Offworld

by Robin Parrish

  "What if nothing we're seeing is real?" asked Terry at last, his voice echoing off the lake.

  Chris slowly turned his head. "You think everything around us is fake? Like holograms or something?" He knew he sounded incredulous, but part of him couldn't help thinking back to Mars, to that three-dimensional image of the basement in his childhood home that he'd seen and walked inside of there. It had been as real as anything he'd ever seen.

  "I don't know... " Terry replied. "I just -1 can't help wondering if we're in somebody's idea of a test tube. And they keep throwing weird stuff at us to see how we react. Or maybe their technology has its wires crossed, and that's why we keep finding ourselves in unreal places."

  Chris gave a weak laugh. "You've seen way too many movies."

  "This is an impossible scenario," intoned Owen's baritone voice. "Every man, woman, and child-and animal-on Earth has vanished. The mind can go mad imagining the possibilities...

  The three men were silent, reflecting on this.

  "You met Roston in person. What's your take on him?" Chris asked Terry, changing the subject.

  "I don't know... " Terry sighed. "Smart. Focused. His men are undyingly loyal to him. Why?"

  `Just trying to get inside his head," Chris replied, "figure him out a little."

  Owen remained silent, only listening.

  "Do you really think Roston's responsible for D-Day?" Terry asked.

  "You spent time with him," said Chris. "You tell me."

  Terry's eyes wandered off to the surface of the lake. "I never heard him say anything about it directly. He was more concerned with giving orders to his men. They were very intent on finding you guys."

  Another question came to mind. "How did he get you?" Chris asked.

  "I was drunk, wandering the streets of Baton Rouge for hours, throwing things and breaking out storefront windows. It's not like I was keeping a low profile."

  `And?"

  `And I stumbled-or thought I did-and landed face first on the sidewalk. When I came to, I was in his jeep, and I realized I hadn't tripped over my own feet at all; they'd stunned me somehow. I still don't know if it was a dart or a Taser."

  "Hmm," Owen mused. `Again and again he avoids killing us, preferring merely to ensnare us."

  "I don't find that terribly heartening, Beech," Terry replied. "Imprisonment is just another form of death."

  Owen paused. He turned to his young friend, examined him, and smiled. "That's almost profound."

  "Don't look so surprised," said Terry. "Hey, I have layers!"

  Owen and Chris both filled the night with warm laughter.

  Chris yawned. "I think it's about time to turn in, gentlemen. I intend to reach that beacon tomorrow, and I expect Colonel Roston will be standing somewhere between us and it. And I meant it when I said this is war. So get some good sleep. Think I'll check in on Trish before I hit the sack, make sure she's all right."

  "Yeah, what's wrong with her?" Terry asked. "I saw she was moving kind of funny."

  "She has some physical ailments she works hard to keep unnoticed," Chris replied. "The real problem right now is her heart's broken, and it's being made worse by all the loneliness. Beech can explain it to you; solitude can have profoundly negative effects on the human body-"

  "So convince her she's not alone," said Terry in a confused voice, as if it were obvious.

  "You make it sound easy," Chris said. "Paul's out of the picture. He didn't wait on her to get back, he moved on. Without him, she doesn't feel like she has anybody."

  "She has you, Chris."

  Chris blinked. "What?"

  "Dude ..." Terry glanced at Owen in a playful way. "Were we not supposed to notice the way you look at her? You're not that good at hiding it."

  Chris felt his ears burn red. So much blood rushed through them, he couldn't hear the water lapping gently at the shore anymore.

  He couldn't believe anyone had seen, had known, all this timemuch less Terry, of all people. He could remember feeling embarrassed or self-conscious only a handful of times in his entire life, and now he had a new instance to add to the list.

  "I ... don't know what to say," he mumbled.

  "That's because you're a good guy," Terry replied with sincerity, though he was still chuckling. "You're so honorable, you wouldn't dare act on your little crush while she was all beholden to another guy. I get it. But everything's changed now. She's free, she's available. And frankly-and Beech will agree with me on this, believe it or not-right now, telling her how you feel might just be the thing that squashes all that loneliness and pulls her back to the land of the living."

