The History Channel did a whole special about it, complete with clips of us from the news and studio interviews. They pointed out that it’s probably based on an eleventh-century Persian story about Vis and Rāmin, and it’s possible it influenced the origins of the legend about Lancelot and Guinevere. On the special they tried to make all these parallels between what Izzy and I have and what happened in the story. It’s a real stretch.
In some of the stories Tristan and Iseult get together in the end. In most they die, apart or in each other’s arms. There’s betrayal, adultery, murder, and all of that.
That’s not Izzy and me.
Chapter 9
* * *
The interview was set up in Izzy’s living room, which Mrs. Drake had cleaned so hard everything looked like real people didn’t actually live there. The network techs had lights set up and power cords stretched everywhere. The whole Drake family was dressed in “casual” clothes, which means they were clothes picked by the wardrobe staff to make them look like ordinary folks. They are ordinary folks, but no one on TV is allowed to look ordinary ordinary. They have to look TV ordinary, which isn’t the same thing. TV ordinary makes everyone look like uncomfortable plastic people.
The director put Izzy and me on the couch and put a box of tissues on the side table nearest me. The idea, I knew, was for me to have to hand her a tissue every time she got emotional. Exploitive and obvious? Yup.
“I’m not going to cry,” growled Izzy, but her eyes were already wet.
The reporter who was interviewing us was pretty famous. Her name was Mindy; she was a scholarship kid at MIT who became a runway superstar, then the host of a reality competition show about robotics and AI. She was smart, no doubt, but the show was ruthless. You know the kind, where all the contestants go from being “wow, it’s so cool we’re on TV” to trash-talking each other as they get closer to the finale. Whatever. The ratings made Mindy a reality show star.
My folks sat in the dining room, but they could see us from the table. Mom had the kind of blank face you see on TV shows about poker champs. Dad had his notebook out and was doing a drawing of the flower arrangement on the table. What’s the expression? Same planet, different worlds. They had to do reality show stuff too, and they did a good job with it—Mom was always very technical and kind of dry; Dad talked about plants as if they were philosophical concepts and made a lot of jokes. They understood the need for the shows in terms of funding, exposure, and support for Mars One, but when it came to Tristan and Izzy, neither of them was happy with it. They thought it was too much of an intrusion into my life, even taking into account the financial benefits for Izzy. Dad called it a necessary evil. Hard to argue.
Herc sat halfway up the stairs. He wasn’t scheduled for an interview, so he was dressed in raggedy jeans, flip-flops, and an ancient Milwaukee Bucks tank top that used to belong to his grandfather.
“Okay, if we’re all ready?” said Mindy brightly.
Izzy took a breath and said, “Yes.”
I grunted.
The lights came on and the cameras began recording.
Chapter 10
* * *
Mindy started out slow. Kind of nice. Like in boxing where the other guy taps with a few light halfhearted jabs to see how you’re going to move. That way he knows where to plant that hard right.
“Izzy,” she said, “you’ve known Tristan since the seventh grade. Were you friends from the start?”
“No,” Izzy said. “We were in some of the same classes.”
“He was famous even then, though, wasn’t he?”
“Sure. Everyone knew about Tristan Hart. He’s always been in the news. Ever since they announced the four families that would be part of the Mars thing.”
“How’d that make you feel? Knowing someone who was famous?”
Izzy shrugged, then grunted softly when Mindy flared her eyes. Izzy jerked as she realized she hadn’t actually answered the question. The interview wasn’t going out live, but we’d been told to give “full and complete” answers. No grunts, no silences, no dead air.
“How’d I feel? God, I hated him at first,” Izzy said.
Mindy jumped on that like a cat on a limping mouse. “You hated Tristan? Why was that?”
“He was so egotistical.” As she said that I caught just a hint of that little Izzy smile I knew so well. “He was all ‘Look at me, I’m going to Mars. I’m going to be famous. I’m special.’ ”
Izzy paused, but there was something about that pause that prevented Mindy from jumping in.
“But then,” said Izzy, “I got to know him.” Another pause, during which she cut a look at me, then glanced at Mindy, and then looked right into the camera. “And it was all an act.”
“An act . . . ?” prompted Mindy.
“Sure. Tris was acting tough, acting big, but it was all hype, all show.”
“And why would he act like that?”
“Because he was scared out of his mind. Why else?”
The camera shifted from her to focus more tightly on my face. Mindy looked like she was going to have kittens right there on the floor. Happy ratings kittens.
“Does that make you angry, Tristan?” she asked. “People always talk about how brave you are. What do you think about Izzy saying that you were scared? Were you scared? Are you?”
Maybe there was a better PR way to handle it. I’m sure the mission people would have wanted me to use one of the zillion scripted responses they gave to everyone on the crew. I knew a lot of them by heart, and I’d used a bunch. But using them now would feel like a cheat. Besides, these people wanted a “reality” show, so maybe they should get that. Something real. Izzy’s comments already started it spinning that way.
