In the Red

by Christopher Swiedler

  “Of course I don’t need to say anything!” she said, throwing up her hands. “Anyone with half a brain would have figured it out by now.”

  “Figured out what?”

  “That I’m the one who told Marcy Dagher that I’ve had a crush on you since fifth grade!” she shouted.

  He stared at her. Suddenly six different things she’d said to him all made sense, all at the same time. He opened his mouth to speak before realizing that he didn’t have the slightest clue of what to say. “Oh,” he finally managed.

  “And that was before you saved my life by dragging me twenty kilometers through the middle of a dust storm with a broken air unit and two cracked ribs. So don’t talk to me about incredible.”

  Before he could answer, she jabbed a finger at him. “But this doesn’t mean you can go around telling everyone I’m your girlfriend now. Got it?”

  “Okay,” Michael said, a little bewildered.

  “On the other hand, if I ever hear you tell anyone I’m not your girlfriend, there’s an excellent chance that you really will get punched in the face.” She said this thoughtfully, as if she were describing an allergic reaction that she didn’t quite understand. “So it’s probably best if we just take the word ‘girlfriend’ off the table for a while. Deal?”

  Michael tried to piece together what she was saying. Hypothesis confirmed: sometimes girls really do say things just to confuse you. “Deal,” he said, shaking her hand.

  “Hey,” Lilith said, as if something had just occurred to her. “Why did my mom say that we’ll be waiting outside? Did someone from our class show up? Please tell me it wasn’t Marcy. I really don’t think I could look her in the eye right now.”

  “No,” Michael said. “It’s not Marcy.”

  “So who is it?” Lilith asked, peering through the doors at the plaza outside. “No way it’s Gwen Mackenzie. She’s still mad at me for—”

  Suddenly she stopped. Her face froze in an expression of shock. She looked at Michael and then back out at the plaza, where a tall man with dark hair was pacing back and forth.

  “He’s here?” she said. “She called him?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Michael said. “But she did give me his address.”

  Now wasn’t the right time to tell Lilith that it had taken days of pleading before her mother had even agreed to that. He also didn’t really need to pass on any of the unique and colorful adjectives her mother had used to describe her ex-husband, some of which Michael had needed to look up in a dictionary. The important thing was that Lilith’s dad was out there on the plaza, waiting for her to come out of the hospital.

  “And he actually came?” Lilith said.

  “I barely had time to tell him that you were in the hospital before he’d booked a ticket. I honestly didn’t think it was possible to get here from Earth that quickly.”

  Lilith was quiet for a moment. “It’s not like this fixes everything. He’s still been a jerk.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said. “But it’s a start, right?”

  “I don’t even know what to say to him.”

  “Well,” he said, “you can start with ‘Hi, Dad.’ That’s worked pretty well for me in the past.”

  She nodded but still didn’t move. “Are you okay?” Michael asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “I just need to figure out how to go out there and talk to my dad, which ought to be the most normal thing in the world to do. But first . . .”

  She leaned toward him and her lips pressed against his cheek. Before he even realized what was happening, it was over. He stood completely motionless as a warm flush spread over his face. She’d kissed him. Hadn’t she? It had definitely met all the basic criteria for a kiss. . . .

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?” he said, blinking. “I mean—sure. Of course. You’re welcome.”

  She straightened up and squared her shoulders. “All right. Let’s do this. But later, you and me need to plan out where we’re going next.”

  “Going next?” he asked. “Like on some kind of trip?”

  “Exactly,” she said, pushing open the door. “Except this time, no dust storms, explosions, or solar flares.”

  She glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling. “See, I’ve always wanted to visit Saturn. . . .”

  Michael pressed his forehead against the colony dome and watched as a big passenger jumpship fell in from the upper atmosphere, leaving a white trail like a shooting star. It braked to a stop a hundred meters above the Martian surface, and then it settled down onto an empty landing pad.

