| Buy The Novel |
| Struggles and Our-Kind, Enroute to a Vision |
| Or The Terra-Form War |
| By Brandon Lund |
| “Struggles and Our-Kind, Enroute to a Vision,” is a vocabulary-based science-fiction novel that takes place around the lives of a Judge and a wealthy entrepreneur. Three worlds have been drawn together by a vision of the future that culminates in the near extinction of humankind and a struggle to survive the baser impulses of ill-gotten wealth. Those who must piece together meaning while dealing with the price of greed find reason and therefore can continue. |
Table of Contents
Part 1: The Dry Planet, Martian Lazifor
Part 2: The Crews Prepare for Terra-Formed Mars.
Part 3: A Shadow, to Hold, From Our Sovereign Earth.
Part 4: Author Notes.
Part 1: The Dry Planet, Martian Lazifor
The quiet child seeks comfort from her mother. Her cheeks have cooled though still red. The chamber fills with people commuting. “We should be social as we transition through our choices,” Melody says. “A humming baby is little more than a bee.”
The ship periodically descends faster than expected. An intermittent dry noise frightens those in a position to see. The view remains uncertain. Terrance’s chamber is oval-shaped. Daniel’s research has found that people enjoy a shape better during long bouts of travel. They are better prepared, as a town, if the chamber suits an image of future housing.
“Are you sharing what you know?” Daniel says.
He passes Melody crushed pepper. “You should be discussing your problems with Benjamin while you eat.”
“I still enjoy meeting new people. I do not always share what I know. My discoveries are…private.”
“Sharing food and gift giving are important. You should purchase a copy of your favorite magazine and share it with Benjamin.”
The ship feels stable. Its broad frame provides comfort for the frightened passengers. It is portly and digs deep into the handle-bar mustache of the planet’s skin. Everyone gazes and glows as outside becomes closer. Lazifor offers nothing but labor and hope of better life solitude and fair clearance for those aboard the expedition.
“I see a landscape that’s one-hundred years old.” He places a hand against the glass. Nervousness is spoken through eye contact.
Melody Juniper pulls a wisp of hair and cries. “I don’t plan to live that long.”
Terrance Bracecapt attempts to breath. Unexpected tension gurgles like a lump of peanut butter as the ship finds further traction.
“I’m joking.”
“At least we can walk around.”
Buckles pop and elements leaders release the remaining few still strapped in. Three-thousand people. The passengers begin anew.
A small boy goes racing to his father. Ben Hernandez scoops him and gives him a kiss. “My boy,” he whispers. These are the fore-fathers of the dry planet Lazifor.
————-
Two formations step from the platform. The element leaders do not join them. They are busy talking. A bag of peanuts is passed between them. A dehydrated man places a hand on to his wife’s shoulder. “Wait.”
“This is it.”
The level sands, and feature-bleached dunes, wait for anything to change them. Optimism becomes progress becomes future work.
—————-
The dinner table is filled with pepper and salt. Plates and spoons are emptied and licked in competition. “Has the atmosphere expanded?”
“Yes. Daniel needs to send better equipment.”
“Stay within thirty miles of the atmosphere converter and you’ll be fine. How’s your corn bread?”
“Really good.”
A box of colored pencils sits between Melody’s legs. She hands them, one at a time, to her son. His napkin is a hodge-podge of many colors.
“Honey, just let him eat.” Benjamin swallows a sticky lump of cornbread.
“He doesn’t want to eat, he wants to color.” When he is done, she spoons him a small portion of baby food.
———-
Ben Hernandez places the long steel teeth into the earth. The teeth spin and break ancient layers of sediment. Rubber piping gushes water into the bottom geologic layers. Ground water is vital to a healthy ecosystem.
———
The sequence is the most important part. Melody removes the checklist from her equipment bag. Six years of education and she still does not feel comfortable operating the equipment without a checklist. As her eyes focus on the checklist, she lets the equipment bag slip from her shoulder into the dust.