  "I do find that logic hard to argue with," Owen put in.

  Chris was silent. He looked away, thinking of Trisha and the last time he'd seen her. She had an emptiness in her eyes, so very tired, like no amount of rest or sleep would ever be enough.

  "It's the most tired cliche of all time," Chris said, "but I really, truly don't want to damage our friendship. We're under enough pressure here. I don't want to complicate things more."

  Terry smirked, shaking his head in obvious disbelief. "Look around, man. It's the end of the world. If you can't he honest and tell Trish how you feel, here and now ... you may never get another chance. Why risk not being honest with her?"

  Chris had no answer ready, but he was saved by a voice coming from the ridge behind them.

  "Don't y'all get tired of it?" Mae asked.

  "What?" replied Chris.

  "Staring up at space."

  Chris rose to his feet, and Owen did the same. He smiled at her. "We'd be terrible astronauts if we did. Here, sit. I was leaving... ."

  He had to admit, somewhere along the way, he'd grown fond of Mae. He felt like her older brother a little. Protective of her, even. And he'd learned to just enjoy her company. She'd become part of the crew.

  Terry was giving him the evil eye for leaving now, but Chris leaned over and whispered, "You'd better tell her how you feel. You know, it is the end of the world after all."

  Chris couldn't keep a smile off his face as he climbed the embank ment, Owen at his side.

  Terry wanted to kill Chris-though not for real this time-for leaving him here alone with Mae. Terry liked Mae, he really did, but the two of them were from different universes. He wasn't afraid of sharing his feelings with her; he simply didn't know what his feelings for her were, exactly.

  He did a double-take as Mae seated herself on the bank next to him. She looked different. Her hair was combed neatly, her face clean for the first time since he'd met her, and she was giving off a pleasant scent. She even had the slightest bit of makeup on.

  "Wow," he said.

  She smiled in a bashful sort of way, yet held his gaze with those incredible silver eyes.

  "You look very nice."

  She smiled again, nervously. "Never done nothing like this before."

  "Well, it suits you"

  Mae looked up at the night sky, as if trying to see what he and the others had found so interesting. "So. Show me something."

  "Okay ... Um, look there." Terry pointed low to the western sky. This was a topic he could handle. "You see that bright one, right there?"

  "Think so."

  "That's Mars."

  She looked at him like he was crazy. "Shut up."

  He grinned. "For real."

  "Wow." She examined the faraway light. "It's teeny."

  "It's a long way away."

  "Bright, though," said Mae.

  "It's even brighter from the moon," said Terry.

  She looked at him again. "You been to the moon?"

  "Sure. Twice. We all have-all but Owen. Lunar missions are part of NASA's on-the-job training for travel to Mars."

  "How long's it take to get there-Mars?"

  "Six months," replied Terry.

  "Six months!" Mae repeated. Then she dropped her surprised expression and leaned in closer to him, nearly whispering, "Is that long?"

  He smiled. "It's half a year."


  This she understood. "Inside a rocket ship the whole time?"

  Terry nodded.

  "Go nuts sittin' in one place that long."

  "Part of our training was coping mechanisms for dealing with long-term confinement."

  She nodded as if she understood. "What's Tholus Summit? Heard ya'll talking about it. That on Mars too?"

  He nodded. "It's a mountain peak. The mountain's shaped kinda like a dome, and this peak is the highest point, giving a great view of the surrounding geography. Chris mentioned it earlier when I was being held by Roston. It was his way of telling me to jump over the edge of the bridge when he gave the signal. Something similar happened one day on Mars when I jumped from the Summit and landed in the back of the rover, which Chris was driving at the time."

  "Why'd you do that?"

  Terry shrugged. "Bored, I guess. It was exciting going to Mars, don't get me wrong, but it could be tedious at times too, with all the research and experiments and mapping expeditions we did. NASA would kill me if they found out, but sometimes you just have to release a little tension out there."