  “That’s my ship,” his dad said from behind him.

  Michael nodded. The ship’s gangway descended, and a few of the other passengers, who were already suited up and waiting near the landing pad, climbed aboard.

  Michael was standing with his family in a little plaza near one of the colony’s main passenger airlocks. A voice over a loudspeaker announced that the shuttle to Milankovic was now boarding. A crew of technicians started loading crates of equipment into the airlock.

  “How long do you think it will take to rebuild the station?” Peter asked.

  “It’ll be months before it’s completely ready,” their dad said. “But we’re hoping to get the magnetic field back up in a couple of weeks. The astronomers are saying there’s virtually zero chance of another flare anytime soon, but we’re not taking any chances.”

  “Where are you going to be staying until the station is rebuilt?” their mom asked.

  “Actually, there’s a little homestead not too far away,” he said, smiling. “I think Michael is familiar with it?”

  “I hope you brought your own food, unless you’re a fan of twenty-year-old vegetable curry,” Michael said.

  His dad chuckled. “I think the Rescue Service has that part covered.”

  “Well, it all sounds like a lot of work,” their mom said. “I bet you could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Peter said. “I have soccer practice three times a week all summer long.”

  “And I’m grounded until school starts,” Michael said glumly. No videos, no games, plus lots of extra work around the house. His shoulders were still sore from scrubbing the sides of the shed in their backyard.

  “That’s true,” their mom said thoughtfully. “But we didn’t say exactly where you were grounded, did we?”

  “No,” their dad said. “I don’t think we did.”

  “So it seems to me that spending a few weeks at the station later this summer would still be appropriate.”

  Michael stared at his mother. Had she really said what he thought she’d said? “Wait—do you mean that? I can go visit him?”

  “Don’t get too excited,” she said. “You’ll still be grounded, which means it will be less like a vacation and more like an unpaid job.”

  Michael hugged her, looked up at her face to make sure she was really serious, and then hugged her again. “Thank you!”

  “In the meantime, if you so much as think about sneaking out anywhere, the deal is off,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Got it?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Peter said. When he saw his mother’s warning look, he quickly added, “Better than I did last time.”

  “I could use a little help with this bag,” their dad said. “Michael, do you mind carrying it out for me?”

  Michael grinned. “Sure.”

  His mom squeezed his shoulder, and then she turned to his dad and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful. We’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Bye, Dad,” Peter said. As he walked back toward the train station with their mother, he glanced back over his shoulder at Michael and gave him a little wink.

  “You should see the plans for the new station,” Michael’s dad said. “It’s going to be huge. The Rescue Service is talking about building a new academy there, too. In a few years, when you’re better, I bet they’ll put you up there.”

  There were those words
again: when you’re better. Michael nodded but didn’t answer.

  His dad looked at him quizzically. “Did I say something wrong? Don’t you still want to join the Service?”

  “No, I do,” Michael said. “Or at least, I think I do.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  It took Michael a moment to find the right words. “I don’t like talking about what will happen when I’m better.”

  “I don’t understand,” his dad said. “Why?”

  “Because all it does is make me think about what will happen if I don’t get better.”

  “You’re making great progress,” his dad said. “Of course you’ll get better.”

  “I’m learning how to live with it,” Michael said. “But I’m never going to be completely cured. And right now it feels like every time I have a panic attack, I’m letting you down.”

  Now it was his dad’s turn to not answer. He pursed his lips and looked at Michael with an unreadable expression. “You think you’re disappointing me because you have panic attacks?” he said finally.

  “I wish I was more like you and Peter,” Michael said. His voice was hoarse. “But I’m not, and I’m never going to be.”

  His dad started to say something and then stopped. He paused for a moment, then he knelt down and searched through his duffel bag. He pulled out his screen and handed it to Michael.

  “What’s this?” Michael asked.

  “My report to the Rescue Service. Read the last two paragraphs.”