She walks around the evaporator, inspecting the condition. Good shape. It has been sitting here for six months and not a scratch. The main panel has never been opened. A factory seal evidence of this. The evaporator is alive and feels shiny and new. Looking at the checklist, Melody says in a breathy whisper, “Remove the seal.”
Step one. Easy enough. The seal comes off with a surprising, thump! She enters the primary key code. A screen illuminates. She is one of three authorized to operate the evaporator. She enters her civilian identification number. The machine acknowledges her. Aside from the checklist, she was issued three books. Two operator’s manuals and one maintenance manual. The first manual details how to create water. The second how to disperse it into the atmosphere.
A quick systems check.
Melody begins to blend the Martian atmosphere with Lazifor’s. It will never be perfect, but close enough. Creating water from Mar’s raw materials is the evaporator’s primary function. Dispersal after that. It disperses water and O3 a few miles up. Air buoys keep the molecules from falling. With the help of the sun, these air buoys will create global air currents and a human hospitable Lazifor.
Alan Gomez oversees overall homogeny with forestry. “It will be a decade before we can begin planting.”
———
Alan and Melody sleep on couches overlooking the hills of Lazifor. They have been crossing them the entire day. Daniel Makes leaves them to their business. They were promised six months of leisure before starting anew and nobody has complained once they must begin working. He sips water and feels nervous. Should he feel safe or unsafe that now he has escaped Mr. Potts? The manila envelope has not left his possession the entire time. He could draw the man’s face who gave it to him, even from such a brief correspondence. To say the lack of judgement would be the ruin of starting anew on Lazifor still troubles Daniel Makes. Are the struggles that precede our success still with us, he thinks. The manila envelope on Artifact Animalism will remain in his personal files until the library can hold them for future readers of history from ‘here forward.’ The manila envelope re-invites him to look. Daniel returns to his favorite part of the man’s Declaration of Intent: “Without these virtues, reform and legal precedent, inhabitants of the world can expect slavish treatment as future property of the corporate body SCIC, to include profound violations against human growth here forward.”
What a person doesn’t know won’t hurt them, he says. Nothing could be further from the truth. Terra-Formed Mars has never been a place to rest but it was his home and is to be the history for starting anew on Lazifor. His evaporators use Martian atmosphere and he himself moved there as a child from a Synthetic Continent. Even as a man of middle years, he did not know that the Terra-Formed Mars was struggling with crime, to such extent that warlords, as described to him by way of Diego’s files, which included his Declaration of Intent, threatened the future of humanity. And our deliverance almost ruined, he thinks, even so far and away from our beginnings, once upon a time upon Our Native Earth.
The development in progress invents feelings of concern for others and he stares across the sands with a heart that is heavier now they are here. He returns to the manila envelope and allows the image of Mr. Potts to distance itself from his notion of moving forward. How naïve we are, he considers this notion deeply. A naïve spirit finds home in people and people change over time. This, perhaps, is the job I am not ready for, though it has been thrust upon me. To govern our people and keep them safe from the darker impulses we share by creating something that is lasting. To seize such grandeur, as we have, and think that we will not have crime, and that punishment will heal all wounds. But perhaps we will also have a savior in our midst, as well; someone to make sense of the on-going judgment of others—This man Diego pierced through a dark cloud above and solved a problem I believe not many could have done. Not many could have delivered us from the Artifact Animal described in these files. Daniel has never felt so helpless but he stands still and he remains acceptant of those who have come along. To destroy a problem, you must know where it begins…
——————————————-
Frightened. Nervous. Arnold steps on to the porch from the sliding glass-door of his bedroom. The porch is cool. His toes dig impatiently into the wood. He is a short man. His hairy forearms and calves have grown overly muscular to support his heavy set frame. He takes a moment to breathe the air. He enjoys the smell outdoors. It is a mud-mix of grass and pine needles made heavy from the rain. He goes back inside, to the kitchen, and switches on the four-cup coffee machine he programmed to auto-start at six o-clock. Rubbing his eyes and stretching, his leg shakes like a cat’s. A moment passes in eerie silence. He hears the coffee machine bubble as the last drops of water filter through the grinds. Wanting coffee with a fuller body, Arnold opens up the refrigerator to find the half-and-half. The interior light startles him. He pushes a cheesecake aside, then the Tabasco sauce, and finds the half-and-half towards the back. It is almost empty. The cream within the carton feels light and loose, sloshing from side to side. He also grabs the honey from the counter. Halfway between the refrigerator and the four-cup coffee machine, he stops. The honey is in one hand and the half-and-half in the other. He breathes rhythmically, a somber look across his face.
