by Liam Scott
“It’s all right, big guy. This is a safe place,” Atlas simpered.
“She was kind to me,” Sergeant Santana finally blurted, his face going beet red.
Atlas went quiet. He stared at Axel, slack faced, “I- Oh.” Is all he replied, dumbfounded.
“Yeah,” the sergeant said, looking determinedly at the level lights. “All the others like her, the elites, they treated me like a servant, a body to use as cannon fodder for the Alliance. But not Grace. She was filling a bowl of water for a stray dog when I found her and she told me that she hated the parties but went anyway because it made her father happy. She talked to me all night after that and I didn’t feel so-”
“Alone?” Atlas finished, feeling strangely solemn. “She gets that from our mother- that compassion.” He felt a flood of warmth for his sister, then a heavy guilt settled on his shoulders for all the time he could’ve spent with her over the years as a family, but didn’t.
“I remember her,” the sergeant acquiesced. Atlas looked back at him and a kind of silent understanding passed between them.
The aerolift stopped soundlessly and they stepped out into a brightly lit hallway, its floors and walls colored a shiny, metallic silver. It was long and winding, the rooms stretching on for what seemed like forever.
“Quarter 2334,” Atlas spoke aloud, repeating it over and over again until they reached the sliding door.
Axel slid his clearance keycard across the slot. Inside, there were two standard beds, like the one in Atlas’ old dorm that he squeezed onto during his flight academy days. The sergeant huffed as he threw his bag onto the bed closest to the entrance.
“I think they gave us child-sized by mistake,” Atlas said thoughtfully, flopping down onto the lumpy mattress. The small quarters were sparsely decorated and Atlas was reminded of his rooms on the moon base. There was one pillow on each bed and a thin duvet on top. In the small space across the room, there was a tiny bathroom, dimly lit.
“Great view, though,” the sergeant said, looking around the windowless room. Atlas jolted up from the bed.
“Was that- Was that a joke?!”
The sergeant shrugged, but Atlas caught the edge of a smile on his face as he turned away.
Atlas stared up at the ceiling as the sergeant claimed the small bathroom. As the shower clicked on, he imagined stars on the ceiling and a red planet orbiting a bright sun. Atlas couldn’t say he was fond of Mars. He didn’t hate the place but it didn’t compare to Earth, or rather what Earth used to be. The harsh winds and biting cold made for an inhospitable atmosphere and he almost wished terraforming would begin already, whether it was the Shadow Regime or the Alliance who started it, he didn’t much care. He saw green grass and sweet, clean air, birds chirping and a soft wind blowing across tall trees, whispering through the leaves. Though he had never spent much time on Earth, he believed that some part of him knew where he belonged, some human instinct that called to him like a siren’s song in his blood, urging him back to Earth. The moon base was as close as he had gotten lately and the view of a dying Earth from his meager quarters served as a close enough reminder of his home planet.
The bathroom door opened and Sergeant Santana stepped out, looking disgruntled.
“Water’s cold,” he grumbled.
“Course it is.” Atlas replied, “Sarge, can I ask you something?”
“No matter what I say, you’re going to ask anyway, so go ahead,” Axel glanced at him expectantly.
Atlas smiled briefly and then furrowed his brows, looking down at his fingers pulling at the duvet.
“Why do you work for my father? I mean, what drew you to his side in the first place?” Atlas has wondered for years at the loyalty his father commands, the masses of people who flocked to his faction when the wars broke out all over the world.
“I don’t know.”
Atlas looks up. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
The sergeant sat down heavily on his twin bed, “When I joined the militia, I was nothing. I was in and out of prison for hijacking, never able to hold a job. Your father found me when I was at my lowest and he pulled me from the gutter.”
“So you think you owe him or something. Sarge you don’t-”
“I know, Atlas,” Sergeant Santana said quietly. Something in his voice smothered the retort on the tip of Atlas’ tongue. “He’s not as bad as you think, you know.” The sergeant continued carefully.
