You're Going to Mars!

by Rob Dircks

  I visualize him waving his fists, stirring up a crowd into a frenzy, and then I hear it: cheering. I don’t know how he does it. Somehow, he’s assembled an audience of thousands into Groupie Studios. He has once again spun nothing into gold, raising a ridiculous reality show into some form of national statement, some newsworthy moment to highlight human rights. If I were more cynical, I would dismiss it as self-promotion. But there’s something sincere about it. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels it.

  “…you’ve seen the footage. Her daring rescue of teammates and competitors alike under the dome. She didn’t discriminate… why should we? She deserves a second chance, does she not? And so I call on our friends, the Gitanos, to make this exception, in the name of human decency, in the name of good will, to allow a fellow human being, like the rest of us in all ways and different in none, to participate in the dream of going to Mars. To allow the people of the Fill Cities to join us in cheering the advancement of our human species! I ask you, our friends, to bring Paper back.”

  Aww. Larson. My knight in shining armor. At least he tried.

  Leo smashes the off button. “Oh, give me a fuckin’ break. Big deal. Whiner’s gonna whine. Boo-hoo. Now where was I?” He turns to me, with a totally inappropriate level of glee in his eyes. But I’m holding out the Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card like a half-inch-by-two-inch shield, and I almost laugh at how ridiculous it is, how tiny it suddenly seems, especially compared to the immensity of Leo, and I know more certainly, as he promised, that I’ll soon be sleeping somewhere with a dirt blanket, permanently.

  He crosses his eyes to focus on the card. “What? A stick of gum? No thanks. I’m not allowed to do sugar.”

  I muster as much courage as I can, though I’m absolutely sure I sound more like a mouse than a lion: “Read it.”

  He rolls his eyes, then chuckles maniacally, then coughs, like Bradline might, signaling an oncoming brain aneurism, or a chunk of lung might pop out of his mouth. He finally catches his breath, pats his sweaty forehead with a pink handkerchief. “You’re lucky, Farris. I’m in a good mood this morning. Let’s take a look-see.”

  He has to reach over again to where the TV is – wow, he’s actually getting some exercise this morning, work those abs, Leo – and inserts the card into a slot. The screen flashes to life. I can’t see what’s on it, but I can see Leo’s expression change from slightly-annoyed-amusement to slightly-annoyed-confusion. “Huh. Computer, override login access, audible code LEO-ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE.”

  “Really? That’s your audible code?”

  “Shut up, kid. And if you tell anyone that I’ll kill you.”

  “Now you’re giving me options?”

  But before he can make good on his promises, or just smack me for being snarky, the computer responds, and I could swear even it’s a little afraid of Leo. “I’m sorry. Card DNA encoded. Gitano DNA required for login. Please place your finger on the pad.”

  Leo doesn’t even bother to lean forward. I guess two crunches a day is enough. He decides to go back to being amused, I imagine realizing somewhere deep down that a single additional moment of stress in his life might be the last straw and trigger a massive coronary.

  “Okay Farris. Your little card trick’s pretty fancy. Gotta admit.” He hands me back the card and motions for me to hand it up to Angel. Man, Leo really doesn’t like to move any more than he has to. “Take us to Phoenix, Angel. Make it snappy. We gotta see Gene.” He turns back to me. “Whoopdee-do. You bought yourself a few hours. Happy?”

  “You’re not a Gitano?”

  He laughs. “Oh, no. I’m sweet as peach pie compared to a Gitano. Wait ’til you meet Gene.”

  43

  The Smoking Gitano

  The car stops.

  We’re in the middle of nowhere. Desert on all sides. Even with the near total blackout of the window tinting, the day outside looks bright and blistering hot. “Why are we stopping?”

  Leo leans to one side and farts. “Heh. Look at you. In a rush to get to the fill.”

  Angel activates the privacy screen, and while it slides up I chance a look to him. He has a sort of guilty half-smile on, and quietly mouths, “Sorry.” I guess he’s had his share of Leo farts. I’m on my own.

