Martians Abroad

by Carrie Vaughn

  I sighed. “I’m supposed to want to go. Mom keeps telling me what a great opportunity this is. I think she’s just trying to get rid of me.”

  “Then maybe you should look at it that way—you won’t have your mother looking over your shoulder every minute of the day anymore.”

  I had to smile at that. Communications between Earth and Mars had a ten- to twenty-minute time lag. She’d never be able to interrogate me like she did here. She’d still keep an eye on me, sure, but the news she got would always be at least ten minutes old. That was something.

  “Yeah, but she’ll just make Charles keep an eye on me.”

  Beau reflexively looked around, an instinctive check to see if Charles was eavesdropping. I couldn’t have said whether my brother was or wasn’t. I couldn’t do anything about it one way or another—if I caught him at one trick, he’d find another—so I let it go. But Beau hadn’t grown up with him, so he wasn’t used to it. After a moment, he settled back down.

  “Your brother’s kind of weird.”

  “He’s just Charles,” I said.

  We stayed silent for a long moment. A vent came on, and the leaves on the tallest tree fluttered. I listened to Beau breathe, soft and steady.

  “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

  I looked at him, tears stinging my eyes. I didn’t know what to say or do, so I rolled over, put my arm around him, and rested my head on his chest. He put his arms around me, and we stayed like that until we had to go home for supper.

  2

  My bunk on the Lilia Litviak, about half a meter wide and two meters long, wasn’t too small for sleeping, but it was too small for just about anything else—like lying back to stare at the ceiling and feel sorry for myself. There was another bunk just like it underneath, which belonged to Charles. They folded up during the day when we were moving around the cabin. Mine was supposed to be folded up now, in fact, but I was lying here instead.

  Filtered recycled air ought to smell the same no matter what, but the ship smelled different from the colony. It must have been the gardens—the colony could pull fresh oxygen from the gardens, using natural filtration. Here, all I could smell was the ship, steel and rubber and a tinge of sweat that never went away. I breathed slowly, getting used to it, thinking, This is what space smells like.

  I had to figure out a way to sneak onto the bridge. Just to watch. Beau was right, I was finally on an interplanetary ship, I ought to be enjoying it. But between the passenger quarters and the bridge lay the galley, cafeteria, gym, infirmary, and crew quarters. How was I supposed to sneak through all that? So I had to figure out a plausible way to ask if I could go watch. I had to meet the captain and endear myself to him. The required safety video introduced him as Captain Arlan McCaven, a dashing name to go with a dashing figure, everything a captain ought to be—he was in his forties, perfectly keen in his pressed blue uniform, looking off into an unseen distance with sparkling gray eyes. Everybody on the ship was smitten with him. He wouldn’t even notice me. I had to think of something clever to say, I had to tell him everything I knew about the Lilia Litviak, the thrust capabilities of the Mand-propulsion engine that powered the ship, or the trajectory that was the most efficient route to Earth. Surely that would impress him.

  No it wouldn’t.

  The bell rang for dinner in the mess hall. Feeling like my limbs were too heavy, I rolled out of the bunk and dropped to the floor. The ship’s acceleration was meant to simulate half-Earth gravity; I shouldn’t have felt too much difference from the Martian gravity I was used to, which was one-third of Earth’s. But I did. I felt like I was wearing weights on my limbs. If I was having trouble now, what was Earth going to be like?

  When I folded and secured the bunk against the wall, I found a note on the underside of it, stuck in one of the seams.

  Polly’s eyes only.

  Like who else was going to find it?

  Anyone else would send e-mail, but Charles had to scrounge up a piece of actual vegetable-matter-based paper and a graphite stylus that would write on it. Nobody used paper but artists and scientists. I asked him about it once, and he said that the trouble with e-mail was that people could ignore it, delete it, file it, and you, the sender, were at their mercy. But you stuck an old-fashioned paper note in front of somebody’s nose, and it was important. They couldn’t possibly ignore it. It was intrusive. Just like Charles.

