“You’re not a dope, Gwyneth...” said Thomas, trying to look into her eyes.
Mary rolled her eyes as the couple gazed dreamily at each other, and fled to the organic waste bin with her tray. She went back to say goodbye.
“See you later,” said Mary, without anyone noticing her. “Your favourite chaperone is saying goodbye: adiós, chao, au revoir... Never mind.”
Mary left the dining hall. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she was really nervous. She had been working on this ship for months to try and achieve something really good. She didn’t want to get to Mars just to be one of the crowd. She wanted to contribute ideas, give her opinion, show all her talent. She didn’t expect to be given a throne and a sceptre – no. She wanted to work hard to build a future not based on boring nights of alcohol and memories of Earth. She didn’t want to live on nostalgia – what she had left behind was like a book she had already read and left forgotten on the shelf: one that you only picked up again if you had nothing else to read. She knew that there was a book on Mars that had her name as its title: a book that she would write day by day, where anything could happen, from the hope of a promising future to the discovery of infinite true love.
Chapter 8
An envelope slid under each door.
“Paper?” exclaimed Gwyneth surprised.
It had been centuries since she’d seen a paper envelope. She rushed out of her room.
Everyone was immediately pouring out of their rooms – with their futures in their hands.
“It’s paper; it’s real paper. It must be worth loads...” they were saying in awe.
“Let’s open them!” one of them encouraged the others.
They ripped open the paper and it was like heavenly music to their ears.
“It smells like paper. It sounds like paper!”
Mary came out of her room with her envelope in her hand – silent, nervous. All around her, a cloud of ‘ohhhs’ and ‘ahhhs’ flooded over her.
“Cleaning!” shouted one.
“Kitchen!” shouted another.
“I can’t believe it: lorry driver!”
“Deliveries!”
“Accounts!”
“Miner!”
“Store manager!”
They all seemed enthusiastic about their futures. Mary was incapable of opening her envelope. Suddenly, Gwyneth appeared running down the corridor, hardly taking the time to stop in front of her friend.
“Waitress, waitress – I’ll be a waitress!” she shouted crazily.
Gwyneth realised that her friend looked scared and took a few steps back.
“What did you get Mary? Well? Well?”
Mary looked up.
“I don’t dare open the envelope.”
“Give it to me. I’ll open it.”
“Take your clumsy waitress hands off my envelope! Run and look for Thomas – see if you’ve been lucky and he’s going to be an alcoholic!”
“I can’t stand you when you get like this. Idiot! But... Yes! It would be wonderful to have to serve him a drink... by moonlight... Hey, is there a moon on Mars?”
Gwyneth disappeared, happily humming a song that she had just invented. Mary went back to her room and closed the door, leaving the noise and bustle behind. She sat on her bed and breathed in.
“Come on, Mary, do it. It’s just a letter,” she said to herself with trembling hands.
Mary made a big deal of letters. They usually contained messages that could change people’s lives with the stroke of a pen. That’s why she was worried that the prologue to her book might not be the one she hoped for.
But she armed herself with courage and made her hands slowly lift the flap of the envelope. Little by little, it came unstuck, and the folded, printed paper asked permission to come out. She took it delicately between her fingers and she unfolded it with her eyes closed. Her heart was beating so loudly that she thought that it would burst from nerves if she didn’t look. She raised her eyelids and bent her neck to read the first line: date, place, her name, surname, bla, bla, bla... formalities, department of studies, selection management... and then she read it:
‘Role assigned: Director of Farming Resources.’
Her jaw dropped. She hurriedly read it again from the beginning.
“It can’t be. There must be some mistake. Let’s see... It’s my name, my surname... It’s me. It’s me!”
Without further ado, she leapt out of her room and hugged all her companions in the corridor, her eyes glazed over. It turned into an impromptu party. The mothership danced with the sound of collective happiness. How was it possible that everyone was so happy? The Department of Job Assignment knew that their function was to find the ideal position for each of them and they hadn’t made any mistakes. That day was special, memorable, full of hope.
Mary found Gwyneth far from the crowd and approached her. However, she didn’t look altogether happy. Thomas was with her, trying to console her.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mary, worried.
“They’re sending me to a mine,” explained Thomas.
“Far away from me...” pointed out Gwyneth.
Mary came closer to console her.
“Mars is a small planet. I don’t think it will be difficult for you to see each other.”
“Leave it, Ackerson,” begged her friend. “Tell me: were you luckier than me?”
Mary didn’t dare answer.
“The letter...” Gwyneth demanded, putting out her hand.
Although she made an attempt at not giving it to her, she was obliged to at Gwyneth’s insistence.
“You little brains!” said Gwyneth with a smirk as she read the piece of paper. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks.”
After a short pause, Mary tried to soothe Gwyneth:
“Really, don’t worry, Gwyneth. You have much more now than you had before you got here. Thomas is a fantastic guy and I’m not just saying that because he’s here in front of me. You know very well that someone like him won’t let you down.”
Thomas thanked Mary with his eyes for those warm words.