  So we idle awkwardly for a few minutes, now just Leo and me, and I fantasize about bolting from the car, just to escape his nauseating mixture of aromas. Believe it or not, he makes me miss the Everpresent Stink.

  “They’re here.”

  Another identical long black limousine pulls alongside us coming from the other direction. Angel pops out and skitters over to it. The back window cracks open an inch, and sure enough, a wisp of smoke escapes. Angel nods, and slips the card to an unseen hand.

  A few minutes later, on the intercom: “Leo, good work. You showed admirable restraint. We’ll arrange disposal later.”

  Good work? All he did was not kill me!

  The other limousine lurches onto the side of the road, u-turning and sending up a cloud of orange dust, then speeding away. We follow. And before long, I see it:

  Fill City Seven.

  Just like the others, with thirty-foot walls and pipes sprouting out like arteries, sending urgently-needed nutrients to the rest of the body, the mainland. No. Now they seem more like long fingers, jabbing and gripping the land, keeping it under its control. As we approach, the endless line of trucks pulls aside and lets us proceed. My palms are sweaty. Mars seems way more than 140 million miles away, and a friendly face even farther.

  Directly inside the walls there’s a tunnel to the right, just big enough for the limousines, leading underground. We enter the darkness. My ears pop.

  A small room. Windowless. Cinder block construction, no effort to make it look welcoming – of course, I mean why would they want to make a torture-slash-execution chamber welcoming? I’m alone. I don’t even know how many hours or days pass until I hear a knock on the door.

  “I’m a little busy. Can you come back later?”

  The door opens, as if by itself, and a body is thrown in. Oh my God! A dead body!

  No. It’s breathing. Zip-cuffed wrists and ankles, a burlap bag over its head. I approach the bag and touch it, and the poor creature screams.

  I scream back. “Aaaaahh! It’s okay! It’s okay! I’m not with them! I’m trapped in here too!”

  The head whips around inside the bag and goes silent. Without seeing the face, I could swear the bag looks at me like… it recognizes me.

  I pull it off.

  It’s my mother.

  “JANE!” I throw my arms around her and she groans in pain. “Jane, what the hell are you doing here?!”

  “I’m here to save you. Can’t you tell?”

  I laugh and cry, and have a million questions. But first: “How?!”

  “The Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card. The first thing it does when it’s popped in is send out a beacon signal. I followed you here. The rescue part isn’t going exactly as planned, I’ll admit. By the way, you look pathetic.”

  “I should be the one saying that.” I pull her face close. She’s bleeding from the lip and the nose, and already one of her eyes is blackening. “Oh Lord, you’re a mess. Wait! What about Voomvoom?!”

  “Shhh! Don’t worry. He’s safe. My friend Molly finally relented and took the bugger. He’s like an anchor, you know.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “Hey. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Great. So we can be next door neighbors in the fill.”

  “Look, nobody’s going into the fill. That beacon signal was just the first line of attack. Any good rescue plan has multiple lines, multiple possible approaches to maximize success. The second line of attack? They should be finding out about that doozy right… about…”

  Seconds pass. Too many. “Right about what? Right about now? What’s the doozy? Nothing’s happening. Right about… now?”

  “Jeez. Give it a minute. I’m not perfect you know.”

  “Did you just actually
say that? They must’ve kicked something loose in your head.”

  She ignores me. “Shhh. Right about…”

  A loud shout outside the door. It clicks open.

  “Now.”

  A woman marches in, taking a momentary break from yelling at Angel and the other henchmen around her, and fixes her cold gaze on us. She takes a deep drag of her cigarette, repeats some mantra I can’t make out, and her rage recedes a little, roiling just beneath the surface, as the smoke escapes her nostrils.

  “Well, well, Jane. I’m Gene. Oh God, Jane, Gene, that’s going to get annoying fast. I’ll just call you Farris.”

  I raise my hand. I don’t know why. “What about me?”

  “Not that this’ll take that long, but okay, hello Paper.”

  Jane coughs. “It’s Pepper.”