Arnold places the half-and-half and honey on to the counter, ignores the coffee pot full of black-brown crude morning brew, and returns to his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at his feet. The phone rings. He arranges his appearance and clears his throat. “Yes,” he says in a voice as calm and cool as possible.
“Are you doing your job?” The voice asks. Arnold is hardly breathing. She hangs up the phone before he can answer. Arnold remains on the line listening to the dial tone.
“Yes,” he says.
He rubs a tiny charm in the hollow of his pocket. Drool pools in the corner of his mouth. Thick dark circles grow under his eyes. His skin pales and blue veins grow visible. The receiver feels like a slab of marble in his hand. When he hangs up, the shiny plastic stares back with a reflection of him looking stupid.
He goes into the kitchen, grabs a black mug from the cabinet, and pours himself a long cup of coffee. The plumes of steam twist into nothingness. He pours the proper amount of honey and half-half into his coffee with the precision of a toy-maker. He grabs a stool, props both feet upon the mid-bar and cradles the coffee as Gollum would his precious. He does not think. He only moves, rocking back and forth, letting the steam moisten his face and enter his lungs. “I’m doing my job,” he says with unfocused eyes, staring into nothingness. The coffee is almost gone when the phone rings.
Samantha says, “You’ve done well Mr. Fifty-Five. Enjoy your coffee. You’re next and final job is to terminate yourself.”
—————————-
A captain leaves the room unsettled. The paperwork he studies has become three pillars. He tugs his sleeves at the collar.
He pulls keys from his pocket and flips open his phone. The “Unit Recall” button waits like a dinner bell. Captain Tate strolls over to his motorcycle parked in the gravel.
A vehicle carrying soldiers from his unit drives by. He pushes the unit recall button. The jeep screeches to a dusty halt. Two soldiers hop out and salute the Captain. They look agitated, knowing full well that their break is over.
“Good boys. Respond when I fucking call you,” he says with assurance, low, beneath his breath. Before they can ask a single question the captain roars off.
As the two stand there, the base begins to stir with many orders from many captains and officers. A black, rusty aluminum gate breaks its long silence from a building. A lieutenant, with two troopers, makes plans to disperse munitions for others. Belts and boots, along with bags for carrying gear, are unpacked and placed on the deck for counting. The general has spoken with only five other officers but things are moving forward with the certainty of war to change history.
“Has Mr. Potts spoken with you?” Senator Martin keeps his tone easy to handle, as though the disregard could hide a reason to call first.
“How am I supposed to know these things unless you tell me?” the general is unsure. His squadrons are mobilizing and the Senator does not need to know what he is doing.
“He hasn’t spoken with me yet either,” the Senator continues forward. “I was told that an important development was making progress and that I should wait until I spoke with the field commanders to know. I thought I’d call. No one has said anything to me either.”
“We’ll be in touch.” The general says. “If there is an important development, hopefully Mr. Potts will let us know soon, what we can expect. I am just the field commander for the business. I don’t want the dignitaries of our planet getting confused. When they’ve developed the weapon, tell me.”
“As a dignitary, I will.” He says and hangs up.
Reassured that his contacts are still secret, Senator Martin leaps up from his seat; since he can now move forward with his work involving Mr. Potts. A previous role as SCIC governor of Terra-Formed Mars waits for him at the end if things go according to design. Using innovations developed by Mr. Potts, still clandestine in his role to most, save for the Senator himself; the Senator must establish lasting responsibility and care from SCIC for the people: dependency, to SCIC from the people in order to maintain control over the region is key. A need to know basis has been established between the Senator and the General from here. Since the General is field commander of affairs on Terra-Formed Mars.
