by Rob Dircks
I chuckle a little, it’s the first positive feeling I’ve had all morning. “Thanks dude.”
“Hey, by the way, we haven’t talked since you were in MedBay. Great job with the Claire thing in the Stage One finale. Man, Blue Team was pissed. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that the teams’ll be throwing the rules out the window from now on. Good work. You’re like a chaos agent.”
“Thank you?”
“It’s half a compliment, so sure, you can say thank you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “Take this, for example.”
I immediately scan around for cameras. “Hey! Zero access! We’re not allowed to have phones! How the hell did you get your hands on a phone?”
“See? You’re a chaos agent. You started it. You have anyone you want to call?”
“Um. No.” And as Benji ducks down in his seat and illicitly call his friends, I wish I could tell him the truth. That I’d want to call my mother first, and find out if she’s watching the show and if she saw Aurora sneaking around my room, and if it showed she left with anything. Then I’d want to call my sisters, and tell them I love them dearly, and that as exciting as all this is, right now I miss the shit out of them and would rather be sitting around binge watching shows we’ve seen a thousand times, or cooking breakfast with them, French toast with little pieces of eggshell left in on Dad’s pieces so we could hear him crunch into it and roll his eyes. Then of course, I’d want to call Dad, and tell him all the things I’m not sure I’ve said enough. And Nana, definitely Nana, I’d love to let her dote on me on the phone for a while.
“Hey, look.” Benji’s pointing out the front window onto the horizon. The digital clouding on the windows slowly dissipates, revealing a barren desert dotted with red boulders and caves, and nothing else. But there’s a shape, off in the distance, a man-made shape that interrupts the natural surroundings.
A dome.
We all crowd to the front of the transport, oohing and aahing at the mammoth structure getting larger as we approach. Though I’m not sure why any of us should be surprised at its size, given Zach Larson’s penchant for huge, oversized everything.
As its details emerge, I notice that the dome is actually a container for several smaller domes. And it isn’t tall like a skyscraper, but more like a big blister on the skin of the desert. In fact, if there are support beams, they’re invisible at this distance, and the whole thing is crystal clear, so it has the impossibly delicate appearance of a soap bubble.
It’s maybe a hundred yards in diameter, with about ten sub-domes in a circle inside. In the direct center, a slightly taller sub-dome contains what looked like a forest, or fruit trees.
Claire claps. “We’re going to simulate living on Mars! I get the bottom bunk, Mike.”
“Claire, dear, I’m sorry. Once again, you’re almost correct, but not quite.”
It’s the disembodied voice of Zach Larson, who hasn’t joined us on our little junket into the desert. It’s just us contestants, no team leaders either. We all peer around for cameras, though I don’t know why, they could be anywhere.
“You see, you won’t be simulating living on Mars, you’ll be simulating…”
Everyone knows some twist is coming, it’s so Larson, but his perfect timing is a little off, because seconds turn into minutes, and the suspense grates on our tired nerves. Lucy from Orange Team shouts out, “Simulating what, Larson?” and then softer, “Showboater.”
“I heard that, Lucy.” Larson chuckles. “Sorry for the delay. Okay, here we go. Take two. You see, contestants, you won’t be simulating living on Mars …”
The transport turns from its straight-on approach, veering to the dome’s left side, changing our perspective, revealing something new.
“…you’ll be simulating building on Mars.”
Directly behind the first dome is a second, a miniature version, hidden from our approach until now. But this dome has no structures inside, just palettes of panels, tubes, tanks, plants in sealed containers, and I imagine about fifty million screws.
“Welcome to Stage Two: Erection.”
Every one of us lets out a groan, as I’m sure every person watching around the world does, and Zach’s voice even giggles knowingly.
Quinn shakes his head. “He’s a child.”
“Thank you, Quinn. I’ll take that as a compliment. Now let’s get to it, shall we? Fun, fun, fun! All right, the rule, again just one: erect the MDV, or Mars Domed Village, using the adjacent finished example and full instructions included as a guide. Teams will receive points for each module, Red and Yellow Teams working on air/water/food, Orange Team on mining, and Green Team on terraforming. This is a half-size replica of the village one lucky winner will be helping to build on Mars, and this one is simplified for non-experts. You have three weeks to get all systems operational and complete the task. Now, if you would, exit the transport, fasten your helmet securely, confirm your breathing apparatus is active, and step into the smaller dome.”
“Did he say breathing apparatus?”
No answer from Larson.
Slowly our contingent of fifteen remaining contestants steps off the two transports, scanning around like ducklings without their mother, clipping on our helmets.
Marina calls out to the open air, her radio signal audible inside all our helmets. “Zach, darling. When willa Ted and the team leaders be joining us?”
I think I hear a laugh somewhere far away, and moments later, the transports silently reverse course and leave.
Albert points to the smaller dome. “They’re inside already. Waiting for us.”
Like sheep we follow Albert to a shape vaguely like a doorway. It’s a digital display, and above it, words flash in blue light: PLEASE PROCEED THROUGH THE MEMBRANE.
Claire elbows me. “Proceed through the membrane. Sounds kinky.”
