by Derek Baker
I had a new motivation in my life, a new purpose, literally and figuratively. That was Violet. Such a beautiful angel of a daughter.
Somehow, I felt like I had known all along she was coming. Something had felt off that night with Claire, a year ago now. We had used protection, but it failed. I was twenty years old now, by Earth standards, and a father. Most young men would see this as a negative, an end to their aspirations in life. Violet, though, was my inspiration, my drive.
As I lay there on the Martian bed having just woken up, she too wasn’t sleeping, as without any prior warning, she began crying.
Her cries stirred Claire lying next to me, and I realized they were both here with me. We weren’t in Baltimore; we were on Mars. She moaned, hearing her daughter in distress.
“Hey, don’t worry. I’ve got it. Go back to sleep,” I said, getting up.
“Thanks,” she groaned.
I sleepily strode over to Violet’s cradle, reached in and picked her up, rocking her in my arms. Such delicacy.
I heard Claire moving, so I turned around to face her. She was sitting up now, looking exhausted.
“How do you get used to sleeping like this? It’s so uncomfortable,” she commented drowsily.
“You mean with the lighter gravity?” I asked.
“Uh huh.”
“I don’t know. I guess it helped that I had been used to no gravity at all before I got here. It was a relief to sleep here if anything.”
“I wonder what Violet must think of it,” she said.
“I don’t know, it could be why she’s crying,” I shrugged, continuing to soothe Violet with my rocking.
“What time is it?” Claire wondered.
“Um. Just a moment. You have to remember it’s all messed up here. I’ll use that conversion table Gikkus’Ren’Tai gave me,” I answered, referring to the head of the Receptions department that had given Alexander and I a tour around the city on my first visit.
I put Violet back down since he had quit crying, and walked over to the nightstand where my tablet was. I touched the screen and it came to life. I hit the icon that opened up the conversion table. The Martian time, as it read on my screen, was 65.20.04.12-487.291. The last three digits were all I needed, as I compared them to the list on the conversion table.
“It’s about…7:30 in the morning, it looks like,” I answered finally.
“And when do you have to report for your training?” asked Claire.
“At 325, I was told…which I think is about an hour from now,” I replied.
“Well then, you better get ready.”
I agreed. I cleaned myself up, got dressed, gave each of my girls a kiss before leaving, and went out the door. The guard that was appointed outside for security purposes greeted me, asking if I needed an escort to the spaceport with his translation feature on his little Martian communicator. I answered yes, and he called for one.
The escort came within a few moments, driving up in her six-wheeled rover in the small alley in which rested the apartment my family and I were staying in. I could see she was a Nei, the Martian gender that produced the egg, the somewhat equivalent of a female. If an Abb was he, and a Nei was she, then what pronoun was used for an Eto?
Driving through the streets of Tai was no easy task if one was a human. The windowless rover put me in plain sight as the citizens on the streets and walkways were keen on staring at me in awe. I wondered, with the arrival of more and more humans each day, if they’d ever tire of their fanaticism. The toughest part was the densely crowded down-town at the bottom of the immense cavern. New buildings and skyscrapers were under construction, gigantic factories were buzzing with war goods production, and rovers and pedestrians everywhere made the city feel not so alien to me. I enjoyed the university campus the most, however. There was no rover riding along save for us, with the intellectuals occupying the cafes and benches, books in hand whilst debating various topics. It occurred to me that the best Martian minds were educated at this particular university, likely where Chym along with prominent politicians received their formal instruction.
The spaceport lay on the opposite side of the city, adjacent to the main hospital where I inadvertently discovered that Martians consisted of three genders. The Nei stopped at the main gate, letting me off, and I thanked her(?) as I walked in. Beyond the gate was the building where the lobby was situated. The lobby was busy as ever, constantly bringing citizens in and out to various places. As strange as it seemed, the Martians kept their domestic and military transport all in one place. I approached the receptions desk, taking a brief moment to check the time with the clock on the far wall of the busy lobby and simultaneously reviewing the conversion table on my tablet.
After checking in and a uncomfortable, nervous wait, a flying instructor in military uniform came into the lobby from the airfield, staring me down, giving me the clue as to his purpose.
He stumbled with his words, speaking in an exotic, robotic accent that sounded like the Martian native tongue: “He-llo. I am Bix’Fir’Yan. I –will be- your train-er to-day. I sorry. I just now, know Human speak. Know you,” he continued, pointing at me, “Martian speak?”
Taking the precautionary measures to speak more simply and slowly to him, I replied, “No, I do not. But you are good at Human. You learn fast.”
He gave the strange looking Martian smile, said, “Thank you.”
Bix’Fir’Yan was an Abb symbolic of the new changes coming in both Earth and Mars. It was as if for centuries our cultures had yearned to blend together, but couldn’t so until just recently. Bix had been required as a pilot instructor to learn English so that he could train prospective pilots like myself. Already in universities on Earth there were courses taught by Martians to teach humans the culture, language, and history of Mars. If I had the time, I wouldn’t have minded to take these classes myself, but I saw a greater purpose for me. Besides, I’d already been through college, gotten that over with. I was finally going to do something to apply my astrophysics degree.
