Chapter – 17
“What did he think?” I asked Mary, holding the pearls in the air next to the apple tree.
Mary stood next to me, admiring the tree, circling it slowly. “Aiden didn’t understand it,” she answered. “He'd never seen anything grow outside the Great Gardens before. It would be like a ship such as this repairing and launching itself into space, with no assistance from you. It baffled him, but it didn’t frighten him.” She smiled at the thought of Aiden. “Such a sweet boy. He decided not to bother the tree at all. He didn’t even tear off a leaf to show his parents.”
I tried and failed to understand what Aiden must have felt. Weeds and rare trees growing on their own in the Martian wastelands were commonplace while I was growing up. When I was born, the work of Mary Tanaka had long since escaped into the wastelands. I wondered what happened to Mary and her work. A small and fragile ecosystem was established, but there was more planned. What ever happened to the small land animals she promised? The most frustrating part was that Mary Tanaka stood before me, and not even she had answers.
Someone entered the room, and Mary disappeared. Turning around, I saw my mother walking towards me, with a smile. As she came closer, I shoved the pearls into my pocket.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked.
“I was checking on the tree,” I answered. “I haven’t seen it much since I brought it here.”
“No,” she agreed, "you’ve been too busy on your latest successful adventure. I thought you would be completely absorbed with it by now.”
She was right. If I were in a better state of mind, and perhaps not seeing ghosts, I would be working around the clock to discover a new route to the command deck, so the entire family could see. April couldn’t safely go through the air vents, and my parents would sooner wait for an easier path.
I couldn’t focus, however. I couldn’t devote all my attention to it, not with so much on my mind. The visions of Mary Tanaka, and of Robert Peters raised questions in me that I'd never before considered. Before living their memories, I had no real concept of the Terran fleet, of the war on Mars, of the Martian apple tree…of Earth. I had never been given a reason to care, until now.
“I’ve had…other things on my mind,” I admitted to her.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “What? Has something been bothering you?”
Of course I couldn't explain. My family didn’t know of my visions, and I’d prefer they never did. Somehow, I considered them personal.
“I want to know more…about the Martian beliefs…” I said as delicately as I could. My mother’s history with these beliefs was incomplete. Yes, incomplete is the best way to say it. She, like the rest of my family, didn’t grow up on our battle ships with a crew. We grew up in the open stretch of water in between. My mother knew the most about the Martian way, of course, but her knowledge was limited.
“Well…what exactly would you like to know?” she asked. “I’ll do my best.”
“I’m only curious,” I assured her. “Your best will be fine.”
She nodded, smiling again, then sat down, awaiting the questions.
I sat down across from her.
“I want to know how the Martians saw themselves,” I asked.
She seemed somewhat confused, so I looked around desperately for a clearer way to say it, as if I would find the answer written on a nearby object. My eyes fell on the apple tree, so I gestured to it. “How,” I clarified, “did the Martians see themselves in relation to the plants? Were they stewards?”
She understood what I was asking, and immediately shook her head. “No, we were not stewards. A steward is someone who acts out of superior knowledge, someone who controls something because that something can’t control itself. Stewardship implies detachment from the thing that is being watched over. The Martian people were guardians, not stewards.”
The distinction escaped me. She saw this.
“Look at it this way,” she continued. “A steward would maintain the Great Gardens because the gardens couldn’t maintain themselves, because the steward believed he or she knew best.”
“Isn’t that what the Martians did?” I asked.
“Not exactly. Yes it says in the Martian writings that, without Martians there would be no gardens. However, it says immediately after, that without the gardens there would be no Martians. The Martian people weren’t maintaining the gardens for the good of the gardens. They were maintaining the gardens for themselves as well. Do you understand?”
“kind of,” I answered.
She thought it over again, then continued. “The Martian people weren’t in charge of the gardens. They didn't own the gardens. That’s an arrogant way of thinking. What the Martians were doing instead was filling a need. The garden had a need for guardians, not stewards, a need the Martians filled. The Martians, also, had a need for food, not a need for control, a need the gardens filled. So the two were united from the beginning, coming into existence together. Do you see?”
Indeed I did. To think of the plants, and also humans as part of the same whole was nice. I think I preferred this way of thinking.
I smiled. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Good,” she answered. “Now, was there anything else you would like to know?”
“I was wondering what the Martians thought about the plants that grew outside the gardens.” I gestured to the apple tree again. “What about the plants that didn’t need the Martian people?”
She was once again surprised by the question. “I…I don’t know, son. I recall other Martians shunning them, back when I was young. I personally see nothing wrong with them. They’ve been around my entire life.”