Confidently striding into the dome, Albert is swallowed whole by what looks like clear jelly, as we watch in awe. He turns and motions the rest of us to follow. I step forward. It’s funny how much your body can tell you not to do something. I’m literally pushing my body forward against its will, while it tells me not to walk into what looks like a wall. The substance is maybe a couple of inches thick, and on the way through, something like electricity tickles everywhere the wall touches my spacesuit. My body instinctively steps backward, away from the perceived danger, and I feel a strong resistance. Immovable. I can’t retreat a millimeter. Somehow Larson has created a gigantic self-healing, one-way membrane. Incredible. But if this is the way in, where’s the way out?
I step inside, shaking off the strange electric feeling, surveying the interior of this technological wonder, and yet again, have to hand it to Larson. This looks exactly like the Martian landscape, rocky and red. I shuffle over to one of the palettes of materials, running a gloved finger through a quarter-inch of red dust. He definitely sweats the details.
Once we’re all inside, Tanner looks left, right. “Hey, where’s Albert?”
Albert peeks out from behind another palette, palms up.
“Hey, Albert. You said Ted and the team leaders were inside.”
“I… assumed they were in here. I thought I saw something moving. Among the palettes.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“It was a safe assumption.”
“Obviously not safe enough. Now what?”
“We wait. Claire, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting out of this stupid suit.” Her hands reach up to unclasp her helmet locks. As she disengages them, a little “whoosh” sound comes from inside, and her eyes widen in horror, and she falls to the ground, gasping for breath, clutching her throat.
“Claire!” Mike and Suzie Q jump on her flailing body, fighting to reseal the helmet. Ultimately, Mike has to pin her arms down while Suzie Q reengages the lock. Claire draws in air desperately for a few seconds, and finally settles down. “Jesus Christ! Larson’s trying to kill us!”
Albert flaps his
arms, to calm us I guess, though it looks more like he’s trying to take flight, and he addresses the group. “People. Number one, it’s obviously a vacuum in here. Don’t be stupid. No offense, Claire. Number two, Larson’s not trying to kill us. And number three, we wait for our team leaders. Period.”
“How long?”
“Until they get here.”
I glance down at my spacesuit’s armband readout, and have a flash of certainty: Ted and his camera crews aren’t coming. Our team leaders aren’t coming. Larson isn’t coming.
No one is coming.
We’re alone.
And we have an hour of oxygen left.
30
We’re Trapped.
We’re trapped. And the irony suddenly strikes me: I just spent my entire life trapped in Fill City One, dreaming about escaping its walls. And when I finally do, I wind up here. Trapped. I actually laugh.
Claire hits me. “You’re laughing while Larson’s trying to kill us!”
Albert waves her down. “No. Claire, calm the hell down. There is no way Larson is going to let us die in here. There are hidden cameras everywhere. He’d be killing us live in front of billions of people. Forget about the cruelty for a second. Think about the liability. And the fact that he’d be prosecuted on fifteen counts of murder. Well, at least negligent homicide.”
Suzie Q waddles over and squeezes him. “Mmmm-mmm. See? My Albert’s not an idiot. I knew there was a reason I liked you. You smart.” Her helmet faceplate bangs into his, and she considers it for a second. “Wait. How are you so sure?”
“Because. Like you said.” He points to his helmet. “Smart.”
“But how sure are you he won’t let us die?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Then prove it. Prove that he won’t take it too far. Take it off. The helmet.”
For a moment terror paralyzes me. I like Larson, but how far would he go to make this thing real? Albert’s right, of course, there’s no way he could let us die. Right? If he couldn’t, how close would he let us get? Like poor Claire. She could have died in seconds. Where was her help going to come from? How close to death would he let Albert come? Albert seems to be having the same thought, as his fingers slide up to his helmet tentatively, then back down again.
“A hundred percent, huh. I didn’t think so. Tanner was right. You a fool.” She kicks some dust up at him. “You off the list. Hear that, Albert? You don’t get a piece of Suzie Q ever, got it? Okay, who’s really in charge here? Or you folks want Suzie Q to lead the way?”
Aurora pipes up helpfully. “Okay, if you insist, I’ll do it. I am the most technical-slash-engineering-slash-sciency-whatever type in this motley group. Clearly. So everybody, just start putting shit together. Now.”
“No. Imma tell you all what to do,” Marina says.
“NO. We wait for the team leaders. They’re coming.”
“No they’re not.”
“Yes they are.”
While the rest of them quibble, I just shake my head, make my way out to one of the lifts, and climb into the cab. Ahhh. Just like mine back home. Well, except that this one is electric, not methane, and pristine and perfect, not ancient, grimy, and begging for me to put it out of its misery. I start it up and tap the com. “Available options.”
Without any static – hallelujah! – the crisp, clear voice speaks. “Destination. System settings. Help. Custom modules. You may speak in natural language, Robin Smith.”
Wow. This really is nothing like the Fill City lifts. Natural language. Voice ID. Nice. I mute my com so only the cab can hear me. “Can you, um, heads up display the module layout and instructions for breathable air, and autodrive to the correct palettes?”
