"I met someone on the trail. A person in a space suit."
"Yes."
"Someone I didn't recognize."
"They were in disguise?"
"No, I mean they weren't from the colony."
The AI paused for a moment, then said, "I am aware of no other persons currently on Mars."
"I don't think they were from around here."
He told the AI about seeing something in the ravine, about encountering a lizard creature in a spacesuit, about the odd looking B unit and the hasty departure of the creature. The AI did not interrupt and was slow to respond.
"I have just rechecked my data. There is no one on Mars apart from colony personnel, who I am sure you would recognise. There are no B units within several hundred kilometers of our current position. Did you speak?"
"No, I tried but it didn't respond."
"Did you communicate in any way? Gestures, writing, sign language, mental telepathy?"
"I waved at it."
"And?"
"I think it waved back. Then I felt ill, and although I don't remember, I must have passed out. According to the MGPS it was four hours later when I suddenly appeared at the bottom of the ravine not a hundred meters from here." Sam paused, then added, "I swear."
"Go on." the AI replied, its voice betraying incredulity, despite an obvious attempt to suppress it.
"No really."
"I meant, continue."
"I think I met an alien."
To Sam, the sound from the speakers resembled a laugh suppressed in the first syllable of a snorted Ha!
"You laughed!"
"I did not. There must be a malfunction in the voice circuits. Yes, there it is. Fixed. Continue."
"You think I'm crazy!"
"The existence of non-Earthly life forms and their purported encounters with humans is well reported, but not well documented. Many reputable and reliable humans have claimed to see aliens."
"I saw someone and they zapped me and I fell asleep."
"'Zapped' is not an accurate description of what you claim happened to you."
"What other possible explanation is there for what I've just told you?"
"You have fabricated this for some reason, or you are—or at least you were at the time—delusional."
"You think I'm lying?"
"I think it is more likely that you are delusional. It is not in your nature to lie." The AI paused for a brief moment. "I have examined the evidence. You were emotionally upset when you departed the Rollagon. You exhausted yourself in extreme physical activity. You were fatigued and rested. You fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing. You travelled faster than you realized when you found your supply of O2 to be low."
Sam took a deep breath. "Maybe. I hope so. By the way, what were you doing while I was gone?"
"I was taking some downtime to recharge power cells and replenish CPU coolants."
"You were asleep!"
"I do not sleep. I was however, focusing on maintenance of myself."
"You were asleep!"
"As you wish."
He sat down again in the command chair. The universe, at least, had not lost its sense of humour. He looked out at the setting sun, trying to imagine the report the other would write for his (or her) superiors:
"While exploring a dry valley of the fourth planet for water deposited minerals, met an indigenous life form. Temporarily rendered the other unconscious until task was completed. False memory of encounter with roving mechanical apparatus substituted for actual event as per established exobiological protocols. Departed planet in routine manner, returning in time for evening meal."
"You laughed!"
"I did not!"
17
October 2046
Home
It was a mere eighteen months from when the AI had found the lava tube until it was deemed ready for the Colonists to move in. Except for the handful of people directly involved in the construction and fitting out, no one had seen anything more than tri-D videos and stills posted on the Matrix.
That is not to say that they were not informed or involved, just that the lack of desire, and in some cases inability, to travel the considerable distance required made few willing to make the trek. Indeed, had Sam not already been travelling the area, he would have never had the opportunity to see it while it was under construction.
To a person they were fed up with the privations of life in the First Station. These were testy seniors and the charm was off the pumpkin. Those whose work placed them at the outstations found the isolation and frictions of daily life within a small group nearly as difficult as being in the MHM.
As time had passed the cracks in the social structure of the colony had deepened, and under mounting pressure from the colonists, the decision was made by the administration to move everyone into the Tube, despite the still-unfinished condition of the common areas.