“Strange,” I said, forgetting that I was already playing a dangerous game by asking these questions.
“What’s strange?” my mother asked.
“Nothing,” I said, smiling again. “It’s not important.”
__________
Another failure.
I exhaled with frustration. Twenty three trials had yielded nothing, and had also kept me standing in the same place for hours now. I hated it. I didn’t mind slow progress, but this wasn't progress at all. This was a waste of time and energy. My father would disagree, of course. He’d been solving these problems for a lifetime. He felt closer to a solution after each failure. I only feel closer to old age.
Shaking my head clear, I typed an outgoing message to my father.
“Didn’t work. Any suggestions?”
I then looked down at my small terminal, feeling the need to harm it in some fashion. It deserved to be smashed to bits, after all. It wasn’t performing the job it was built for.
There was only one route from the central decks to the command deck that could hold atmosphere. After this ship was abandoned, its systems became a jumbled mess. The safety locks holding the route’s main doors closed were refusing to open. My crowbar was no help. My father was on the command deck’s side of the route, working with another locked door.
That’s how he would say it. He would say he was working with it. That was the difference between our work styles. I wasn’t working with this door. I was fighting with it.
That was the fundamental reason we worked on different projects. Some projects needed an ally. Others needed an enemy. If my years of fighting taught me anything, it’s that I’m good at making enemies.
“My suggestion is for you to calm down and try something new. I can feel your frustration from here,” my father’s return message stated.
I pressed a hand tightly against my forehead, closing my eyes. I groaned slightly, mentally stepping back from the situation.
My father was right. He was always right.
I leaned against the locked door. In cases like these, I have to notice the reoccurring lessons. No matter how many times I learn from a fight, I find myself approaching new ones with the same unproductive mindset. My greatest achievements were always accomplished with a calm
mind. Discouragement always leads to mistakes.
I opened my eyes, then leapt back in surprise, colliding painfully with the door behind me. Robert Peters was standing a few metres away, just visible in the dark hall.
Robert stepped into the light, but didn’t advance any further.
I was trembling so badly I could barely breathe. Stepping away from the door, I stared at Robert. There was something about him that made me uneasy. He was strong, fit, and animated. Looking at him, I realized how pathetic I was by Terran standards, even by human standards. I was thin, weak, and dirty.
“I-I heard what happened to you…” I told him.
He looked at me quizzically, a very human looking stare. Somehow, it put me at ease.
“Once you redirected this ship towards Mars, you got rid of the pearls. I know what happened after,” I clarified.
He watched me for a few moments, so I waited. It was difficult to judge Robert’s reaction. He stayed so indifferent, so emotionless.
He stepped forward very casually. I stepped out of his way. For a moment I thought he intended to walk through the door. Instead of passing through a solid door in a ghostly fashion, Robert went to the terminal and began meddling with my work.
“I don’t care what happened…after,” Robert said, as much to me as to himself. “I don’t care what they called me, or what they did to me.” Some seconds passed with only the noise of Robert’s hands at work. “I knew myself better than any of them could. Why should any credence be given to their views of me?”
I heard the door’s locks give way, and the door slid aside. I watched in bewilderment as Robert turned from the panel and walked through the now open door. He paid no attention to me as he passed. My eyes followed him, studying his steps. It was so similar to Mary. This wasn’t Robert Peters, not exactly. This was the essence of Robert, just as Mary was only part of the true Mary. These ghosts walked with a soothing stride. He seemed free, yet somehow, degraded. It's difficult to explain.
Still casting the occasional glance at Robert, I went to the terminal and followed Robert’s work. His solution was brilliant.
“Got it,” I messaged to my father. The response wasn’t long coming.
“You did?! How?!”
“I tried something new,” I answered, smirking.
I summarized how Robert had solved the problem, then turned to the newly opened route. The lights weren’t functional in this section, so I pulled out my power cell and activated it. The dull green light illuminated my way.
This place was built with narrow halls. I was usually thrilled when entering a new section of my ship, but for whatever reason, this place didn't feel new. In fact, I recognized it from Robert's memories. I knew that up a short way were the personnel quarters. A short ways beyond them was the command deck, and the door by father was currently working to open.
This was the second time I'd seen Robert since he started to appear, so I decided to follow him, rather than hurry to the command deck. I made my way forward, until I found the door leading to the personnel quarters. I had to plug my power cell into it for the panel to work, but once that I was done, I punched in the pass code and pushed the door open. Retrieving my power cell, I continued.
Robert's quarters were in this section, and he knew that pass code off by heart. How strange it was, to recognize a meaningless memory that wasn’t my own. The trivial task of typing in a personalized access code becomes second nature to a person.
