation ration. Not until self-sufficiency. Only one quarter of the population. And every meal that passed lowered that threshold.

There was only one option.

Reaching back for the helmet, I groan at the memory. It took less than a minute to decide what course to take. The only course available, given the information I had.

I laid my hand on Ying’s shoulder, leaned in close, and whispered into his ear. “I want you to compile a list. What personnel would be absolutely necessary to run this station. Check. Recheck. And have it to me within the hour.”

Ying pulled back, his brow knotted into a question mark as he searched my face for what I can’t say. “Sir? Shouldn’t we tell the colonists?”

I gave his shoulder a pat. “We will. You have your orders. Get to it.”

I glanced up at Tom just in time to watch his expression go from shock to horror, and I knew he realized what had to be done. His mouth fell open, but just when I thought he might protest, he sniffed, straightened up and folded his hands behind his back. “And what are my orders, Sir?”

“You?” My eyebrow twitched up. It seemed Bloody Tom was about to earn his moniker. “I want you to gather everyone on Ying’s list, along with the Martians, those born of Mars, and assemble them in greenhouse one. Pair each Martian to whatever skill matches their talents, but make sure no area is neglected. And while they’re distracted, I want you to flood the rest of the station with Hydrogen Cyanide.”

Tom didn’t react, but Ying’s face went pale. “You-” He almost shouted, but instantly dropped his voice to a low hiss. “You can’t be serious.” His eyes bulged. “Murder them? The entire colony?”

I took a deep breath, but it was Tom that answered. “We don’t have a choice. If we don’t, we’ll all starve.”

I shook my head. “Earth is gone. The food in the bunkers will run out long before the radiation will. We’re facing extinction. Those kids are the future, Ying. Humanity’s last hope. They have to survive. No matter what.”

And They Saw That They Were Naked

The days that followed were the hardest of my career. I knew I’d be lucky to maintain control after Tom carried out my orders.

But I was not unprepared. I made honesty my ally. I knew that given the stark reality of what had happened, that the choice I made was the only real option. The colonists were an intelligent lot. Logical. They wouldn’t like it, but they would understand.

When Tom sealed us in, I called everyone together and gave them the truth, posed as a “hypothetical” situation. As he released the toxin, we discussed options. Took a vote.

Amber offered the solution I chose. Most of the others agreed, but then she glanced around at the others in the room. Her eyes went wide. “Wait…” She spun on me, her mouth open. Her eyes searching.

It took a moment before I managed to settle the lump in my throat. Before I could find my voice. Before I played the transmission. Before I confessed.

The silence that followed, the pained expressions that marred their faces as they struggled to balance what they knew had to be, with the sheer horror of what I’d done… there are no words for that kind of silence.

The same silence that endured for days after, as we worked to clear the base of the dead.  A silence shattered only by the sounds of work or the stifled whimper of a survivor as they tended to a loved one gone.

I ease the helmet down over my head, push it into the collar, and it seals with a soft hiss. The power meter flickers to life in the bottom corner of the visor as the magnetic connectors latch.

The com-link crackles. “Testing, one, two…”

I wince. It’s Ying’s voice, but it’s so robotic, so devoid of life, I barely recognize it. I croak out “Copy,” and slump over to the airlock door.

As difficult as clearing the station of the dead was for the survivors, carting the bodies of parents, spouses, and friends to bio-reclamation, the sheer volume caused other issues. The system was never meant to handle so many at once. Bodies lingered too long, and the scent of decomposition, coupled with recirculated air, tainted every breath. A constant reminder of what I’d done.

The simple act of breathing had become a threat to me. And, I fought it in the only place I could. Air filtration.

That’s where Lisa found me. Alone. In the most isolated place on the station. As I stood hunched over an open access port, screwdriver between my teeth, trying to decide how best to clean the stink from the air.

“Need a hand?”

I jerked my head from the duct work.