Sam was to make many ferry trips before he would finally move himself in. He was surprised and a trifle embarrassed to find that there were people aboard his vehicle to whom he had no recollection of ever having spoken, and indeed, there were some he did not even recognize. On each trip he had assisted in the unloading, but with the exception of one brief foray into the apartment complex he had been thus far unable to see the completed facility.
A few saw the trip as an outing, but for too many it was an ordeal. Despite anti-nausea drugs and a slower than normal pace many spent the entire trip strapped into their bunks, sedated. Two of them had passed away en route. An American hydroponist and a Pakistani biologist had simply gone to sleep and not awakened. Invariably though, the excitement increased as they neared the Tube, and even the most infirm sat up and looked anxiously out the window as they descended the last few meters into the Rollagon hangar.
On his last trip he was the only human in a Rollagon filled with plants. Orchids, ferns, young fruit trees, and potted plants of myriad kinds were jammed into every usable space, including the sleeping quarters, and pressed him against the bubble. At last though, except for a rear-guard at the First Station, a few scattered research stations, and those at Lava 1, everyone was moved in.
Parked in the adit, he looked around the emptied Rollagon, at the place that had been his home for most of the previous four years. He took his small kit bag of personal items and closed up the Rollagon.
He passed through the access door into the Tube. It was late evening; the lighting was low. He stood in a well of light at the door. Ahead of him, two strings of streetlamps illuminated a broad pathway separated by a median that went out of sight far in the distance.
It felt very strange to be in such a large space. The air had something of the familiar smell of the First Station with a few of the normal essences missing. He had become so used to the smell of crowded humanity that he now recognised it by its absence. There was the smell of fresh plastek. That was it, he decided.
He moved slowly to the first lamp. The illuminated street sign announced Marineris Boulevard. He looked up and saw no stars. He started down the empty boulevard, his footsteps echoing emptily between the walls. There was no one about. The low throb of machinery could be felt rather than heard. The open space made him uneasy.
He came to the first set of apartments lining the boulevard: 100/101 Marineris. There were no lights on in either of these complexes. A few dozen meters further was his building, 102. A winding walkway led to the stairs to the second level. The door was marked with brass numbers and a letter, 102C, and underneath, his name in brass as 'Doctor S. Aiken.'
The door was open. As he entered the lights came on, low at first, but in a few moments they came to full intensity. The strangeness was as strong as anything he had yet felt on the surface of Mars.
He looked down, at linoleum flooring, at rugs just vacuumed, or so it seemed, a pattern was still visible in the tuft. The walls were of wood panelling and patterned wallpaper. To the left was a bedroom, with a queen sized bed, the sheets neatly folded at the foot, resting on a
blanket. Two large pillows were propped against the headboard. There were two night tables with lamps, a high-boy and a chair by a window, closed. A closet, with louvered French doors. A window, dark, with blinds drawn. A table with workstation. Straight ahead, a bathroom, with tub—Jacuzzi. A toilet, a sink with a counter, and a medicine cabinet set into the wall. A toilet paper holder with a full roll, the end neatly folded. Matching towels on racks, also neatly folded.
To the right was a hallway leading to a living room with a vid, a couch with matching cushions, two chairs, a coffee table, two end tables, matching lamps and curtains. A large mirror on a wall reflected his image.
There were, he noted absently, no pictures. An antiquated five bladed ceiling fan rotated slowly. Beyond was a kitchen with a black fridge, a black microwave, a black stove, and a sink with a built-in garburator set in a grey granite counter. Venetian blinds.
The kitchen table with seating for four was next to a patio door. He moved to it and out. From the small balcony he looked down on the boulevard and across to a similarly constructed apartment. It was dead quiet in the street. The air was cool. He went back in.
He stood and tapped his fingers on the granite counter. Plastek. All plastek. He turned the chromed tap and water came out in a stream, ran down the stainless steel sink into the drain, and gurgled. He moved to the bathroom and dropped his small bag of kit on the counter.