  Michael scrolled down to the end.

  For risking his life to help preserve the lives of others during the flare, the Rescue Service will posthumously award Commander Randall Clarke its highest honor: the Silver Star of Valor.

  He looked up at his dad. “He deserved it. Even though he’d probably tell you it was a waste of metal.”

  His dad nodded. “Keep reading.”

  Michael continued to the next section.

  We would also like to recognize the actions of Michael Prasad and Lilith Colson, who, though not themselves members of the Rescue Service, repeatedly demonstrated its highest traditions of bravery, ingenuity, and selflessness.

  “You don’t ever need to be like me, or Peter, or anyone else,” his dad said. “You don’t need to stop having panic attacks or go into the Rescue Service. Just keep being yourself. Whatever you end up doing with your life, I’m going to be proud. And I promise you, people are going to take notice.”

  Michael nodded wordlessly. A ground-crew member came by to pick up the duffel bag, but Michael’s dad shook his head. “We’ve got it.”

  Michael darted past him into the prep room and grabbed a suit. He put it on quickly and slung a small air tank over his shoulder. When he came out, his dad furrowed his brow and rubbed his eyes.

  “Airlock dust,” he mumbled, putting on his helmet. “Always gets to me. . . .”

  Michael blinked and looked around. He hadn’t noticed any dust in the air. They cycled the airlock and stepped out onto the surface. The air was calm and the sky was a beautiful pinkish yellow. Michael followed his dad out to the landing pad and set the duffel bag down next to the jumpship’s gangway.

  “Take care of yourself, okay?” his dad said.

  He wrapped his arms around Michael and squeezed him tightly. Michael pressed his head against his dad’s chest and hugged him back. They stayed that way for a long time, and then finally Michael let him go and jogged back toward the colony. His dad gave him one last wave, and then the gangway retracted and the cabin doors closed. Smoke billowed out from the engine, and a few moments later the ship lifted off.

  Michael craned his neck back and watched it rise, balanced delicately on a bluish-white jet of fire. He followed the path of the ship, higher and higher, until it was nothing more than a pale dot of light like a solitary star in the sky.

  “Bye, Dad,” he said quietly. “See you soon.”

  Author’s Note

  SOMETIME SOON, THE first astronauts will set foot on Mars. Within our lifetimes, men and women will be living there full-time, and by the end of this century, the first children will be growing up on another planet. As much as possible, I’ve tried to be accurate about what life on Mars might be like. Human technology is always full of surprises, and someday, all the dangers of Mars will be conquered. But for many, many years, life there will be extremely dangerous.

  The Martian atmosphere, which is not only poisonous but colder than Antarctica and thinner than at the top of Mount Everest, will always be a threat for colonists. In this book I’ve imagined thin, flexible suits with air filters that could convert the carbon dioxide of the atmosphere into breathable oxygen. It will be a long time before anything like these suits would be practical enough for everyday use. In the meantime, a Martian colonist would need to wear something much bulkier and always carry around an oxygen tank. Someday, though, suit technology will reach the point where even children can wear them safely, and going out on the surface will be no more dangerous than riding in a car.

  Another challenge, which believe it or not is actively being worked on by engineers today, is what to do with human waste while in an environment suit. If you think the suits worn by Michael and Lilith aren’t especially practical in that department, then I won’t argue. Instead, I’ll refer you to NASA, who would appreciate any ideas you might have on the subject: In 2017 they sponsored a prize called the “Space Poop Challenge.” I’m sure future generations of colonists will thank you!