“Affirmative.” The windshield in front of me lights up with diagrams, animations, and selectable buttons. Impressive. Okay, so Larson left us in the lurch. But he gave us everything we need to survive and complete the task. In my new understanding of fair, that seems fair.
I spend a few minutes familiarizing myself, then drive the lift over to the group.
Aurora barks at me. “Hey Robin. Who said you could take one of those?”
“She’s a chaos agent.”
“Shut up, Benji.”
I lean out of the cab and unmute the com. “Okay, I don’t care who’s in charge of what. But here’s how I see it. We can either spend the next…” I look down at my arm display “… forty-two minutes making noise, then run out of oxygen, then test our would-Larson-really-kill-us? theory. Or we can set up the first module, which I highly, highly recommend be breathable air, and then we won’t have to test the would-Larson-really-kill-us? theory. There are four more lifts, I think Mike, Sophia, and Quinn climb into them, I’ve seen you on the Rovers in the obstacle course, don’t worry, they accept natural language instructions. You guys follow me. Albert, you take the lead on the building site, you’re not an idiot or a fool, you’re the smartest engineer we’ve got. Aurora-”
Tanner interrupts. “What about the teams? Shouldn’t we stick to our teams?”
“Good question. I say let’s ask again in forty-two minutes. Everyone okay with that?”
The fourteen souls stranded with me under this dome collectively shrug, which I take as a yes. Aurora approaches my lift. “Hey, bossy pants. Don’t call out my name like I’m your subordinate. Who voted you the leader? You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Believe me. I know.”
“But if I did want to contribute, if I was to be gracious enough to participate, what should I do?”
I reach into the lift’s toolbox and toss her a drill driver. “Start putting shit together.”
31
Start Putting Shit Together.
Ten minutes. That’s all we have left.
I’m amazed, actually, at how this collection of the worst possible candidates, celebrities and housewives and baristas and salesmen and singers, and a Filler of all people, has almost put together a working B.A.G. – Breathable Air Generator – module. Zach Larson’s private engineering team has made something seemingly impossible almost plug and play.
Almost.
“Albert! What’s going on with that compressor valve? We need to connect the thermal dissociator over here.” Everyone is either fastening something together, lifting something, tapping madly on tablets, or at least running around trying to look busy.
“Hey! This is like putting together a five-thousand-piece puzzle in forty-two minutes. Blindfolded! Give me a second!”
While we wait the eternal seconds for Albert, Aurora turns to me. “Not that I’ll retain this, but how the hell does this thing work?”
I take a deep breath. I can barely understand it myself. “Okay. Mars has an atmosphere that’s mostly carbon dioxide, and Larson has duplicated that here in the outer dome. We’re not in a vacuum, like Albert thought. We’re in Mars atmosphere. This thing we’re all standing around uses an electrode boundary to liberate an oxygen atom from the atmosphere’s CO2.” She raises her hand, but I cut her off. “Don’t ask, I have no idea. It just works. But this thermal dissociator has to go here, and then we have to power on and wait five minutes for it to pump enough oxygen into the dome. It’s going to be close.”
“I knew all that. I was just testing you.” She nudges me and grins.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Have… you been snooping around my room?”
I know it’s ballsy to ask, and I don’t know what to expect, maybe a look of terror, or an indignant smirk, or for her to slap me. But she just smiles, like I was asking her to pass the salt.
“Why? Do you have something to hide?”
“No.”
“Good. Then my answer’s the same. No.”
I make a mental note: Aurora is way too good at this. I’ll have to try another tack.
Albert taps the top of the machine. “Robin. Okay, we’re done. Connect the dissociator.”
I connect and tighten the u
nit. “Start it up!”
The unit begins humming, and I look down at my armband. Four minutes of oxygen left. We need five minutes to start up. Crap.
“Okay everybody. Either these suits give us a little extra at the end, or we’re going to be holding our breath for about a minute after they run out. Start breathing as shallowly as possible.”
I have never seen fifteen people so silent and serious, as we stand facing each other around this huge machine, taking little sips of air, listening to it hum. Sweat is dripping from our foreheads. Every second is grueling.
I remember the night in the armoire, in the back of the truck, not suffocating, but roasting in my own personal oven. There was a moment where I let go, it’s such a strange feeling, letting go of your life. I’m having that exact feeling again. It’s not such a bad feeling, really. Surrender. It starts off with a relaxing exhalation, then a white light starts to-
“Hey.” I feel a slap on my face.
Then I hear a woman’s voice. “Well. Don’t you look pathetic?”
“Mm… Mom…?”
“Guess again.”
I open my eyes.
It’s Aurora.
She has my helmet in her hands. Everything else is blue. “I never told you. On Oceana Twelve, I was on the freediving team. I can hold my breath for five minutes. Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
“You… saved my life…”
“Are you kidding? I saved everybody’s life. Larson owes me one. A big one. And I better get a zillion Likes for this.” She lifts me up to a sitting position, and there we all are, sitting up against the Breathable Air Generator, huddled under a blue tarp, helmets off, groggy. But breathing.