“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you later.”
Mary went off, leaving the couple in their loving sadness.
“Gwyneth,” said Thomas, stroking her blonde hair. “I promise I’ll find the biggest diamond there is in those mines and I’ll make you the nicest ring in the world from it. And when I have it, I’ll kneel before you and ask you to marry me.”
“Thomas,” she said, searching her fears. “I don’t want rings. I want you. I don’t want you to go away. I’d die for this journey to last another century. I want you by my side – always by my side.”
“Gwyneth,” he said, quieting her words, “we’ll be happy on Mars. We’ll find a home, a song, a moment that is ours and ours alone.”
“I can’t wait to land and make that dream come true...” she whispered, moved.
“Our dream.”
The ship’s commandant let the music play over the PA system and the drinks flowed from glasses down the throats of the new colonists of Mars in a question of seconds. Mary, who had never been one to dance much, little by little became the queen of the improvised dance-floor – teaching clumsy country-music dances. During one of her lessons, she bumped into Angie Dickinson.
“You look very happy,” said Angie, between spins, feet-tapping and clapping.
“Yes, I am!”
“If it’s not indiscrete, what are you going to be on Mars?”
“No, no, it’s not,” said Mary. “I’ll be Director of Farming...”
“That sounds interesting. Congratulations.”
“Thanks! And you?” asked Mary. “What did you get?”
“You won’t believe it...”
“Shoot!”
“Management Secretary!”
“What?”
“Just what I said: Mr Stafford’s secretary!”
“Mr Stafford – the father?”
“No!” laug
hed Angie. “Mr Stafford - the son: James!”
Mary’s feet tangled beneath her and she fell flat on her face on the dance floor. Angie didn’t bother to help her up, and disappeared into the crowd. At that moment, Mary felt lost without really knowing why. She tried to hide it; getting up to go on with her silly dance; waiting for alcohol and tiredness to do away with that stupid feeling that she needed to be next to someone she didn’t even know.
Chapter 9
The airlocks folded open, heavy cogs creaking and the thud reverberating as they banged against Martian soil. Red daylight penetrated the mothership which had, at last, deigned to land on solid ground – this was its last interplanetary flight.
Their first steps were cautious; surprise filling their faces as they walked towards the outside. One after another, the thousand colonists and the crew discovered the foundations of their new home on the copper desert. On the other side, the whole Stafford family was waiting along with the executive committee.
“Welcome to Mars,” said Mrs Stafford, all covered up in her spacesuit. “I hope the descent wasn’t too unpleasant.”
“Like a cloud transformed into fog,” declared the Commandant, taking her hand.
“Duke, you should have been a poet,” murmured the old woman, with a knowing wink.
Mr Stafford looked at them both with some suspicion through the glass of his helmet as he narrowed his eyes, making the bushy, white moustache under his nose bob.
“Well, well, well... It’s cold and we’re in a hurry,” said Mr Stafford, hurrying along the reception. “The storm is getting closer.”
Mrs Stafford looked at her husband with displeasure and turned back to the Commandant with a smile.
Mary couldn’t see through her helmet very well. She would have liked to see the magnitude of the planet. She looked over the others, searching for the horizon, which seemed eternal. She decided to wander amongst her travelling companions. It wasn’t an army – she didn’t understand why they were being met in that almost military fashion. She made her way through to the front row. Then she saw him.
Of all of them, James was the only one capable of breathing Martian air. His face, whipped by the cold, was protected only by an enormous scarf knotted at his neck, and a cowboy hat covered his head. A black curl lazed on his forehead, casting a shadow over his eyes. His bare hands looked strong, gently scratching at the denim of his jeans. How was it possible that that man could be unafraid of the argon and the bitter cold of Mars? Mary had never seen anyone with so much self-confidence, so free of niceties, so thoughtful and absorbed in his own wild charisma. The young woman felt like a spy behind the glass – delighted to find him in front of her and realise that James was much more attractive in person than in even her most secret dreams.
At that moment, James walked over to his mother and said something into her ear. Mary noticed that he was in a hurry to get out of there. Mrs Stafford asked for assistance from one of the ship’s crew, who immediately called out:
“Dickinson - Angie Dickinson, number 485!”
Immediately, Angie stepped out from the crowd and stood before the family. You could barely distinguish any difference between her and the rest of the colonists as they all wore similar suits and could only be identified by a plaque on the side. Besides, the sunshine turned the glass on the helmet into a mirror and, from outside, you couldn’t see who was wearing that heavy suit intended to simulate the Earth’s gravity.
James walked towards her.
“Are you Angie Dickinson?”
“I am,” she responded in a metallic voice through the helmet intercom.
“I’m James Stafford,” he told her as he shook her hand, which was hidden by her glove. “I imagine you are well aware of what your function will be here.”
“Of course: I’ll be your personal secretary. I’ll be delighted to do whatever you ask me to.”
A suggestive silence was followed by a smirk from James.
“Follow me. I have a lot to show you and, besides, you’ll be able to take off that uncomfortable suit.”