Mr. Pott’s role as director of the agency which monitor’s SCIC development is conflicting; therefore the Senator will serve as foreign dignitary for the campaign and the People of Our Sovereign Earth will fund it until there is stability among Foreign People. As humanity moves forward, Terra-Formed Mars struggles to grow.
————————-
The dial tone hums in Arnold’s ear. He feels nervous and sedated, like morphine in the veins of a dying man. “Terminate myself?” he says and drinks the coffee’s last swallow. He places the mug on the counter. His feet flap on the floor. Flap, flap, flap. The 9mm is in the top drawer of his dresser. He chambers a round. “I won’t kill myself,” he says before putting the pistol to his head. The pistol echoes through the sliding-glass-door into the forest. A large portion of his brain plops on the floor. The 9mm spins like a dropped quarter. It goes lifeless alongside his body. Ten minutes later the smell from the spent round is still in the air. He was trained well by Synthetic Continent International Commodities.
——————————————
A business woman and a gigantic gorilla-of-a-man enter the simulator. Arnold’s head smolders, dead as a doornail. They examine the situation objectively. Samantha picks up the coffee cup. “Dispose of him Armie. Unfortunately, Mr. 55 has gone bad.”
“Do you think our follow up will be as good?” the bodyguard says.
“He’ll do just fine.” She says with the tone of an enforcer. She stays sharp while among her peers. She steps over Arnold’s body and steals a glance at the corpse. She smiles at it with a look of genuine care. “I certainly did like him.”
She walks gracefully to the counter where the half-and-half and honey are sitting. The coffee pot is still on. The condiments sit on the counter like shadows of Arnold’s once living body. She does not touch a thing and leaves.
———————–
Ramon kicks dust over spit. The moment he got the call his break stalled and gave up. He holds on to hope that he can ignore what just happened until the captain’s ghost riding a motorcycle appears. His phone glows in his hand from the call that he was trying to ignore. He sees the Captain’s name blinking. “This sucks.” The driver twists Ramon’s wrist to see. “His name, right there.”
“Do we need anything from the dorms?”
“If we need anything we should go back. Do you think we should fall in without our stuff?” They continue heading north. The dorm is visible from the intersection. Two large oaks stand in front of the entrance to the building that is led by a set of half-circle stairs. Andrew drives the jeep across the lawn. The futility of arguing through defiant behavior is obvious. He waits as Ramond proceeds to his room, which is four doors down from the entrance. The room is messy with big heavy boxes of meals that should have been discarded. Pizza boxes and dirty clothes are on the floor. Ramon retrieves the logistics for the mission and returns to the jeep.
“What did you get?” Andrew asks.
“The briefing for Terra Formed Mars.”
“Why not waste a trip to the dorms? No one else is going to have it. I promise you.”
Ramon would like to read something fun. He skips the memo and grabs the Brochure: “I think this guy can do it. Start over on Lazifor with the new SC they got working on. They can do it.”
“I don’t think the corporation is too happy about it. What they got working on. We are looking for the people who will start over on Lazifor. Not the best time to be the fan of a new SC.”
The jeep screeches off. They were supposed to have another seventy-two hours before they left for Terra-Formed Mars. The jeep reaches sixty to recall on time to a site determined by their captain. Ramon reads the memo and plays the situation out in his head.
While the two collect themselves to stand in formation, Captain Tate watches the jeep approach and park: “I saw you fucking idiots thirty fucking minutes ago! And you’re the last ones here. Fall in!”
Captain Tate wastes few words. As the ranks form up and fall in, he skips formalities and speaks as casually and informal as he is allowed to. It was not his decision to deploy his unit early. He does not care but he would like more time off for the troops. It is his job to make sure they are combat ready for Terra-Formed Mars and more time off would make them sharper. He says, “Twelve hours till we leave and we’ve got work to do. So suck it up. Our unit is already late. Get your shit together and be back here in three hours. Three hours! Do you hear me? Trips to the commissary are fine. Trips to the chow hall are fine. No fucking around. If you want to get a few games in at the arcade, fine. Three hours is it. Times up. Get your gear and get your asses back here troops. Ten hut. Dis-missed!”