  I unfolded the note and read. “This place has the most interesting people. Get off your ass and come talk.”

  I had only two goals for the trip: to see the bridge, and to get through it without letting anyone bother me. The less I talked to people, the more likely that would happen. Charles was the amateur sociologist, not me. But a person had to eat, and food was available in the ship’s galley only during mealtimes, so I went.

  The galley was plain, with beige padding on the walls, floor, and ceiling, all to prevent injury when the ship was in zero g. No one was supposed to be walking around when the ship was in orbit and near weightless, but the precautions were everywhere. My attitude was you ought to know better and not depend on padded walls to save you when you went spinning uncontrollably across corridors. The ladders and handholds scattered everywhere were for holding on.

  The chairs and tables were bolted to the floor, and the buffet-style galley opened out of one wall to serve freeze-dried delicacies like protein casserole and mixed vegetables. The line of passengers had mostly filed through already. I was late. I also couldn’t see Charles anywhere. I thought surely he’d be here, waiting to pick on me.

  The ship carried a greater variety of passengers than I had been expecting. Earth officials returning from visits to Mars were noticeable in their complicated close-fitting suits with colored sashes, scarves, and ties. Outer-colony folk—miners, pilots, surveyors—often stopped at Mars on their way to the inner system, and they tended to wear blue or black jumpsuits, plain and practical, with lots of pockets, handhelds strapped to belts, and ship or station patches sewn on the sleeves—a throwback to the really old days when each mission into space was important enough to have its own patch. They also tended to be taller and bonier, with ropy muscles attached to thin limbs—the build of people who lived their lives in low gravity. Those of us from Mars fell somewhere in between the outer-colony folk and the stouter, fleshier people from Earth. My own clothes also fell somewhere in the middle—a white T-shirt, brown jacket, tough trousers, and thick boots. No one would think I came from Earth.

  I went through the line, put food on my tray, found a table off by myself, and there was Charles, sitting across from me, like he’d been hiding around a doorway waiting for me.

  I glared at him. “You don’t have to sneak up on me.”

  “See that guy? In the jumpsuit, real tall, dark skin, and curly hair—don’t stare at him.” Charles pointed over his shoulder, getting me to look, then chastised me when I craned my head around. So I ducked my gaze and tried to find him out of the corner of my eye.

  He was young, an outer-colony guy, smooth skinned, nice smile, wearing a blue jumpsuit with the patch of a mining company logo on it. He was sitting with a handful of other outer-colony men and women—they stuck together.

  “That’s Ethan Achebe, part of the Zeusian Mining Enterprise Achebes, and he’s also headed for Galileo Academy.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I got a copy of the passenger manifest—”

  “That shouldn’t be public—”

  “—and I’ve already met him. He’s real nice. You should talk to him. Get to know him. Maybe find out why he’s going to Earth for school.”

  “Why would I do any of that?”

  “Because I told him you have a crush on him.”

  “Charles!”

  The guy, Ethan, glanced over and offered a bright, cheerful smile. I looked hard at Charles, leaning on my hand to hide my face.

  “I hate you.”

  Charles smiled, but the expression was sinister. “No you don�
��t.”

  * * *

  I stayed hunched over my dinner and didn’t have to say much of anything else while Charles schemed. I wasn’t interested in him, in Ethan Achebe of the Zeusian Mining Enterprise Achebes, or any of his other projects. All I had to do was figure out how to get a glimpse of the bridge before the trip ended.

  Past the galley was a gym, a boxy room filled with equipment that looked like it might be fun to play with, or torture devices, depending. Lots of machines for weight, resistance, and cardio training, so people like us from the colonies could build up muscles and stamina for dealing with Earth’s high gravity. I had a whole schedule of exercises I was supposed to be doing, along with the nutritional supplements and muscle and bone enhancers I was taking.