Lisa stood in the doorway twisting her pinky between her thumb and forefinger. Dark circles hung under her eyes, and deep wrinkles framed her mouth.

Spitting the screwdriver into my hand, I nodded. “Ai.”

She met my stare only for an instant, leaned back, and glanced up and down the corridor.  “Sir. That transmission…” Her chin shook as she stepped through the door, tears wet on her cheek.

I laid the screwdriver down beside the open panel. “What is it?”

            “I should have told you sooner. I meant to, but they had me under constant surveillance. If I knew what their plan was, it wouldn’t have mattered, but I didn’t realize, not until I heard your recording.” Her fingers trembled as her voice trailed away. Her left eye twitched, her hand jumped to her hair, and she seemed to lose focus. “I should have known. Why didn’t I see it?”

            I needed to comfort her, calm her, so she could collect her thoughts. Keeping my voice low and smooth, I stepped closer. “What’s this about?”

She licked her lips and forced her eyes to meet my gaze. “The reports you asked about. The magnetic field’s effect on brainwaves.”

            I nodded.

            “What if I told you, we aren’t alone? That life here, on Mars evolved along a completely different path, nothing we’d even recognize as life? As energy patterns and fields? That it, or they, discovered they could communicate with some of us? That they came in dreams? What then?”

            Intriguing, but her demeanor was hardly one that inspired confidence. “I would, of course, like to see proof.”

            Almost before the words passed my lips, she reached out, took my hand, and pressed a memory chip into my palm. “Only the children were affected. They had reoccurring nightmares. Random and senseless, but disturbing. That’s what prompted their parents to bring them in at first. Initially, I thought it was Vox, or some other substance. But then I realized they were all having the same dream. All of them. The same images.” She shook her head. “That’s when I started the study. I discovered the increase in fields coincided with the nightmares. That each night they became clearer. A single voice pressed into many minds. As time went on, their fear lessened, and they became less willing to talk about it. They began to trust it. To rely on it. Their thinking changed. They became colder, more calculating. They knew things they shouldn’t… couldn’t know. Passcodes. What I said when I was alone. Things from my past, things from Earth, conversations I had back in high-school. Things I did. Private things.”

She blinked as if shaking off a bad memory. “Look at the data. Something was definitely talking to them. Compare Admiral Barstow’s voice in your transmission with Mathew’s account in the report.” She folded my fingers over the chip, and backed out into the hallway. “I’d be willing to bet Earth is just fine. But it doesn’t matter. You won’t be able to get a signal in or out, and I doubt we’ll be getting another shipment through. Not unless Mars wants us to.”

            Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Lisa glanced off to the right, said, “Yes, Sir. I’ll get right on it,” and without another word, turned and left.

I stared at the chip in my hand, numb. Not even sure I wanted to know what I’d find.

Spirit of The Air

My world consists of what I know to be true. What can be proven with hard fact. Science. But I do believe in myth. The scattered shadows of memories told and retold across time and culture, mutated by the telling, but a history all humanity shares.

But in that file, I found the truth behind the myths. Our forgotten past. The shadows of the future, if those warnings went unheeded.

I flick the switch on the panel beside the exterior door, flashing red lights replace the bone white glow overhead, and the computer’s voice rips across the commlink. “Warning. Depressurization commencing. Interior door sealing.”

 I turn my head to watch the bulkhead roll into place and slip forward, using the atmosphere of the station to seal it in place, as I wait for the air to drain from the lock.

I found a quiet corner, one of the abandoned residential sections, and spent the next few hours watching Lisa’s report. Each Martian, each child independently recounted a vague image that became defined. A whisp of flame that settled into the shape of a man over time. A man with snake-like eyes, who cloaked his body behind four great wings, and flew with another two.

The exterior door slides in and rolls into the wall. Martian dust sweeps across the threshold and swirls around my feet.