The unit balls up and disperses. Ramon’s footing is uncertain. Nervous energy leads him and Andrew to the jeep. “Let’s go,” Ramon hops in back.
Getting settled, Andrew heaves himself forward in the driver’s seat and turns the ignition. The jeep comes to life and reclines upon the open road. Feeling more comfortable and relaxed, Ramon decides to sleep.
Andrew punches his open stomach. “Thank you.”
The dorm is the chosen playpen. It is a tradition before they deploy. One room is wide open. Porn and music run through the halls, largely empty from those who arrived earlier than others. Ramon kicks his pizza boxes into the hall. His bags are packed. He has head phones on and his hoodie pulled over his head. Street tough. He throws his bags into the jeep. He waits in the passenger seat for Andrew to emerge from the jungle of trash.
Delmore, Nathan, and Osman are neatly packed and walking to the parking lot. “Ah, come on you fucks, trash something,” Andrew says. He grabs a pizza box and throws it outside like a Frisbee. He follows it to the jeep. Andrew throws his suitcase into the back along with his body armor. Although they are ready, they do not head towards the recall site.
Two hours later the soldiers arrive. Delmore, Nathan, and Osman wait in the parking lot.
Captain Tate does not acknowledge them. He is talking on the phone.
“Alright you five,” he says and clips the phone closed. “Make your way to the shuttle. Are the rest of those idiots still trashing the dorm? Don’t answer that.” He laughs.
Ramon, Andrew, Delmore, Nathan, and Osman caravan to the shuttle in two cars. Andrew shows his military I.D. to the security guard posted at the check point. From a distance, the shuttle is bounding towards them as bumps from uneven road alter the view of things.
The shuttle is enormous. It is called Lucy. Staying focused on his gear, Ramon runs his hand over the decal of the shuttle without looking. He is damp and a little weathered from outside. The entrance perfumes his face with cool, dry air when he enters. While walking through the chambered halls, he reads the history of SC-12 written among the ship’s décor. The shuttle Lucy travels every six months, twice a year to the magnificent Cretan. The ride is informative heading to SC-12, which is one of fourteen man-made continents that circle Terra-Formed Mars at various points in space.
“Good job you guys,” the captain says from the shuttle’s entrance. “The rest of your team will meet you on SC-12. Since you’re on time, they can fight over shitty bunks and armor leftover after you choose what you want. That’s how I remember it.”
His about face is hurried as the door closes behind him. “Good guys are on time,” he says.
The runway beneath him is black and traction for his shoes is obvious. The control tower gives a thumbs-up when the gate to the observatory cabin is closed behind him. The lights within the cab grow dark and dim. Captain Tate monitors their behavior from the screen he has of Lucy’s launch room. They will travel alone. The captain waves and keeps his eyes covered beneath the brim of his cap. Ramon turns up his head phones. The shuttle begins its ascent at eighty-five degrees. Two giant pistons below the platform create the incline for take off. The atmosphere falls apart and shows its seams. The core ignites and the anti-gravity frame lifts the shuttle off of the platform. It is good to go. The remote pilot finds its target, SC-12, and the shuttle takes off like a feather, light and quick, its cargo only five.
The port halfway between “Earth and Mars” is the military Cretan, SC-12. All personnel, military and civilian, must pass through this structure made from strength of arms before entering “Mars.” SC-12 is single handedly responsible for Our Sovereign Earth’s continued influence over Terra-Formed Mars, which would otherwise have sovereign nation of its own. City-States hold the people together and regional law enforcement has not yet reached international purpose that is high enough to keep them safe from crime. To be over five hundred years old as a planet’s mission; and to be created to assuage the ever-growing need for land. That is Terra-Formed Mars: Humankind finds hospitable planets in route to a vision.