  Beyond the gym was the observation deck, which was really just a pair of spongy foam benches and two small round view ports for nominal observers to look out. Halfway between Earth and Mars there was exactly nothing to see. Both planets were pinhead-size disks, one red, one blue-white. Monitors on the wall let you access external telescopes and cameras on the ship’s sensor array—magnify the images, zoom in on features, take pretty pictures to send back home. But I could do all that on the monitor back in the cabin.

  Next to the door on the far side of the observation lounge was a sign reading NO ADMITTANCE: CREW ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. That was why I spent time here. Because on the other side of that door were crew quarters, and beyond that was the bridge. The bridge, where everything interesting happened, the only spot on the ship worth paying attention to.

  The crew—that included the bridge crew, pilot, navigator, captain, everyone—ate in the same galley as the passengers, on alternating shifts. If I waited here long enough, they’d all pass by eventually. I’d see Captain McCaven, maybe even talk to him. And if I could just talk to him, get on his good side, then maybe, just maybe, I could ask him for a look at the bridge. Just a quick look. All I had to do was ask. How hard could it be?

  At the right time I sat on the sofa and waited. Shifts would be changing soon. He’d have to come this way eventually. He had to eat sometime, didn’t he?

  I heard the voices first—two men in conversation, low and businesslike. This was it, the captain, had to be. I stood but stopped myself from running into the restricted corridor. I’d just get thrown out, get a black mark on whatever kind of records they kept, and I’d never get on the bridge. Stay calm.

  Then they were there, at the doorway. He was tall, very tall. He actually had to duck to enter the observation lounge. His hair was mussed, his face set in concentration, so much more serious than in the official photo. The other man was shorter, sandy haired, with a trimmed beard—Lieutenant Yeltsin Clancy, second in command according to the ship’s publicity. The two of them had their heads together, over a handheld.

  They marched through the observation lounge without a sideways glance.

  I opened my mouth, didn’t say a word. Started to take a step forward and held back. Didn’t know why. I could have said, “Hi,” or “Hey, I’d like to be a pilot someday!” or “Gosh, I’m a fan.” I could have waved, just a friendly hello to get their attention. But no. Not a word, and they were across the room and through the next doorway in moments.

  I slouched back on the sofa. Real brave there, Polly.

  I was still sitting, half fuming, half planning my next attack on the problem, when a gentle voice said, “Hey, mind if I come in?”

  The voice was Ethan Achebe’s—the outer-system guy Charles was so keen on. Also tall enough that he had to slouch to get through the doorway.

  “It’s a public lounge,” I said. “Why ask me?”

  He shrugged, moving into the ambient lighting. “You look a little pissed off, like you want to be alone. If you’d rather I go, I’ll go.” He spoke with an accent—the vowels round, the consonants clipped. Unfamiliar, kind of intriguing.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not pissed off, I’m just…” I sighed, because I didn’t know what I was, and I didn’t want to tell him that I couldn’t work up the nerve to talk to the captain. Or that I was trying to talk to the captain, or why. He wouldn’t understand. Or he’d laugh. I didn’t know why I cared.

  He sat on the other end of the sofa. Not next to me. I might have left if he had.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No,” I said.

  We stayed so quiet after that I could hear the ship’s vent system hissing. I didn’t know what to say. And why should I be the one to say something? I was here first. I figured if I sat long enough, staring at the glare and shadows outside the view port, he’d get bored and leave. It would be a contest to see who could stand the awkwardness longer.

  “So,” he said finally. “You’re from Mars?”

  Frowning, I looked at him. “And you’re from…”

  He leapt to the invitation, eyes wide, leaning in as he spoke. “I’ve spent most of my life on Zeus Four—that’s the big station in orbit around Jupiter. It’s huge, you’d need all day to walk around it, but it mostly looks just like this, you know?” He gestured to the hull around us. “All steel corridors and spun-up gravity. I landed on Europa once, at a research station, but the surface is so inhospitable we had to stay in the lander and couldn’t do anything but look out the windows. We got to steer the rovers a bit, but it’s not like really being there. But you … you’ve been on an actual planet. Grew up on one, even, with sky and ground and everything. So Earth won’t seem all that strange to you, will it?”