He flushed the toilet, contently observing the conventional rotation of the water and slow refilling of the tank. He looked down at the bed, felt its texture and sat on it, bouncing tentatively a few times. No label warned him of the penalties for removal prior to sale or delivery. He pulled the fitted sheets over the thick mattress, then spread the top sheet and the blanket. In the high-boy he found a quilted beige duvet with a pattern of purple flowers, and threw it over the bed.
He undressed slowly. He removed his shirt, and examining it, noticed for the first time since forever the dirty ring of sweaty grime on the collar and sleeves. Socks, only last year white, were now grey, with gaping holes in heels and toes. Black grimy toes stuck through. He looked in the mirror and saw sweat, dirt and food stains on his undershirt. He looked deeper and saw stubble on a worn face and dishevelled too-long hair grown over the ears and curled up at the back of the neck. A puffy face. Inflamed eyes, near tears or just finished, looked back.
He held his hands out in front and examined their backs, spotted with pigmented patches. Dirty, split nails had been gnawed to the quick. He turned them over and saw small cuts outlined in dirt and inflamed with minor infections from God knew what. He pulled his undershirt off and smelled the earthy stink of poverty and deprivation. He loosened his belt, slid off his trousers and undershorts and kicked them across the floor. His legs were covered in patches of red, and in some places a flaming redness. Skin flaked off at his touch. His buttocks were raw and inflamed. His feet were sickly white, with black accents. Yellow toenails, suddenly too long. He dropped his clothes into the wastebasket.
He glanced at the inviting bed, but instead he went into to the bathroom and turned on the tub, watching the torrent of water tumble in Martian slow motion into the bottom, rush to the end, and climb the sides. It was crystal clear and odourless. The hot vapour filled his nostrils and he closed his eyes, dreaming of far off places and other-worldly baths. He immersed himself slowly, feeling the heat on his tormented skin. It was big enough to allow him to stretch out.
Looking up he saw a skylight, dark now, no stars visible. A bar of soap floated by, riding high on the tide generated by his breathing. A ring of grime marked high water, the limit of his influence.
He fell asleep, awakening much later in a cold pool of filthy water. He briefly considered adding more hot, but in a moment of extreme courage, he sprang from the tub, pulled the plug, and freezing, wrapped himself in a towel, then collapsed on the bed. He pulled the duvet over his shivering body and fell asleep to the long forgotten sound of water running slowly out of a bathtub.
Welcome to the Neighbourhood
He awoke rested and hungry. Light streamed in through the bedroom window. He knew the cause of the strangeness now—right angles. He stood naked in the kitchen, transfixed, looking out the windows at a lake scene, in motion, wind rippled water sparkled in sunlight. Trees bent in a gentle breeze. Each window took up the image.
He pressed his face against the plastek and the image appeared fuzzy and indistinct. Holograms? On the table was a newspaper, the Globe and Mail, yesterday's date. A civic election was on. He picked it up. It felt like paper. It was a convincing replica, even to the tattered fringe. The living room windows showed only the apartments across the way and a dark sky, the ceiling unrevealed.
The fridge held nothing. Evidently that was a mystery he would have to solve for himself. He found a simple one-piece flight suit hanging in a closet, and socks and hospital-style paper slippers in the highboy top drawer. He went to the balcony and saw similarly dressed people moving down the boulevard. They were part of a large crowd.
He ran to catch up with the stragglers, recognizing Cho Ling. "Welcome back, Sam," she said, and held out her arms in greeting. He hesitated, then accepted the offered hug and even managed to return it. How strange it felt to be this close to another human after so long. He was overwhelmed by emotion and suddenly close to tears, but she did not notice and released him quickly, turning to catch up with the others. She left behind the scent of lilacs.
"Where is everyone going?" he shouted after her.