The first day went well to say the least. I knew I was doing the right thing; that this would someday lead to something great. Bix was a good teacher despite our slight language barrier, and the Martian standard controls were as easy to pick up as had been the Wendran vessel.
Speaking of the Wendran vessel, there were already talks of putting that very vessel Chym, Alexander, and I had escaped in, the very same ship that had ironically taken us through deep space after our abduction, into a museum to commemorate the beginnings of the Human-Martian alliance. Historians were having quite the time with all the new events swirling around. Already this was being a called a “new era” in human history.
Bix said that I was a natural born flyer, assuring me that I had what it took to soon be a part of the Martian space fleet. Claire was pleased to hear this when I returned that evening.
In a way I was surprised she had been supportive of me doing this, seeing how dangerous it would be once the Wendrans invaded. Perhaps she didn’t really see the danger ahead, not truly envisioning the peril the Wendrans could bring. At this point even I was pretty ignorant as to what they had wrought upon the innocent worlds they dominated. I only knew my own personal experience with them, which had been horrible enough. I think all humans were oblivious to what lay ahead; only the Martians understood the real threat looming over the horizon, having been at war with the Wendrans for years, trying to keep them from taking complete control.
Claire may have also been so supportive because she simply counted herself lucky that I was even alive. She was prepared to raise Violet without a father, unsure of what to tell her daughter, however, when the little girl became old enough to ask about the man who was missing in her life.
Whatever the cause of her being my pillar of strength, I couldn’t have asked for a better companion. We grew closer every day, filling in the blanks, learning the other’s likes and dislikes when we hadn’t been able to before. Our daughter brought us together, a force that wa
s cementing our growing love. How great it was before the war.
That night after my first day of training, Chym paid us a visit. I was happy to see him since it had been a month or so since our last parting. He gave bad tidings, though, explaining how his father had informed that morning of the growing Wendran armada orbiting Eridos. Time was running short, and so much still needed done. The pressure that had been intense before was now unbearable.
Chym was delighted to observe our “family unit” as he called it. He took great interest in Violet, curious about the development of human children compared to those of the Martian race.
When he proceeded to leave that evening, I bade him farewell with what I explained as the human expression of closeness. I gave Chym his first hug. As sad as that sounds, Martians had their own ways of showing affection, but Chym said this was more intrusive. Even Claire gave Chym a hug, and I heard her murmur “Thanks for everything” into his strange Martian ear.
“Farewell, Delvon. Farewell, Claire. Farewell, young one of Earth. I bid you a good evening,” he said, exiting our apartment.
“Goodnight, Chym, see you soon,” I called to him, and turned and closed the door behind me.
Later, when Violet had fallen asleep, Claire whisked me into bed, making love to me with a new ferocity. Unfortunately my mind lay elsewhere: the coming invasion and the fact that I had to more than anything be ready to pilot in time to defend my home planet.
Chapter 21
Somewhere in Northern Siberia, an old dirt road, long unused and unkempt, was the mode of transportation for an equally antiquated sedan traveling at unsafe speeds considering the highway’s conditions. The car’s paint job was mostly rusted, but one could see it used to be silver. On its front bumper was a logo with the word Chevrolet.
Two individuals occupied the car. The driver was oddly misshapen, tall and somewhat muscular; the dimensions were just off. His long blonde hair was messy and unwashed; his eyes gleamed with a silvery iris. The passenger was silvering in hair color; his face was becoming scruff with all white hairs. He wore an exhausted arrogance and a messed up suit and tie that that he’d been wearing for days.
“So,” began the driver, pressing the gas tighter to increase the speed even more, “We gave you what you wanted. And look what you did with it. Nothing but bullshit. You couldn’t even stay for two damn weeks?”
“I don’t think Martians showing up out of nowhere was part of the plan, asshole,” replied the passenger.
“Well, Mr. Former President, I think you could’ve gone on with the plan if you hadn’t fucked that kid over,” came the driver’s retort.
“Who, that Delvon Galihue? What a pussy. Can’t even get high without freaking out.”
“You gave him the shit that I specifically had manufactured for you. You know that can kill a person the first time.”
“Yes, Johnny, I know how drugs work.”
The driver took his eyes off the road, gave the President an evil glare. “That’s Mr. Haven to you, now. We’re not friends anymore, Fitzy.”
“Then why are you helping me escape?” the arrogance he constantly held heightened.
The driver looked back to where he was going, a sly smile coming to his lips. “Escape? Who said anything about escape?”
“Why else would we be out here? I figured you had one of your so-called ‘Havens’ where I could take sanctuary.”
Johnny’s smile widened, revealing rotten teeth from front to back. “You think you’re so damn smart. But you’re nothing but a lying politician, just like the rest of them.”
“Then what the hell are we doing out here?
“Oh, you’ll see. It’s a surprise,” and the driver began to laugh sardonically.
“If you let anything happen to me, you do realize it’s a capital crime in the United States, punishable by death,” threatened Fitzpatrick.