  He seemed to expect me to respond to all that. Maybe I should have told him I wanted to be left alone after all. “I didn’t think much about Earth at all until a couple weeks ago. I have no idea what it’s like.”

  “But aren’t you excited?”

  Was everyone at Galileo Academy going to be like this? “Going to Earth wasn’t my idea.”

  He blinked. “Oh. No wonder you’re angry.”

  “I’m surprised Charles didn’t tell you the whole sad story.”

  “Charles—your brother, right?”

  “Nominally—genetic material is about all we have in common.”

  “Have to admit he’s a bit spooky. The way he looks at you like he’s peeling back your skin.”

  “Don’t ever let him hear you say that,” I said. “He’ll think he’s won.”

  “Won what?”

  “That’s just it—we’ll never know until it’s too late.” I pushed against the sofa back, sighing again as I stared at featureless space outside the window. Like it was my life stretching before me, a big blank nothing. “I don’t think anything about Mars is like Earth. Sure, it’s a planet, but no breathable atmosphere. It makes a difference.”

  “And gravity?”

  “Earth has three times the gravity. I’m not even going to be able to walk right.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I got all these exercises I’m meant to be doing.”

  “Yeah, me, too. It’s ratty.” My frown felt even more surly at the thought.

  He nodded back to the gym. “Jogging’s more fun if you have someone to do it with. You game? Next day shift we can start.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Come on. We’re both more likely to get it done if we push each other to it.”

  Charles would have tried to blackmail me into doing something I didn’t want. Ethan just looked at me with his big brown eyes beaming with enthusiasm bright as hand torches.

  Voices traveled past us, tickling my attention, and I looked up in time to see the captain and his lieutenant exiting the observation lounge and heading back into the restricted corridor. I missed my chance again.

  3

  Hey Beau. I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks but it seems like months. There isn’t a whole lot to do on the ship. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get on the bridge, to at least get a look at the bridge, but it’s pretty well separated from the rest of the ship, and the crew isn’t around much. Still working on it.

  Send b
ack as soon as you can. I know you can’t send messages all the time, but every little bit will help.

  Miss you.

  Polly

  The ship was accelerated to half-Earth gravity, which was apparently seen as a good compromise among Earth gravity, Mars gravity, and gravity on the outer stations, which varied anywhere from near-Earth to zero g. I didn’t notice the difference until I moved. Walking wasn’t too bad if I took it slow. Jogging sucked. I felt like someone had slung weights over my shoulders, and my heart pounded hard as soon as I started. I leaned on the treadmill’s arms, huffing with every step. I had only another two weeks to get into some kind of shape.

  Earth gravity was going to hurt.

  Ethan didn’t complain. He stood tall and his steps pounded in an easy jog. He was smiling like this was easy, but sweat covered his dark skin and he huffed just as hard as I did.

  “What’s … what’s Zeus Four … spun up to?” I panted at him.

  “One … one-third … same as … as Mars.”

  So we were in exactly the same fix. At least I wouldn’t suffer alone.

  That morning, waking up in our cabin, I’d asked Charles if he was keeping up with the exercise routine and nutritional supplements we’d been assigned.

  “Of course I am,” he’d said.

  “But I never see you in the gym.”

  “I go during the night shift,” he said, in a tone that suggested it should be obvious. “I don’t have to let everyone see me sweating buckets. What do you think I’ve been doing every night when I get back here an hour after lights-out?”

  I shrugged, defensive. “How am I supposed to know? Rifling through everyone’s cupboards?”

  “Amateurish,” he said, shaking his head.

  The one thing I couldn’t let happen was to step off the shuttle on Earth and collapse into a puddle of unconditioned muscles while Charles walked off like the king of the world. So I jogged. Ethan made it easier.

  “What … are you most … looking forward to? On Earth?” he asked, glancing sideways to my treadmill.