………………………………………………
The wrench bounces with numerous clangs from head to toe on to the concrete. Danny does not want to walk down two stories of steps to retrieve it. His hand passes over a large decal screwed on to the wall. He takes his time chewing gum. Hopping down the steps. He is only twenty-six but he looks much older. Labor and lack of education has pigeon holed him into a life he did not chose, for someone of his age. Thereabouts, youth often meets an unfitting end to moving up. He grabs the wrench and looks up. He wants to finish before lunch. The electrical box hangs open. Danny takes the stairs back up and sighs. It takes him forty-five minutes to fix the circuit. He places a yellow seal on the box, dates it, and leaves. He throws the gear and his bag into the seat next to him on the relayed he often used to take him home.
………………………………………….
The food court is loud. He has stopped to eat and use the time to relax before entering into his routine once home. A friend interrupts Danny while he reads the menu. “Done?” Danny asks surprised. His friend smiles sheepishly. His voice breaks through the solitude hidden in the noise of simple choices. Danny was certain he was alone. Since he has finished early he could be spending his time someplace visible to his superiors. Danny feels a little disarmed by the randomness of the encounter.
Danny orders something to eat.
“I am not done,” his friend Arrie replies.
“Please help.” Arrie shamelessly whimpers.
“The puppy needs help. After lunch I’ll help.” Danny says. He takes a huge bite of his sandwich.
He sips his soda. The two talk about sports and nonsense.
———————————
Ramon watches the blue outside his window turn white. Breaking through the atmosphere is intense beauty. It is a twenty minute ascent. Then, as if falling on to the softest bed, the shuttle levels off. After breaking through, the remote pilot redirects its course now heading in a straight line for SC-12.
No one is talking. Andrew has settled into his laptop. The trooper staring out the window with an expression lost in memory agitate the skin of a pack of smokes, pulls out a small table from beneath the seats. A pack of playing cards has been placed in a pocket. The table is designed for entertainment. They begin playing cards and Ramon does not understand everything.
“Can I play?” Ramon asks.
“I don’t think so,” He replies and smiles. “You need to have your own cards.”
The walls of the shuttle are bare except for the pictures of prominent officers and recent heroes. Ramon did not plan well for this journey. “If you know a game, let’s play. I can’t play hearts. I might play solitaire.”
He settles into his seat. Andrew is watching a movie on his laptop. Ramon removes the only entertainment that he brought with him. His mother encouraged him to read since he was a child. Ramon likes books but not reading. He likes the way books feel. Clean and pure, regardless of the content they may or may not contain.
In the deep silence he begins to read. It is a store-front novel. The words seem strange. Ramon does not realize he is meditating. The shuttle’s cabin zips through space. There are no expectations to give the words meaning in space. Here, there is only the shuttle and four others. Here, there is space to recreate the world he sees. He feels free to recreate the meaning of words, which is what reading is of course. He falls asleep with the book open and heaving on his chest. Within the heavy meditation of good sleep, he dreams of the story. The story couples with the briefing. He imagines the targets. He places faces on them. Dr. Harris and Marselle. Dr. Harris talks to Marselle along the edge of a fountain. Ramon descends through the clouds. He is a dragon with drooling fangs. He sees himself. He is all black with scales so shiny they hold a reflection. Dr. Harris and Marselle can see the twisting-horror in their faces as the shiny black dragon coats them in fire. He descends to the earth holding his wings high and flapping to control the speed of descent. When he lands, the earth curdles beneath the weight of his gigantic frame. He is two stories tall standing eye to eye with a clock-tower next to him. Dr. Harris and Marselle are naked. He pins them beneath a single paw. Blood gushes through his knuckles. Ramon wakes with a deep breath. Eyes blinking. He takes another look at the cover. Wizard’s War, it reads. Between meals and sleep, he will read the book over the next thirty-six hours it will take to reach SC-12.
“I’m hungry,” Andrew mumbles to himself. He opens the freezer. Ready-To-Eat meals stock the shelves. It is a walk-in freezer. Ramon is asleep. A book bobs on his chest like a dingy.
Andrew grabs chips and pudding. He pulls the label back and shovels gulps of pudding in his mouth. The cold mush makes his tooth aches. “Damn it,” he moans. He shoves an index finger into the back of his mouth. He does not even know which tooth it is.