“You didn’t grow up in his house,” Atlas scoffed. It was impossible for him to equate the magnanimous leader whom thousands looked to for protection, with the cold father who had never in his life had a kind thing to say to his only son.
“You’re right.” Axel agreed easily. He toed off his boots and pulled his stun gun from the holster to place it on the bedside table. “You know where to find me if something goes wrong inside the lounge.”
“You’re actually letting me leave without you?” Atlas raised his eyebrows.
“Can you handle that?” The sergeant returned, only half-kidding. “I’m sure your sister would like to see you.”
Leaning back on the other bed, Atlas watched him with narrowed eyes. “And you.”
“Don’t make me come and find you,” he says before falling back on the bed in exhaustion.
Chapter Four: The Nebula Lounge
A tlas had frequented his fair share of questionable establishments. Earth was rife with ramshackled bars and seedy pubs that were at a minimum, controversial, and at the worst, hazardous. Atlas was not usually one to judge but even he had to admit that the many roadhouses on Earth were typically less than inviting. The Nebula Lounge fell somewhere on the lower end of the spectrum. The bar was packed with bodies and the air remained warm and stuffy no matter which way he moved. There was an actual bar serving drinks in the middle of the room, and then smaller tables with stools scattered haphazardly around the small space. The whole room was modeled after an old school sports room. There were unfamiliar athletes plastered over the walls and scuffed wooden floors, along with rhythmic music that thumped softly from speakers in the ceiling. Atlas tucked his hands into his coat pockets and shouldered his way to the bar. There was a stool open and he slid into the well-worn seat.
He signaled the bartender, “scotch on the rocks.” The hefty man nodded, dropping a sphere of ice into a low tumbler and poured a finger of scotch into the glass. After Atlas thanked him and the man left to take care of other customers, Atlas took a moment to scan the bar. There were no familiar faces within the crowd and he wondered if he’d been stood up by his own sister.
A familiar voice made Atlas turn around, leaning past the large man in the stool at his right. Helene Riley sat four stools down, sipping on a beer and chatting amiably with the bartender. Atlas tapped his glass down hard on the counter after downing his drink, effectively grabbing both her and the bartender’s attention. He gave her a lopsided grin and waved, waggling his fingers.
“Come here often?” He shouted, and the people situated in the chairs between them, all turned to stare at him. “Uh, just her.”
Helene’s expression was pinched and she rubbed a hand over her brow.
“How’s the room? Too small for your over-inflated ego?” She returned, smiling sweetly.
“Too small for anything.” Atlas said, nodding. “But I’d need to lodge in the atrium if my ego were up for debate here.”
That brought a small smile to her lips and Atlas felt absurdly proud of himself for it. Helene tucked a strand of pale hair behind her ear as it fell into her face. Atlas resisted the strange urge to do it himself.
“I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Atlas conceded. “I’m not great with people, in general.”
She huffed a laugh, “that makes two of us.” The bartender made Atlas a fresh drink and popped the top off another beer for Helene.
“Thanks, Chris,” she said, smiling. The bartender returned her smile and continued further down the counter.
The man next to Helene le
ft the bar, and Atlas barely gave it a thought before sliding into the seat beside her. She was wearing a thick, dark sweater and black jeans but while Atlas could feel sweat gathering under his thin shirt and cargo jacket, she looked perfectly content. She had her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and the soft blue lights behind her caught at the pale strands and reflected back.
“I thought you were another developer.” Helene said, apropos of nothing.
“A what?”
“Lately, there’s been a string of Alliance-based land developers marching through the labs like a damn parade.” She shook her head, her lips pressed together. “They say that Mars will belong solely to the Alliance in a few months and as scientists, we’ll need to sign off on the construction contracts.”
“A few months?” Atlas repeated in confusion. “How could they know that?”
“I don’t know,” Helene sipped her drink. “Both factions have tried and failed for decades to claim Mars. This could be just another ploy to gain the upper hand.”