  "Then why do it? Go up into space?" asked Mae.

  Terry pointed his gaze straight up, and something about his answer made his heart race a little faster. "To see what's past what we can see from here."

  Mae's face softened. She said nothing, but Terry read her relaxed features as understanding. She had to know as well as anyone what it was like to want to know. It was what drove every astronaut, and at times every human being: that longing in the soul to reach out and touch the untouchable strands of the truth of existence.

  "Ever wish ya hadn't gone?" she asked.

  The question brought him back to reality. "No! No, no. To actually touch an alien planet? And be one of the first people to ever do it? I have no regrets about going, none at all. I just wish I'd had something to come back home to."

  Something scratched at his brain and he finally asked, changing the subject, unable to stop himself. "You told me at the lighthouse that you were born on the street. You didn't mean that literally, did you?"

  "Sure did," she replied. "Mom lived on the street just like I do. Didn't always. She was a nurse once upon a time. Guess she passed some of that on to me. Always been good at knowin' how to take care of people.

  `Anyway, she had me out on the streets in New Orleans. She was layin' next to a dumpster. Did it all by herself. Amazing woman, she was."

  "She ... was?"

  Mae nodded. "Shot. Some thug. I was seven. After she was gone, I just went into the cracks. It's easier to survive if nobody bothers seein' you're there."

  Terry was saddened by her story, but not surprised. It was close to what he'd expected.

  "So you really have lived on the street your whole life."

  She nodded again.

  `And you've never been to school, not a single day?"

  She shook her head.

  Terry had a hard time concealing his astonishment at just how different their worlds were. He too was an orphan, but he'd been to school and had a roof over his head, and had plenty of advantages and opportunities. She by contrast had been given nothing at all. Ever.

  "Don't get all sad," she chided. "Not telling you to get pity back."

  "Then why are you telling me?"

  "First person who ever asked. Now . . . wanna ask you something."

  "Okay," he said.

  "You think God's real?"

  The question took him completely off guard. "Whoa-what, now?"

  "Other day," Mae explained, "you said God must have a crazy sense of humor ... if He's there. So, you think so or not?"

  "I ... I don't know," he admitted. "It's not something I really think much about."

  "Well, I do," Mae said.

  "Yeah?"

  "I live in the open. Watch the sun rise and set. Look at the water when it's all calm. Feel breezes touch my face. See the insects do what they do. See all sorts of things other people spend all day ignoring."

  He waited for her to continue, though she paused for a long moment.

  "You write poetry, yeah?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I told you the other day-"

  "Life is poetry," said Mae. "Stop. Watch. Listen. There's poetry all over. And the thing about poetry? It don't write itself."

  JULY 11, 2033 DAY SEVEN

  Morning came early after a difficult night. Twice more as everyone tried to sleep, reality had hiccupped, and they'd each been woken up briefly in an unimaginable place. Sleep was hard to reacquire after waking up swimming in a sea of green gelatin, or floating weightless in an empty red space where there was no oxygen.

  Chris took his customary morning run, his mind consumed with Colonel Mark Roston. Whatever was happening all around them, whatever had happened to the world's population, this man was at the heart of it. Chris couldn't conceive of how that could be possible. All that mattered was that they had to stop him. But first they had to find him. Would Roston be waiting at the base of that beacon of light that even now Chris could see brighter than sunlight? Was he watching Chris have his morning run, and waiting to see what he would do?

  Back at the farm, Chris arrived anxious and ready to get everyone moving, but to his surprise they were up and waiting for him.

  They understand, then, he thought. This is the day we arrive in Houston.

  Terry, Owen, and Mae were packing supplies into the jeeps in the barn. Mae pointed to the farmhouse when Chris asked about Trisha. When he found her, she still had a haggard appearance and a stiffness to her movements, but she was in the living room doing her daily stretches again for the first time all week. Something had given her a little boost, and Chris noted with interest that she no longer showed contempt in her features when she spoke with Mae.

  He walked in behind her, entering the kitchen. "Morning."