He grabs Ramon’s book; not noticing that he looses the place where he was reading. He reads the first page but looses interest after the opening paragraph. Feeling restless, he settles into a porn that he tucked behind a CD that he rarely listens to. He watches until he can hardly distinguish faces from body parts. The screen is just a mess of flashing flesh-colored images. Everyone else is asleep. Within the shuttle’s black cabin, Damien’s face is pounded by the lights blinking like a video game. His neck begins to hurt. He is hardly moving. He feels a need to wash his body. Setting the laptop on to the floor, he steps into the shuttle’s center isle heading to the bathroom. Once within the bathroom, he washes his face. Staring at himself beneath that florescent light, he feels like dying. He once again settles into the seat next to Ramon. He feels safe. Ramon put to sleep with reading makes him feel safe. His eyes lids grow heavy. His sleep settles into dreams. Violent dreams. Andrew is seated on a throne. He wears a mask of a beautiful woman. From behind the mask, Andrew feels free to flirt with anyone. Now and again, he sees another man also wearing the mask of a beautiful woman. The dream loops over and over again until Andrew is so disturbed he wakes himself. He is shaking and cold. Placing his palm on to his forehead, he rubs his brow until he is thinking clear. Ramon is awake and reading. Thank God, Andrew thinks. I do not like being alone. He takes a seat next to the soldiers playing solitaire.
—————————
Dr. Harris knows more about history than fashion. He wears shorts, black socks, and sandals to work. His colleagues giggle. He enters the classroom. There is little talking. He prefers it this way. “I hope you guys are ready to do a little writing,” he says.
He pulls a grease-board pen from his briefcase. Dr. Harris writes ‘What do you remember about the past?’ on the board. The pen squeaks. It leaves blue across the board. Students rustle in their backpacks for pens. He circles them. He returns to his desk and removes a pen from his briefcase. He taps it against his chin. The class is still writing an hour later. They drop their pencils and pens slowly. Their eyes sparkle from contemplation. He says, “Did anyone write about Western European or Asia?” He taps his pen against his chin. He raises his eyebrows and waits for an answer.
Julie Monroe says, “I could only remember America and China.” She is his brightest student. Dr. Harris smiles to himself. The students only ever remember America and China. Mt. Rushmore and The Great Wall still exist.
Dr. Harris sits on the edge of his cheap desk. He says, “America was a colony. Can anybody name a colony that exists today?”
Julie says, “Terra-Formed Mars.”
“And what about Terra-Formed Mars is so special?”
“They’re Martians,” She giggles, “I’m just kidding.”
Dr. Harris says, “What is the chief occupation on Terra-Formed Mars?”
The entire class is silent, nobody knows the answer. Dr. Harris laughs, “Let me put it this way: who lives there? No one? Lots of miners and farmer and there job is to maintain the Synthetic Continents that circle Mars. I think synthetic continents are so cool. They have their own constitutions, legislative bodies, universities, criminals, prisons, you name it. They’re kind of like the nations from ancient times. Like your America and China Julie!”
She feels embarrassed for speaking-up. She thinks, ‘What a nerd.’ So does most of the class (You would think the realms of higher education would be more mature). The students no longer acknowledge the professor when the clock hits three-thirty. They leave in a bustle of zippers and chatter. Dr. Harris says, “I want to remind you to come more prepared to talk next Tuesday.”
Dr. Harris flips his brief case closed and looks around. He adjusts his underwear. It has found an uncomfortable position around his groin. He stops in the lounge to steal the paper. The headline reads, “Senator Martin Visits Martians in Peace.” It sounds like a movie title. His favorite parts are when they refer to the colonists as Martians, as if they aren’t humans.
He tucks the paper into his armpit. It is dusk. Martha is waiting for him to come home. The university during the evening is always contemplative. People seem more focused, more prone to meditation instead of learning. The glass doors are just ahead. He sees lights on in the office of Marselle.