“Is that resentment I hear in your voice, Dr. Riley?” Atlas smirked around the rim of his glass.
“Of all people, I’d assume the black sheep of the Atlas family could understand that sentiment.”
“Oh no, I get it,” Atlas said. “But I have a reason to keep my distance. What happened exactly, in your past? There has to be something.” He wasn’t actually expecting anything substantial, a jilted lover or perhaps being passed up for a higher position.
Helene sucked in a sharp breath and in one quick move, downed the rest of her beer like it was the last ounce of liquid she would ever possess. She rubbed her hands over her upper arms like she was cold.
“Here,” Atlas said, tugging his coat off and slinging it over her shoulders. “Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t-”
“I was just a child,” Helene uttered suddenly. She pushed her empty bottle away and wrapped her arms around herself, grabbing at Atlas’ jacket with thin fingers. “My parents were scientists, and we were part of the original expedition to establish the Red Colony. It was my family and four other groups. The mission was going well until my parents discovered an unheard of change in atmospheric pressure, much too high for the Martian planet.” It was the same story Grace had told the sergeant, the same story Atlas had heard in different versions his entire life. “They ventured into unknown territory and lax safety protocols led to their deaths.”
“They were your parents,” Atlas breathed, half in question and half in disbelieving amazement.
“I was about five.” Helene nodded. “Dr. Lee took me in after their deaths.” The bar was thinning out around them and the room seemed even darker now, throwing her fine features into shadow.
“My mother died when I was eight,” Atlas blurted, in lieu of anything else to say.
Helene brought her empty beer bottle up and clinked it against his glass, “Here’s to tragic backstories.”
Atlas grinned widely, assenting. They had grown closer throughout the night and their shoulders brushed with every movement, reminding him continuously of her warm presence.
“Helene-”
Suddenly, two long arms wrapped around Atlas’ shoulders and he heard a familiar voice cry,
“Johnny, you’re here!”
“I’ve been here, Grace.” Atlas replied, patting her arm. “Where were you?”
“Inventory,” she said. “But I’m here now.”
Helene watched their exchange with a soft smile on her face and when Grace noticed her, she too, was engulfed in a huge hug.
“Hi, Grace,” Helene laughed, returning the hug.
“How’s the lab?” Grace asked. “I went down earlier to see if you wanted lunch but they said you were sleeping.”
“Dr. Lee had me up the entire night, preparing the microscopes for the soil samples,” Helene said, sounding regretful. “But, tomorrow? I think the commissary is serving that soup you like.”
Grace beamed at her, flashing green eyes and white teeth.
“You know each other?” Atlas said, interrupting their exchange.
“You two know each other?” Grace returned.
“We met earlier,” Helene said. “Your brother is the transport for the samples.”
Grace raised her eyebrows, looking impressed.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Atlas grumbled. He wasn’t sure why he had been hired to transport soil samples instead of a scientific vessel or research ship, but he was going to do his best to get the job done. If there was anything he believed was worth doing, it was his job as a pilot.
“Where’s Axel?” asked Grace.
“Did you really think he would show up?” Atlas questioned, dubiously.
“I think he just did,” Helene replied, pointing to the entrance into the lounge.
The sergeant stood awkwardly, holding himself rigid as dancing people moved around him. Grace bounded over to him, a sharp contrast to his stiff demeanor. She pulled him over to them and he followed reluctantly, unsuccessfully avoiding drunken crewmen as they passed by.
“I knew you’d show up,” Atlas heard Grace say as they grew closer. Helene nodded at him as Grace left again, headed for the bartender.
“Sarge,” Atlas acknowledged. Axel nodded shortly, looking uncomfortable.
“I’m Dr. Helene Riley,” Helene said, shaking his hand.
“Sergeant Axel Santana,” he replied. Atlas leaned in and a small smile spread over his face.
“Sarge, why did you come here tonight?” He asked, already sure of the answer.