What else could I do, as a consequence of Mary and Robert? What new things was I capable of?
Holding the power cell high, I consciously selected my path. There were a surprising number of objects lying on the floor, covered in dust. I couldn’t name most of them.
When I finally saw Robert’s quarters, I saw the door was open. Robert hadn’t left it that way. The door has been open for hundreds of years while this ship lay abandoned.
I felt hesitant to proceed. Perhaps it was Robert’s emotions playing with me, or maybe my own emotions reacting to what I saw through Robert’s eyes. Either way, this room was more than a place to sleep. It represented a chilling reality, the knowledge of self. I don’t know how much someone like myself had to fear. Did I want to know what this room could show me?
…I couldn’t walk away. The consequences of this room aside, I needed to speak with Robert.
Entering the room, I felt a chill wash over me. I didn’t want to be here. Robert was to my left, staring at the mirror hanging before him. He wasn’t struggling. There was no great transfer of knowledge happening here. I stayed at the entrance, feeling that entering the room any further would cost me the chance to ever leave.
“You never see yourself the same again,” Robert stated. “It’s like rereading the same life changing book…”
“I’ve never read a book,” I cut in, feeling my first trace of annoyance towards Robert. I didn’t want to hear about his experience. I was there, in a sense.
If Robert knew he was being confronted, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stood straight and becoming silent, his eyes closed, as if in a trance.
“I have a question for you,” I interrupted again.
Robert’s eyes opened, and he turned to face me. As usual, he showed indifference, with the slightest hint of curiosity. “Then ask,” he said.
I felt the need to be forceful. “I want to know…what happened on Earth, just as you were leaving. Mary said the planet rejected you…something about Earthquakes.”
Robert’s reaction was immediate and surprising. He stepped back, his eyes wide, raising his hands as if to defend himself from the question. This was the most powerful display of emotion Robert had ever shown. To my amazement, his image changed. He became human, in colour and solidity. His transparency was barely noticeable. I found it terrifying
Robert’s answer to my question sent shivers down my spine.
“Earthquakes,” he said. “Floods…storms.” He just shook his head. “No,” he said. “No.”
Just like that, he was gone.
I blinked in surprise, half expecting my eyes to reset and see him where he stood a moment ago. Nothing happened. I was, and always had been, standing at the threshold of an empty room. I was disappointed, and worried. Both Mary and Robert were only as real as I believed them to be, but as far as I could tell, their memories were intact. I could almost recall their memories myself, but nothing about the planet Earth could be found. It was as if the two of them repressed anything to do with it, out of shame or regret. I feared for my ship, for myself, for my family. I brought them to this world. Perhaps there was more here than I was prepared for…
I heard something. Immediately I turned to the darker corners of the room, splashing green light wherever I could. After checking the room thoroughly, I became motionless, my eyes and ears straining.
I heard it again, in the same hollow tone. It was best described as the whisper of a ghost, not one like Robert or Mary. This ghost had no body, no form, and no words.
After several moments, my eyes landed on the source of the whisper. It was the mirror. It wanted to show me something. Moving forward, I stood before the mirror, seeing my own thin, weak reflection. I stepped even closer, analyzing my own features. I waited with bated breath for the image to draw me in, to show me what it had shown Robert…but it didn’t. I saw my reflection exactly as it was. The whispering was gone.
I was about to back away out of hesitation then it happened. My own image didn’t speak to me, nor did I see the inner dungeons of my mind. Instead, I saw my mother.
As if I were standing close to the scene, I saw her lying on her back, looking helpless. I was on my knees next to her, younger, cleaner. I was holding her hand, worried. There was something wrong. She was smiling up at me, as sweetly as she always did. This was a noiseless scene, noiseless except for the ghostly whisper that slowly returned. This time, it was saying something. Not in words, or course. Instead, it embodied an emotion, if such a thing was possible. It was like music, sorr
owful and condemning.
I shook my head, my eyes glued to the scene.
It wasn’t like that. The music told the story differently. It added an element to the scene that wasn’t there. I tried to ignore it, but instead of fading, it became louder. The scene just continued playing, calmly. The music continued to build. Soon, my eyes began to burn and my lips started to tremble. I shook my head, trying to banish the sick feeling growing inside of me. Still the music intensified, and a very old pain came to life in my heart.
I was crying.
The scene continued.
I threw away the power cell.
The music became louder.
I covered my face with my hands.
I could only see my mother.
The music found me.
I tore the mirror from the wall.
The scene vanished.
I smashed the mirror.
The music stopped.
I screamed.
Nothing screamed back.
My hands were cut.
I smashed it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Abel Page 19