"We have decided to start the day with a walk—you know, for the fitness! Everyone is just so amazed at the open spaces, after that horrible MHM. I am so happy to be out of there. I can't believe we survived it, and to think it practically took a revolt to get the CAO to advance the moving date. Evidently there is a meeting at 0900 and then a breakfast. I can't believe how large this place is. It goes for kilometers. Of course, you didn't spend anywhere near the amount of time most of us did in that place, did you?"
"No, I didn't. Lucky I guess," Sam said, all at once tiring of this person.
"Yes, you were."
Sam dropped back, feigning a slipper problem. He caught up to them at the assembly area. They were among the last to arrive. It was the first time he could recall seeing all of them in a single space in a very long time. It seemed to Sam, so long a solitary man, that there were at once too many and too few of them.
Fenley was standing on a raised platform. He looked about, and then he raised his arms to silence the crowd.
"First, let me welcome you all to the Tube. It is my hope that we will make this our Earth on Mars, and a happy productive science community with the goals of progress, peace and harmony that our Sponsors and Benefactors intend. They and I have great hopes that the work done here will benefit our families, our friends, and our Earth. It embiggens us all to do our best—to do whatever it takes. I want to apologize for the indignities suffered over the past five years while we were in the MHM and while this place was being prepared. Thankfully, for us, that is now at an end. Except for you, Doctor Yang. I am sure you'll be off to Olympus Mons first chance you get!"
His pacing and affectation was classic great leader. A small round of laughter echoed from the assembled masses. Yang grinned sheepishly and said something Sam could not make out. The group with him giggled.
"I invite you to take some time to explore your new home, especially the Grand Hall. Within a few weeks, A101 assures me, we will see the waterfall and stream completed, as well as our offices and labs. And live plants! And oh yes, the movie theatre, too!"
A few cheers and scattered claps were heard throughout the crowd.
"He tells me that they have a few surprises for us. He thinks we'll be pleased." Finally, his voice was suddenly somber, "I know that as we continue to build here, we will find that the things we have left behind will seem closer, and the sacrifices that we have made will seem worthwhile. There are still many sacrifices to be made and much hard work, too. Welcome to your n
ew home! Now, let's get something to eat!"
There was a moment of polite applause and then they dispersed. Sam looked around and found Ross. Ross shook his hand warmly, "Welcome to your fucking new home."
"Quite a speech, eh?"
"It should be a good one. I wrote it for him."
"No kidding. Did you, now?"
Ross looked at him as if he had just shit on his boots. "You think, man? You think I'd write that crap for Fenley? Believe me, he doesn't need any help. That man's so full of shit he could grow corn on his tongue."
"Glad to see you haven't gone over to the dark side."
Ross gawked, then said "Let's get some brekkie. We'll talk."
They got in line to be served. An E-type was serving eggs benedict, ham and toast. They filled their plates, got a mug of coffee, and found an empty table at the edge of the group.
"Well, what do you think of your new digs?" Ross asked.
"Odd, very odd, to sleep in a bed with covers, to take a bath. All that water in one place, then it goes down the drain. And all the right angles—they hurt my eyes."
"Well, the water doesn't go too far before you end up drinking it in the kitchen. Oh yeah, what do you see when you look out your window?
"A lake. A lake that looks a lot like one where I once had a summer cottage. You?"
"A street in London looking across at a pub. I had a flat across from it and drank my way through a doctorate at a table by the window. I swear I can almost see myself sitting at that window. It's the same for everyone. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make us feel at home. You can change it if you like. The cupboard over the microwave has a panel. You can be next door to a whorehouse in Amsterdam if you want. Or in it, I suppose."
"Thanks, I'll stick with the lake for now."
"So where are you off to now?"
"Officially, I'm going nowhere. The dish is going twenty-four-seven and the AIs have made some comments about my lack of oversight. Really though, there's nothing much happening. Almost everyone is here now. The AIs are doing all of the on-the-land research. There are a few out at Lava 1. They'll continue to rotate, although I can't see why. Unofficially, I'm planning a trip up to the new crater to have a look. Interested?"