Old Mars

Hurriedly, the Union government put a ban on the destruction of the cities, but by the time the legislation made its way through parliament, only one city remained. The one across the lake. The cases of the Syndrome eased off, though it never completely vanished, and now the Martians were singing in Tilda’s head and she was walking in the head of a dead woman.

She shivered and realized that she had been standing, lost in thought, for far too long, and Noel-Pa could probably use her help with breakfast. She dressed in the colorful, imaginatively patterned envirosuit and pulled on the thigh-high boots that marked her as a Martian farm girl, and that her grandfather insisted that she wear.

Since most of SpaceCom’s facilities on Earth were closer to the equator for ease of launch, she had spent her life in warm, exotic locations—Australia’s Gold Coast, Hawaii, the Florida Keys, São Paulo, where sandals and shorts or swimsuits were the unofficial uniform. Now she lived on an ancient, nearly airless world where a dome leak or a freak storm that crashed an ultralight could kill you. She supposed that there were things that could kill you on Earth too, she reflected as she fluffed out her hair, the curls dancing on her shoulders, but the home world didn’t seem so actively hostile. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of here!

She walked through the large living room, bootheels clicking on the stone floor. The McKenzie house had been hewn out of the redrock cliffs that lined three sides of the ancient lake bed. It stood three stories tall, and two generations back it had held a boisterous clan, but now there were just the four of them, Grandpa Stephen, his son, Kane, Kane’s husband, Noel, and their only child—Tilda.

Tilda checked her ScoopRing. There was a message from Ali Al-Jahani, one of the few people in the area close to her age. His family owned the farm to the west, and they had given him permission to play hooky from chores and say farewell to Mars before he headed off to Paris in a few weeks to begin his medical studies. Ali suggested a flight out toward Mons Olympus. She messaged back that she would join him.

Tilda had leisure time too, because while Noel-Pa had agreed to her learning to fly the long-winged ultralights that were the most common mode of fast transport on Mars, he’d resisted other Martian activities. Like Stephen’s trying to put her to work in the sorting and packing sheds. Just like Ali, she was leaving for college soon. She didn’t need to learn how to be a farmhand.

The yeasty scent of baking cinnamon rolls, cooking bacon, and the dark, sensual smell of coffee escorted her into the kitchen. Noel-Pa circled the big stone table, setting out plates and silverware.

On Earth, Daddy-Kane had kept “the home fires burning,” as Noel-Pa had put it, but here at the McKenzie farm, Kane had skills that Noel lacked—how to run the big tractors, harvesters, threshers. Noel-Pa could have learned, but Daddy-Kane already had the knowledge, so they had switched roles. Tilda wasn’t surprised that the former military officer proved to be as adept in the kitchen as he had been in combat.

He turned at her footsteps and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She hugged him tight. “So, what can I do?”

“Beat the eggs for the frittata.”

She beat three dozen eggs and helped Noel-Pa season them and pour the mix into an enormous iron skillet. The eggs joined the bacon in the oven.

“I dreamed about Miyako last night. I think I was Miyako. She was greeting the Martians and they were making her welcome, giving her food, and there was a temple,” Tilda said softly to her father. He glanced at her, his expression tight and tense. “I’m not crazy!”

“I know.”

“So, you’ve dreamed about her too?” Tilda asked.

Noel-Pa checked the watch set in the sleeve of his suit. Shook his head. “Not now. Not here,” he said. Then he counted down. “And three … two … one.”

There was the babble of voices and the rasp of boot soles being cleaned on the scraper just outside the back door. The unmarried field hands who lived in the dorm just down the road, Daddy-Kane, and Grandpa Stephen flowed into the kitchen.

Noel’s thoughts were in complete turmoil as he pulled the frittata out of the oven. How could his father-in-law’s dead spouse be invading both his and his child’s dreams? His dreams had not been so pleasant. He had experienced all of Miyako’s loneliness, sadness, and hatred. Resentment of her family for essentially selling her to Stephen. Hatred for her elderly husband. Or was he simply putting his own dislike of his father-in-law onto this phantom?

Noel sprinkled fresh parsley across the puffed-egg dish, and sliced it into individual servings. Tilda removed the bacon and the rolls, and everything was set on a long counter. Noel stepped back as the hungry workers lined up.

Stephen sat at the head of the table with Kane at the foot. No one left a seat open next to Kane, and Kane didn’t object. Feeling absurdly hurt, Noel found room on a bench and sat down.