  "I think we're pretty well armed for whatever you have planned," she replied, not looking up. "There's still a lot more of them than us, but these weapons give us some options, at least. We're loaded down with plenty of food and all the medical supplies we could find. The others are going to wait in the cars. I think we're ready."

  "Cool," he said. "Thanks for-"

  "Before we go," Trisha interrupted, meeting his eyes for the first time, "we need to talk."

  Oh no.

  Terry told her. He told her I have feelings for her.

  That look on her face ... She knows, and she doesn't approve. What am I going to say?

  "Okay ..." he said, hesitant. He would have preferred to cut to the chase, but decided to buy himself some time to form an intelligent response.

  "I need to ask you something," she said. "I'm only going to ask it once, and I'll believe you, no matter what the answer."

  Chris swallowed, his heart racing. And why was it so hot in here all of a sudden?

  Trisha took a deep breath, bracing herself. "You know I'm your friend. You know I'll follow you no matter where the road takes us. But as your second in command, I have to know: Are we going after Roston because of your father?"

  Chris blinked. "Wait, what?"

  He was sure he'd misunderstood what she said.

  "Your father. He's dead, Chris, and I'm sorry about that. But defeating this man is not going to bring back your father. Even if we manage to find everyone and bring them back, your father will still he dead. So I need you to tell me we're not going after this man because of your loss-because you need someone to take out your frustrations on."

  Chris' mind was reeling. No one had ever made him feel so vulnerable before, and she'd disarmed him so quickly, so easily.

  "How do you know about-" He stopped his own words, because he didn't need to ask that question. He already knew the answer. "For someone who doesn't say much, Mae has a big mouth."

  "She doesn't like keeping secrets."

  "Yeah," Chris muttered, "I think she mentioned that. So when did she ... ?"

  "Last night."

  "And did she also tell you-"

 
"What she saw you do to your father's tombstone?" Trisha replied, frowning. "It came up. Chris ... I'm not judging you. You've never talked about your father in all the years I've known you, and I know now you had good reason not to talk about it...."

  "No, you don't know," he said.

  "Then tell me," said Trisha, her expression a mixture of confusion and caution. "I trust you, but I need to know if this could compromise your judgment"

  "My father was ... he was hard on me. He-"

  "He abused you," Trisha inferred, not quite asking.

  Chris became lost in thought, his eyes glazing over and a stiff look on his face. A thousand memories raced through his mind at once.

  "He loved me. He wanted me to succeed more than he wanted anything else out of life."

  "That doesn't excuse-"

  "I'm not making excuses," Chris said. "Everything he did was his way of training me, preparing me for a life he believed I was meant to lead. And yeah, that included some severe physical punishments. But it was never about abuse, he was never sadistic ... or vicious....

  "You have to understand. Dad raised me almost entirely on his own-my mom died a few years after I was born-and he wasn't a young man even then, so it wasn't easy for him. Whenever I questioned why he was so intent on `training' me instead of just letting me be a kid and play and learn and grow like all the other kids, he would look me dead in the eye and say that he wasn't interested in my comfort. He was concerned with my character. Didn't matter how many times I asked, his answer was always the same. It was years before I figured out what he meant by that."

  He paused.

  "I loved him. And sometimes, I hated him. But everything I know that means anything came from him. He taught me loyalty. And strength. Patience. Courage. Trust. Integrity. I would never have been a pilot, an officer, or an astronaut-much less the first man on Mars-if not for him. I owe him everything."

  "Then I don't understand," Trisha said slowly. "If you don't resent him ... then you destroyed his grave because ... ?"

  Chris grappled with his thoughts. `He was my anchor, my whole life. Every mission I came back from, I went straight home to see him and give him a `report.' Which was our way of interacting with each other, it was how we bonded. When we got back to Earth and found that everyone was gone ... the only thought on my mind was my father. He was frail when we left for Mars. So I went to his home. I went to find out if he was gone like everyone else was-and might somehow be brought back ... or if he was gone for good.