  Mars, which doesn’t have a molten core at its center, doesn’t have a magnetic field like Earth. This means compasses won’t work, but much more important, it means solar radiation will be a significant danger. Earth’s magnetic field helps redirect charged particles from the Sun away from the surface, and our thicker atmosphere absorbs a lot of the particles that slip through. A person living on the surface of Mars would be exposed to at least ten times the average dose of radiation that a person living on Earth receives. Worse, solar flares, which go almost unnoticed on Earth, could be very dangerous. Luckily, they won’t be quite as bad as I’ve made them out to be in this book. Even the strongest flares aren’t powerful enough to destroy satellites or cause immediate harm from radiation poisoning, and they usually only last for a few minutes. Still, the first colonies will probably be built underground to protect their inhabitants from radiation. Eventually, super-strong transparent domes might cover entire cities, and an artificially generated magnetic field might protect the entire planet from radiation.

  Fortunately for future Earthlings, we now know that there are large deposits of frozen water on Mars. Some of the first evidence of underground ice was discovered in 2008 by the Phoenix lander that Michael and Lilith see in Chapter Four. Obviously, having a nearby source of water will be helpful whenever a colonist gets thirsty! But even more important, the “O” in “H2O” stands for oxygen, meaning that water could be a major source of breathable air for environment suits and colonies. In fact, it’s even possible that someday we might terraform Mars by liberating so much oxygen from the ice caps that the entire atmosphere becomes breathable.

  Bits of modern technology that we take for granted will have to be rethought for Mars. Earth has an ionosphere, which is a layer of charged particles that reflects radio signals over the horizon, but on Mars, many communications will have to be relayed through satellites instead. Basically, if you can’t see it, you can’t talk to it! Because of the thin atmosphere, airplanes probably won’t be practical on Mars, so I’ve imagined colonists traveling on rockets hopping around on ballistic arcs. If you like theme parks, you’ll love flying like this: As soon as the rocket engines cut off, your flight will be like the downward plunge on the world’s largest roller-coaster. Passengers, please scream and prepare your tray tables for landing.

  Some of the greatest challenges, however, may be psychological. Early colonies will be small and claustrophobic, and people there will be cut off from the rest of humanity by a gap of fifty million miles. Panic di
sorder is a real condition that affects both adults and kids like Michael. But, like the millions of people on Earth today who suffer from panic attacks, humans on Mars will have the support of their friends, families, and medical professionals, and they will find ways to manage their fears and go about their daily lives. We are a resourceful and adaptable species, and in the end we always strive to expand what is possible, rather than letting ourselves be defined by our limitations.

  Nobody knows yet who will be the first person to walk on Mars, or when that historic day will come. We don’t know exactly what life on Mars will be like. But we can imagine, and we can dream, and we can look forward to the day in the not-too-distant-future when we will watch those first steps on our televisions and cell phones.

  And who knows? Maybe you will be that first person. Maybe you will be the one who steps out onto the dusty surface of our sister planet, looks up at the pale blue dot of Earth, and sends back those first words.

  We made it.

  Acknowledgments

  WHEN YOU WORK on a book for almost seven years, you end up with a lot of people to thank.

  I’m deeply grateful for the support of the writers who have mentored and encouraged me as I worked on this project. Michael and Lilith’s story would be much more boring if it weren’t for Shirin Bridges, who edited many drafts and commiserated with me over many more glasses of wine. Julie Artz, Sarahlyn Bruck, Amanda Conran, Phil Hickes, Connie Malko, Priscilla Mizell, Kendal Muse, Mikayla Rivera, Elizabeth Runnoe, and Wade Albert White all provided invaluable suggestions and encouragement. The awesome team of Heidi, Cameron, and Aidan Stallman gave me some of my best (and most enjoyable) beta-read feedback. And ever since a chance “anyone need a crit partner?” post, Cindy Dorminy has been an unwavering long-distance friend through a combined total of eight projects and counting. I hope I’ve done as much for these writers as they’ve done for me. Writing is a solitary business, and you need friends like these to keep you sane along the way.

  A big thank-you to my agent, Bridget Smith at Dunham Literary, who has been a wonderful and enthusiastic partner. She’s also the only person I know who has personally experienced the downward half of a jumpship ride, and how cool is that?