  I turn to her. “Really, Jane? Still?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” I turn to the woman. “You’re a Gitano?” I guess I expected someone much more like Leo to come in and do the deed. This woman is tall, severe, but elegant, with a pinstriped black skirt and high heels. Her hair is perfect. She even has lipstick on. The only thing she’s missing is one of those little extension poles for her cigarette. Women like her don’t plunge ice picks into people’s necks, they can’t even manage stealing Dalmatian puppies. I hope.

  She sneers. “You were expecting…?”

  “Nothing. Nobody.”

  “Good, you brat. You can shut up. Now, Farris, I’ve just learned the true nature of your little card. My, you’ve been a busy bee.” She leans down and slaps Jane hard across the face. “This girl and you, you little maggots, have broken contracts your families signed, and left one of the Fill Cities. We have contractual rights to take you back. Yes, federal law demands it. But you dare to intimidate me? Blackmail me? For doing what’s legal and right?”

  Another line of blood trickles down Jane’s chin. “Fuck you. Yes.”

  She slaps Jane again. “Look at you. So proud.”

  “You bet your ass I’m proud. You know how many years it took me to make that?”

  She goes to slap Jane again, and Angel makes a strange movement, accidentally putting himself slightly in the way, catching the slap on his own face. “Get out of the way, Angel! God, if you weren’t a Gitano I’d have you in the fill a hundred times by now.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I was going to uncuff her.”

  “Now? You’re in the way, as usual.” She pushes him aside and gears up for another blow.

  I lunge forward and another one of her goons grabs me. “Stop hitting my mother! And is someone going to tell me what the hell you two are talking about?”

  Jane whispers to me, half embarrassed, half cocky. “Your hobby was rockets. Mine was the Dead Body Database.”

  “The Dead what?”

  “I’ll let our gracious host Miss Gitano tell you all about it. I’m sure she’d love to.”

  Gene Gitano’s rage threatens to boil over. She swallows hard, puffs, repeats her mantra. She says it low, but I can hear it this time, I think it’s “Pretty Bubbles.” I’m dying to ask her why a Gitano would have a mantra like that, instead of something like “Breaking Bones,” but she cuts me off before I can ask. “Problem. This is a problem. We can’t have this. Pops will lose his mind.”

  “Pops?”

  “I said shut up, girl. I was talking to myself. Your mother here, she’s created quite a problem for us. I’m thinking. I like to think out loud. Ugh. It would be so much easier if I could just get you two into the fill and go get lunch.”

  My mother laughs. “See? She can’t kill us.”

  “Oh, don’t jump to conclusions. I’m just thinking through the logistics.”

  I stand up and stamp my feet, throwing my absolute best little spoiled kid brat tantrum. “Someone is going to tell me what the hell a Dead Body Database is!”

  The Gitano steps in to strike me but stops. “Hmm. No. You know what? You’re right. I’ll let your mother tell you, that sometimes helps me think. Talk through the problem. Listen and talk, listen and talk. Thank you for the suggestion, Paper.”

  “You’re welcome.” At least you’re remembering your manners, Paper.

  Jane motions for me to come back down to her. “I’ve been working on the Dead Body Database since I was fifteen. Pinpointing the exact location – latitude, longitude, and depth – and DNA-coded identity of every person they’ve killed and buried in Fill City One. Well, not everyone, but lots.”

  “God, that’s a morbid hobby.”

  “It started more as a memorial. Like a permanent record, honoring the unknowns. But very quickly I knew it was something more. After I found Senator Brooks.”

  “Senator Brooks? The former Air Force captain who pushed through the Inquisitor Mars rover mission?”

  “Bingo. They said he died on a glacier in Alaska. Never found the body. But I did.” She struggles to her feet, still cuffed tight together, and approaches Gene Gitano in little jumps. “They buried Senators.” Jump. “Activists.” Jump. “Scientists.” Jump. “The President!”

  “Enough!” Gene Gitano turns away from her, tapping her chin, thinking, thinking.

  President Sherman? The first astronaut to be elected President of the United States? The father of the second Space Race? He was one of my heroes. Disappeared on a hike right outside of Camp David, despite the presence of his full detachment of Secret Service. Gone. Forever. They did this?