I meant to compare Mathew’s voice with the Admiral’s, as Lisa suggested. In fact, I barely had the transmission downloaded when my communicator buzzed. I glanced down at my wrist. The message was Ying’s, but his words made no sense. “Airlock 4 has been opened. The children are missing. No enviro-suits active.”

I tapped reply and had just lifted my wrist to my mouth when another buzz interrupted me. Amber.

Hitting cancel, I tapped hers. A timed message. One she recorded earlier, and programed to send now. I hit play.

Amber’s sigh broke the silence. “So, I guess by now Doctor Lisa found a way to slip you her files.” She gave a snorting laugh. “I almost feel bad for you. So boring. I can’t even believe we were ever that stupid. Anyway, I wanted to thank you. See, you were right. We can shape our own future. We don’t need all that baggage from Earth. Earth morals and customs. Marvin told us that before you even got here. In our dreams.” She gave another laugh. “That’s not his real name. You can’t say his real name with your mouth, but whatever. We’re more like him than we are you anyway. You’re human. We’re Martian. We belong here. But the other Martians, the original Martians, weren’t convinced. I guess their leader went to Earth ages ago. But he never came back, and they never heard from him again.”

“Their leader?” I mutter, thinking back to the description from their dreams, matching it to images from mythology. The forgotten history. “Six wings. Fire.” But I can only think of one. Isaiah in the temple. The six wing Seraphim.

Before the thought coalesces, Amber continues. “They didn’t know what happened, not until the first humans landed. For some reason, they can’t leave Mars. Something about a change in the sun trapping them in the atmosphere. That’s what they think happened to their leader too, only on Earth. That’s why they reached out to us. So they can teach us, make us stronger in ways you can’t imagine. That way they can send us back to Earth and help him break free. That’s why we tricked you. Marvin said we needed to prove we were committed first. We needed to cut ties, kill everybody that would get in our way. Anyone who would keep us from reaching our true potential.”

“Anyone who would keep them from becoming gods,” I muttered. Seraphim is Hebrew for Serpent, burning one. “The Spirit of the Air.” My next breath did not come willing. I knew exactly who their leader was, now. The snake of Eden. The truth behind the legend. The Satan. They made Amber and the others the same offer he made Adam and Eve. Or at least the primitive people he encountered. And like them, Amber took the bait.

“But that’s not you.” Amber’s voice sounded smooth, almost hopeful. “You helped us. You gave us the strength to do what had to be done. That’s why I’m leaving you this message. So you can join us.” She took a deep breath and laughed. “I’m recording this from outside the station. Standing barefoot on Mars, the sun on my skin, and it’s glorious. Come soon.”

Her voice cut off. I glanced down at my wrist, at the little red dot flashing on a map on the screen. A peculiar worn bluff. One that baffled astronomers for well over a century. “The face. They’re headed for the face.”

I squat down, carefully tip the pack off the wall, gently heft it onto my back, and slowly buckle the straps. Every mythos on earth depicts their leader in the same light. Evil. Power mad. Whatever these beings had in mind, there was never any question, I was going to follow.

I step out onto the planet’s surface. Sand tinks against my visor. A soft reminder that I’m still human. Still flesh. I slump to the east, past the corner of the greenhouse, to where Amber’s homing beacon says she should be. I kick at a mound of sand and her communicator rolls free.

I don’t stoop to pick it up. “She’s not here. No bodies. It seems they don’t need enviro-suits anymore.”

Lisa’s voice crackles in my ear. “God, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I nod, even though I know she can’t see me, slide my hand up the strap of my pack, and arm the explosives. Arming it now seems silly somehow, after all, it’s a long hike to the face, but I don’t know how much time I’ll have to detonate. If Mars will know what I’m doing and disarm it, or if the explosion will even harm Amber and her Martians anymore. If Marvin will shield them. But I know I’m the only one that even has a chance to stop them. That I’m the only one they trust.

And that I can’t let Mars have them. I won’t.