The sergeant shrugged, looking at him like it was obvious. He glanced over to where Grace was waiting at the other end of the bar, a softness spreading over his gruff features.
“She asked me to.”
Chapter Five: Valles Marineris
I t was early morning when Atlas finally found his way out of the lounge, and almost every patron had filtered out through the night. Sergeant Santana followed behind him, remarkably alert, while Atlas trudged through the halls, his head aching.
“I could carry you,” the sergeant offered, hovering at his back.
“I could carry you,” Atlas mocked, making a face. “Am I the only one who feels like death?”
“You’re the only one who tried to drink the bar dry.” Axel replied, apathetic. “Your sister is much better company than you.”
“You would know,” Atlas grumbled, waving his key card over the access panel.
The atrium was brimming, crowded with people making their way to the front desk and donning spacesuits to exit out into the harsh Martian atmosphere. A group of scientists lingered by the hatchway, their bright white suits gleaming in the artificial glow of the overhead lights. Dr. Alan Lee stood among them.
Atlas paused in the middle of the room, watching them, and Axel let out a disgruntled noise.
“What are you doing?”
“They’re leaving to collect the samples,” Atlas replied.
“Good, then we can leave in a few hours.” The sergeant rubbed a hand over his face as Atlas turned back to him. He huffed, “You’re going with them, aren’t you?”
“I’m so proud of you,” Atlas said, reaching out to pat his cheek. “You’re learning so quickly.”
Before Sergeant Santana could stop him, Atlas took off across the atrium, head pounding but determined. He lost the sergeant in the crowd. At the last moment, another body collided into him and he let out a little oof before hitting the hard floor. Helene Riley sat across from him, her tab awry and her blonde hair askew. She had been hurrying through the atrium, donned in a white suit devoid of its helmet.
“What a coincidence, running into each other like this,” Atlas said, rubbing his shoulder.
Helene got to her feet with a huff, “Shouldn’t you be in an alcoholic coma or something?”
“You know, you were a lot nicer to me last night,” Atlas pointed out, following her. She looked back at him, wrinkling her nose.
“Are you still wearin
g yesterday’s clothes?”
“It’s called recycling,” Atlas replied tartly. Helene rolled her eyes.
“Dr. Riley- good,” Dr. Alan Lee called, motioning her over. “Now we can depart.”
There were three other scientists, two women and a man, each of them checking items off of their tabs and paying no attention to Atlas.
“Hey, hi,” Atlas said and then as Dr. Lee looked up at him, “yeah, hey, I need a space suit.”
“And why is that?” Dr. Lee questioned, raising a sparse eyebrow.
“Can’t breathe out there without it.”
“Atlas-” Helene started.
“I’m coming with. Now,” Atlas said, “space suit?”
“You’re a civilian.” Dr. Lee pointed out. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and tapped his foot, growing impatient.
“So are you.”
“I mean that you’re not authorized to accompany a team of scientists on an exploratory expedition.”
“My father is the head of the Alliance, what more authorization do I need, doc?” Atlas quipped. Helene was
already dragging another space suit from the storage receptacle. Dr. Lee consented with a sharp, quick nod and a mild warning that Atlas better not get in their way. Axel stopped him with a firm hand on his arm after he had pulled his suit into place.
“This is not a good idea,” the sergeant said, his thick eyebrows drawn together. “Your father wouldn't approve.”
“Another great reason to go,” Atlas replied, patting the sergeant on the back. “Thanks, Sarge.”
Atlas left quickly before Axel could reply and he left the other man standing in the middle of the crowded atrium. Dr. Lee’s group had left and Atlas ran to catch up. The corridor off the main building led to a short flight of stairs. This portion of the Red Colony had yet to be fitted with a strong, atmospheric bubble and though it wasn’t like standing suit-less in the Martian morning, it still wasn’t enough oxygen to be even halfway breathable and there was only enough gravity to hold the space vehicles anchored. They stopped short at the landing, waiting in front of the reinforced doors.