I said, “Of course I was scared. I was scared then, I’m scared now, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be scared for the rest of my life. I have nightmares about this stuff. I’ll probably have nightmares while we’re in space. Even if I were an adult, I know I’d be scared. Everyone on this trip is terrified. We’re using tech that no one’s really proved yet. We’re doing something no one’s ever done. How could we not be scared?”
“We talked about this a lot,” said Izzy, shifting her focus back to Mindy, making it a conversation. Selling it. “When we first started getting interested in each other, we talked about it. About how dangerous it was.”
“Dangerous in what way?” asked Mindy.
“In every way, I suppose. Once we started hanging out, we knew we liked each other. A lot.”
“A lot,” I agreed.
“And we knew that it was kind of stupid to get involved because there was no . . . no . . .” Izzy fished for the word.
“No ‘hope’?” suggested Mindy, but Izzy shook her head.
“That’s not it. There was nowhere to go with it. We tried to be adult about it. I mean, we’re still kids, so I guess we’re still trying to be adult about this. The thing is, though, I’m not sure being ‘adult’ would really be any better. Tristan’s introduced me to a lot of the other crew members. We’ve been to parties with them and lectures. And we had separation counseling sessions. Those were mostly for people who were leaving family behind, but I asked if I could go too.”
“And they let you?”
“Of course they did. The mission people aren’t cruel. It’s not like they’re trying to kidnap Tristan and everyone else. They seem to understand how bad this is going to feel once the rockets take off. They’re trying to do whatever they can. It’s just that . . . well, what can anyone really do? I love Tristan and he loves me, but in two months he’s going to go and there’s nothing that will change that. In two months I’m going to be here and all I’ll ever see of him is on a video screen.”
Mindy had a look on her face that would have scared a great white shark. “And how does that make you feel?”
Izzy seemed ready to answer the question, but then she hit a speed bump. We’d both known this would be tough but we’d talked about it so much
that maybe we tricked ourselves into thinking we had it locked. Now that we were saying it, though, in front of her folks and mine, in front of Herc, in front of the camera crew and Mindy—and knowing this would be edited and shown to millions of people—it suddenly got bigger. More real. Instead of walking through a minefield where we knew how and where they’d placed the mines, it suddenly felt like walking barefoot on broken glass.
“It makes me feel like he’s dying,” said Izzy. “It makes me feel like I’m dying too.”
A tear broke and fell down Izzy’s cheek and she brushed it angrily away.
And yeah, I handed her a damn tissue.
Chapter 11
* * *
Herc walked home with me. His family lived one block over from mine. We took the long route, neither of us in a hurry.
After a couple of silent blocks, Herc said, “I saw the interview with that Indian chick, Nirti, last night. Did you watch it?”
“No.”
“You’ve met her though, right?”
“Like a thousand times.”
Herc nodded. “She’s hot.”
“I guess.”
He cut me a look. “Don’t even, Tris. You can’t tell me you’re so hung up on Izzy that you can’t see how smoking hot Nirti is. The other one too. The blonde. Wow. No way you can look me in the eye and tell me they’re not insanely hot. Both of them.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t, but—”
“You and them, in a little spaceship. You can’t tell me you won’t be thinking about hooking up. Maybe not now, but sometime.” We walked for half a block. “You know that’s what they’ve got to be thinking,” he said. “Either you and Nirti or you and what’s her name?”
“Zoé.”
He shrugged. “Zoé, whatever. You know they’re hoping you’ll hook up with one of those girls. And by ‘they’ I mean the mission people.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You’re going to colonize a planet, dude. Someone’s got to hook up and make a bunch of little Martian rug rats.”
“First . . . no. And second, there’s another guy, you know,” I said. “Luther Mbede.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Herc. “They had his interview two weeks ago. African dude.”
“South African,” I corrected. “He’s Zulu, which is part of the—”
“Nguni people. Right. Like I said, I saw him.” Herc stooped and picked up an empty plastic Coke bottle, rose, jumped, turned, and made a shot into a trash can on the corner. “And he scores!”
I made hissing sounds like crowds cheering. We continued walking.
“That Luther kid’s better looking than you.”
“That’s not news.”
“He’ll get first pick of those girls.”
“You say that, man, but you haven’t met those girls. Nobody’s going to pick either of them. Besides . . . it’s not a meat market, you know. And they’re not sending us all that way just so we can hook up.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Dude, sometimes you are so dumb.”
“No, man, it’s just that you don’t understand the science. They really don’t want us to have kids up there. I’m not saying ‘ever,’ but not anytime soon. Not until we figure out how.”
He stopped and stared at me with a half smile on his mouth. “Um, say, son, do you want to have the talk? You know, the whole facts of life? You see, when a man and a woman love each other they—”
“No, dumbass, I’m saying we don’t think it’s safe.”