  “Jane? Why didn’t you release this database earlier? Shine a light on this? It could’ve helped you expose them, and find out more about the compound.”

  Gene Gitano whips around. “Excuse me?”

  Jane coughs again. “Kid. Ixnay on the ompound-kay!”

  I move closer to hear better. “What?”

  “Ixnay on the ompound-kay!”

  “Are you having a stroke?”

  “It’s pig Latin! Jeez, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

  “What the hell is pig Latin? Did you make that up too?”

  Gene Gitano shoves us apart. “Really, Paper? Even I know pig Latin. She said to shut up about the compound. Now, what compound are we talking about? I’d really like to know.”

  Jane glares at me, this wasn’t supposed to be the time for her big reveal, I guess she wasn’t ready, but the ball is rolling down the hill at full speed now, this is the moment it all comes out. “Gene Gitano, I know what your family has done. Killed and corrupted, for decades, to cover up a compound, an element found by a Mars rover, I don’t know why, but you even tried to kill Zach Larson and the contestants on that show to stop a private mission from exposing you and your trash. I wanted Pepper here to find the element first, get up there and prove it for the whole world to see, but I guess we’ll have to go with what we have and do it now. You’re going down.” She juts her chin out defiantly.

  Gene Gitano looks sort of constipated for a moment, like she can’t decide whether to kill us personally on the spot, or have one of her goons do it while she flicks ashes on us, or just let us rot in this room for the next few weeks until we expire. But she starts to laugh. And laugh. Heartily.

  “Whoo! That is rich!” She walks over to me, whirling her finger in a circle by her temple, whispering in my ear. “I feel sorry for you.” Then she takes a step back, composes herself, lights another cigarette, crushing the old one under her toe. “Thanks for the laugh, Farris. I haven’t laughed like that in I can’t remember when. Wow. Laughter feels good. You’re so funny – especially the part about You’re Going to Mars! I mean, you really think that was us?” A giggle. “Have you been watching the show? It’s clearly that Aurora girl. She’d do anything to win. Even kill the rest of them.”

  I protest. “No way. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Naive, little Farris. You didn’t see her sneaking around in your room. Everyone’s room. She’d do anything. And the spacesuit she just happened to have on? Please. It’s like she’s wearing a neon sign that says ‘It’s me.’” />
  “See, Pepper? I told you. Watch out for that Aurora.”

  “You were trying to tell me through that police photo!”

  “Of course. You think I would ever get arrested by accident?”

  Gene Gitano continues, tapping her chin. “Or maybe it’s that Claire one. Just stupid looking enough. Smart as a fox underneath. Sometimes that’s how they produce these shows.”

  Jane and I both shake our heads and say together, “Claire? Now that’s crazy.”

  “It’s obvious. She seems innocent, dumb as a rock, but those are the ones you have to watch out for. Or maybe, I don’t know, after watching that last episode, maybe it’s Avery – wait – back to the point.”

  “Which was?”

  “You’re accusing us of murder, to cover up an imaginary compound, containing an imaginary element, so that we can take over the world?”

  “Not take over the world. I didn’t say that.”

  “Whatever. Close enough. Do you realize how absolutely ludicrous that sounds?”

  And once again, I have to look at my mother that way, that way that admits she actually is insane, and like it or not, I kind of have to agree with Gene, the smoking Gitano.

  Jane glares at me. “Why are you looking at me like that? You agreeing with this Gitano witch?”

  “No.” But I am. Oh boy. The guilt burns like fire.

  Gitano turns and heads for the door. She’s had enough chit-chat. Nods to the goon holding my arm. “Crazy, criminal Farrises. To the fill with them.”

  Jane says calmly, “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ. Now what, Farris?”

  “There’s a dead-man’s switch. We’ve all been implanted,” she points under her armpit, “with these. If any Farris family member dies, or has it removed, it’ll stop transmitting, and the Dead Body Database will immediately be published across the net, on every available server in every country in the world. Harlon, Rock, Pepper, Scissors, any of them.”