They both walked towards James’ personal vehicle. Claudia, who had come to the reception, could not ignore what she knew was just public flirting with preordained consequences. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t let James get away with it so easily.
“James, wait a minute!” exclaimed Claudia.
The couple stopped. He turned, surprised.
“What’s wrong, Claudia?”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“I don’t understand,” said James, shaking his head.
“Father, mother, don’t you think it would be a good idea – while the employees are protected with suits and oxygen - if James showed the Director of Farming Resources the location of our livestock farm and greenhouses?”
“Claudia, I don’t think that it’s the best time,” said James, clearly annoyed.
“To the contrary, James,” said Mr Stafford. “That’s a wonderful idea, Claudia. It’s not good to waste the oxygen we have, or the sunlight hours.”
“Duke, dear,” said Mrs Stafford, snorting. “Can you get that man – the director?”
“Woman – the director is a woman,” explained the Head of Personnel Selection.
“Well, well, whatever. Call her.”
Soon her name rang out across the Martian sky:
“Ackerson - Mary Ackerson, number 783!”
Mary was petrified. She swallowed, but she didn’t move.
“Ackerson - Mary Ackerson? Number 783!” insisted the Head of Personnel.
“Ah, it’s you,” said a man, reading her number. “Here – she’s here!”
Mary looked at him with murderous eyes and walked nervously forward. She waited for James to come and talk to her as he had done with Angie, but he didn’t. He ignored her and walked towards the car, throwing a menacing look at Claudia and leaving the two of them on their own.
“Accompany him, please,” said Mrs Stafford, pointing.
As they walked to the vehicle, Angie muttered:
“Don’t you even try to get in the way.”
“What?”
“You understand me perfectly well, honey. There’s only one James Stafford.”
“What are you talking about? Do you think that I...?”
“You? Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’d never fight over a man,” said Mary, trying to sound convinced. “And much less over someone you like. I don’t have as bad taste as you.”
James was waiting in the vehicle, ready to get going. The two of them got in.
“Fasten your seatbelts, and don’t take off your helmets. This is a very old model and there are leaks all over it. In fact, I’ve turned off the oxygen supply.”
The electric engine turned on and the solar panels searched for midday sunrays. James stepped on the accelerator and they were lost on the horizon in a cloud of rust.
Chapter 10
The bionic cattle moved away as the car passed.
“They can’t get used to this thing,” he explained, with one hand on the wheel and his elbow resting on the window.
“But... are they cows?” asked Mary, surprised at the sight of them. “Martian cows? Do they give milk? Can you eat them?”
James laughed.
“I wouldn’t recommend a barbecue with their screws and bolts. You have to be very careful choosing what you can and can’t eat from them. We have machines that can dissect what we need so that we have some animal protein to put in our mouths.”
Mary was dumbstruck as she saw flaps of flesh and skin attached to the mechanical body of each of the cows with hooks and screws.
“And what do these... animals... live on?” she asked with interest. “I don’t see any pastures.”
“Sunrays and rust from the ground. There isn’t much more around here.”
“Really?”
“No,” he laughed to himself again. “We make fodder with leftovers and by-products from our plantations in the greenhous
es. I’ll show them to you now. Miss Ackerson, I hope you’re paying a lot of attention to everything you see – I’m not a person who likes to repeat himself. As you know, you’ll soon be in charge of all this. I’m tired of it and I have less time-consuming tasks to take care of.”
“But I’ll have some help, won’t I?”
“Of course. You’ll have no less than two hundred men reporting to you.”
Mary exhaled, covering the glass with mist.
“And me, Mr Stafford?” asked Angie. “When will you show me my tasks?”
“The greenhouses are on the way, and there’s an area joined to the mansion where my office is. I have it all ready.”
Angie Dickinson filled her chest with excitement, imploring the heavens to leave her alone with James. It was possible that – then – Mr Stafford would be less cool and more open in a more relaxed atmosphere.
Some warning signs on the track led to some railings, which opened to allow them reach an enormous glass and metal building. Its roofs were like a chess board: some enormous windows let light through, and some others, however, captured it with their solar panels. The car entered the greenhouse. The door closed and it was dark for a moment. A green light turned on and another door opposite them slid up with a mechanical sound.
“We’re here,” said James.
The three of them got out of the vehicle and walked inside the greenhouse. The contrast was absolute. The green ate the red. It was as if they had travelled into an Amazonian jungle or maybe it was a Canadian forest, and if they looked around quickly, they could even see cactus, bamboos, false birds-of-paradise and passion flowers... All the flowers in the world in a small, humid, multi-coloured space with a smell of damp earth. And not only that: if they looked up higher, they found crops of corn, soya, tomatoes and onions.
“Mr Stafford,” said Mary. “How is it possible? So many kinds of plants can’t all live together in this climate. What have you done?”
“I haven’t really got a clue about genetics so I’m not the best person to answer that. I just know that they’re planted, they’re watered and they grow. Don’t ask me why.”
Love On Mars Page 4