“Safe? You lost me. Are we talking alien STDs?”
“No,” I said, and explained that one of the mission candidates was cut last year because her religion didn’t allow her to use any kind of contraception, and as of now there was no known way for a woman outside of Earth’s atmosphere and gravity to carry to term with even a tiny guarantee of delivering a healthy, normal baby. There were apparently a lot of theories about how microgravity would prevent bones, nerves, and other tissues from forming. My point is that the colonists who went were supposed to live there but not to breed there. Not until they knew we could have normal pregnancies and healthy babies.
He thought about that and looked sad for a moment. “Wow. That really kind of sucks.”
“I know.”
“No, wait, this whole thing is about colonizing Mars, right? Or did I miss something?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Without babies? Without reproducing? Don’t get me wrong, Tris, but that is the stupidest idea I ever heard of.”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “They’re pretty sure they will figure it all out, it’s just that they don’t have those answers yet.”
He looked pretty upset. “One minute I’m thinking this is an interplanetary booty call and now you’re telling me this?”
“They’ll figure it out,” I insisted.
“Yeah, but what if they don’t? What if you’re all sitting up there and they don’t science up a solution? What are they going to do then—keep sending bunches of people to replace those who die off? How’s that colonizing anything?”
I didn’t have an answer to that. None of us did. The scientists here on Earth and the ones going with us seemed convinced there would be answers. Practical answers. And soon. But “soon” is a weird word and it doesn’t have a shelf life.
We stopped outside my house. There was a SOLD card in the slot of the wooden Realtor’s sign. We stood there for a moment, looking at it.
“Getting close,” he said after a while.
“I know.”
Overhead the stars were as bright as headlights. Herc sighed and punched me lightly on the arm. “See you tomorrow, Tris.”
“Yeah,” I said, “see you.”
I walked up the three steps to my porch and turned to wave at him, but Herc had his back to me. He was staring at the SOLD card. Then, without saying a word, he slapped it out of the slot and let it fall to the grass. He walked away without looking back.
I let the card lie where it had fallen.
Chapter 12
* * *
That night I lay on my bed with the lights off and music playing. It was a playlist Izzy made for me last summer. One hundred tracks of space and science-fiction music. Most of it was stuff I’d never heard of and would never even have bothered to listen to if it wasn’t for me going into space. Some of it really old, some of it funny, some of it pretty weird, some of it corny, and some of it like a knife in the chest.
Was it masochistic of me to keep playing it? Maybe. I don’t know. I was taking the playlist with me.
The last crickets of the season were pulsing in the darkness outside my bedroom window. Downstairs I heard Dad say something and Mom laugh. Couldn’t hear what he said, but she laughed really loud and kept laughing for a long time. No one else I knew could make Mom laugh. It was hard enough to get her to crack a smile. Dad could, though. He was quiet and off in his own head a lot of the time, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention and didn’t know what was going on.
They were so different that it was sometimes hard to understand how they ever fell in love. Maybe it was Dad’s sense of humor and the optimism that came with it.
Besides, we’d all need to be able to laugh on Mars, too.
All the lights were off in my room and I was sprawled on the bed staring up at the cosmos. Stars and planets swirling across my ceiling.
It was something Mom rigged up for my twelfth birthday and I never took it down. A little laser projector sat on top of my bookcase and it splashed the image in a continuous loop. It was the stars as seen from Mars, a high-def video capture from one of the rovers. Earth was a tiny white light. The sun was larger, but not much.
The song that was playing was from some guy who used to be famous a long time ago. Elton John. The song was “Rocket Man.” I sang along with it ’cause I’d heard it a hundred times. The singer was saying how Mars wasn’t a good place to raise kids. Jeez.
Mom’s laughter
died away downstairs. The crickets were a soft background sound, and somehow they seemed to work their way into the song.
I lay there and sang the old song. Softly, though.
Not too loud.
Chapter 13
* * *
September burned away so fast.
I spent as much time as I could with Izzy. And with Herc. The closer we got to the launch date, though, the harder it was getting for all of us.
Mom kept trying to divert me from being morose by giving me weird technical problems to solve. One day I came home from school and found a note telling me to go down to the basement. The washing machine was completely disassembled. Every single part down to the last nut and screw. And not laid out nice and neat. The parts were all mixed up. And there, sitting on top of my toolbox, was a timer. She’d rigged it to start counting down as soon as the cellar light went on. There was a note.
Fix it.
That’s Mom. She’d allowed me four hours to fix the thing. I did it in three hours and twenty-two minutes. She came home while I was cleaning my tools, put a load in the washer, added soap and softener, kissed me on the cheek, and went upstairs.
A couple days later I found she’d done the same thing to the big-screen TV in the den. Only this time she’d deliberately broken three really important parts. When she came home Dad and I were watching last night’s DVR’d episode of Tristan and Izzy. He’d helped me dismantle Mom’s computer down to the last microchip.
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