“Ha!” scoffed Johnny. “First off, what an empty threat from a low-life piece of shit like yourself. You know all too well I hold the power to kill you at any second. Not just with a weapon, but I can cut you off, man. You’ll die without my shit. Second, we’re in Russia, not America, dumbass. Third, you might as well consider the good ol’ USA history. Those damn Martians are trying to change it to a world government to fight the Wendrans more effectively. The nerve of those damn meddlers!”
“You make it sound like you want the Wendrans to be successful,” remarked Fitzpatrick.
“Gee, very good, Mr. P! Maybe you’re not such a stupid politician after all!”
“You…you work for them? Don’t you?”
Johnny shrugged, admitted: “What can I say, Fitzy? They tell me to start a religious cult to cause unrest and vulnerability, and in exchange I get a lifetime of luxury, every whim and desire of mine to be met. Every person who followed Johnny Haven, including you, the President of the United States, doing my bidding and paving the way for alien takeover.”
“God damn, Johnny Haven,” scowled Fitzpatrick, “The headlines portray you as a cult leader, not a damn traitor to the entire human race! You’re a monster!”
“Ah, now now, Fitzy, come on. It’s not like they want that much once they’re in control. Just some water is all. And…it wasn’t like I was the only one.” He whispered the last sentence under his breath.
The sky was darkening; evening was approaching. The road was becoming even more unstable. The car still sped along. In the distance was a clearing where the pair was to rendezvous with a Wendran scout ship.
“I can’t let you do this! This is the sanctity of our race, everything we’ve ever accomplished that you’re going to just throw away for your own benefit!”
“Oh, but you already have.”
The former President sighed, said: “Pull over the damn car, Johnny.”
Haven sensed his motive and replied, “If you so much as move a muscle to try and stop this car, it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“And the last thing for you!”
Fitzpatrick lunged from the passenger’s seat at the wheel, making the car swerve. Johnny struggled to get him off, meanwhile slamming the brakes to stop the vehicle. The car spun around and around, screeching and disturbing the otherwise silent Siberian forest that surrounded them. Then the car came to a dead stop. A gunshot rang out into the wilderness. Fitzpatrick was dead, blood spattered all over the interior of the windshield.
After a moment’s bitter silence, the driver’s door opened, out came the panting Johnny Haven. His eyes were bloodshot, a silver tube in his hand puffing out smoke. Like a broken man, he continued his journey on foot, stumbling dizzily.
He was completely alone in the forest. The only sign of life was the vegetation and the chirping of the crickets. All he had was a car with a dead man and his drugs. The damned Havenist drug, famed for attracting young people into the way of thinking that life was meant to be lived to the fullest, meant for joy and no hard work.
His walk took him to the clearing where he had agreed to meet the Wendran scout ship. He waited there, minute after minute, until it turned to hours. The forest had gone pitch black, the sounds of rather ferocious beasts rang out of the night. Johnny’s drugs had run out; he was sober and terrified. He sat there on the ground, shaking from withdrawal and chill.
When the stroke of midnight had finally passed, a light in the sky gave Haven hope. The light grew brighter and brighter, and came ever closer in proximity. It was what he had been waiting for.
The ship finally came to where it was directly over the clearing, hovering for a brief moment until it drifted down to land. It hummed loudly, surely scaring off any animals that may have been a threat to Haven before. The ship was modeled just like any other Wendran scout cruiser: twenty feet in height with wings at its sides; a tail end resembling an airplane.
Its door opened, a walkway extending to the ground. The silhouette of a Wendran soldier strode down to the earthen soil. His nostrils widened, taking in the fresh air, the scent of the evergreens that surrounded the cl
earing. He must have been thinking how nice it would be when Earth belonged to his own race.
He took note of Haven’s presence, furrowed his eyebrows. His mouth turned to speak, but then, remembering the difference in language, began again in English: “Mr. Haven. Where is your car? Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
As Haven’s eyes readjusted to the light the ship put off, he replied, “Fitzpatrick’s dead. In the car.”
“You crashed?”
“No,” Haven said reluctantly, “I killed him.”
“You what?” came the demanding, harsh Wendran tone of voice.
“He was going to kill me! I had no choice!”
The Wendran soldier lunged at Haven; grasping him by the throat, giving the menacing Wendran glare complete with sharp white teeth protruding out from his mouth.
“You were supposed to deliver him to US! You are a worthless pawn in this operation. All you humans have a complete lack of value.”
As Haven was beginning to choke, the Wendran continued his rant, “Have you nothing to say for yourself? Answer me, fool!”
Haven choked even more before the Wendran finally loosened his grip, letting him drop down to the ground.
Regaining his composure after a moment of retching, Haven retorted, “Have you forgotten what I’ve done for you Wendrans? You came to me three years ago and asked me to do something to cause instability. Did I not do that? You didn’t even tell me to start a religious cult, I came up with that all by myself.”
“Yes, but all that has proved to be fruitless. Those damned human captives that escaped with the help of that Martian…they got back to Earth and told them about our invasion!”