————-
Nearly twenty-five years on Lazifor and still no problems from SCIC. The gust of the sea whips across Melodies smiling face. “I did this.” The satisfaction of creating something vast, undeniable and great settles in. “We are building Lazifor.” She turns away from the little ocean floating before her. Terra-Rio is still small. Still uninhabited. But their little society is growing.
She grabs a bite to eat at a tiny diner. The door jingles and she spread door. The buzz of conversation is a little more than she expected. Silverware clinks and waitresses ask for orders. The smell of bacon and eggs billows from the kitchen. She takes a seat at a small two-person cubicle. Turning the condiments so that the labels face her, as she always does. She passes the minute it takes her waiter to approach her without a thought in her head. She is pleased to let the sun billowing through the windows entertain her. Taken by the happiness of a simple moment to share with no one but herself. The waiter does not ask her what she wants. He simply smiles with his order form in hand.
“Does the steak and eggs come with coffee?” Melody asks.
“The Whole Pepper Steak? It comes with coffee.”
“I’ll have that. Eggs over medium.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope.” The waiter grabs her menu and scurries off.
Melody’s beeping phone interrupts her happiness. She pulls it from her pocket a little disappointed. She was hoping to spend her fortieth birthday alone. Terrance’s name blinks, almost mockingly blinks. She knows he knows that she is alone and is not okay with it.
Placing the phone to her ear: “I know what you are doing,” Terrance say, “and you’re not going to spend your birthday alone. Finish eating breakfast and then come over to my house…” before she can interrupt: “come over to my house when you’re done! I have a present for you.”
So that is that, Melody thought. Birthdays are always better when those you love demand that you be happy. It’s the only way to enjoy their company.
The room is lit by a crack in the door. He takes a quick one-eighty turn. The fluorescent lights of the hall bathe the door in annoying green-blue. He hears angry voices. He can hear her struggling to maintain control. The shouting is frantic and scared.
The parking lot is full of students. A scuffle breaks out. It consisted of little more than shirt wrenching and violent stares. A lump swells in his throat. Perhaps the talk of war is real. He unhitches the door and plops in the driver’s seat. He turns on the heater and stares into the cold surroundings that appear snipped. The parking lot is thin and level. The students most likely walked here from the dorms. Family dominates his thoughts. Marselles and her friends concern Dr. Harris. People are upset. The fist fight in the parking lot is a display of hopeless. Youth losing ground after years of hard work. Dr. Harris doesn’t turn on any lights. He goes over to the refrigerator and takes out a soda. He drinks the soda in one long gulp. He falls asleep on the sofa without taking off his shoes. Children laugh.
Greg wakes. He feels the need to shower. The bathroom is empty. The old corpse moves with labored steps.
Staring in the mirror, his face hangs like a bathrobe.
He did not realized how little sleep he has gotten until his wife comes into the bathroom while he is showering. “Rough night huh?” she asks.
Night clothes cling to Martha Harris’ body like cob-webs. She wipes a hole in the fog forming and the mirror smiles back.
Dr. Harris steals a peak. A spy at work. A little soap gets in his eye. Dr. Harris rubs his eye and turns off the water.
“Do you still want to go?”
“I want to spend some time with you.”
He takes a folded towel from the cupboard above the toilet, rubbing his soar eye as he dries his face. “How big is it?” Dr. Harris asks.
“Pretty much the entire university. I think some of your students want to hear you speak.”
She whirls around and hits him with her brush.
She rips his towel off and smacks him on the ass.
She smacks him again and again. Naked and desperate he stumbles over his daughter’s toy house heading for the bedroom. “Okay!”
Greg shouts and slams the bedroom door.
——————————-
Melody dabs the grease from her lips and pays the bill. Again, the door jingles. Again, she is startled by the sharp contrast between the noise inside the diner and the sometimes eyrie stillness outside. The streets of Lazifor do not bustle as they do on Mars. Horse drawn carriages are very popular. Adapting to a new world is a slow, strange process. People need to approach it on their own terms.
A gust of red sand gently powders her skin like fairy dust. The mid-day sun is approaching and Melody no longer feels the enthusiasm of morning. Terrance’s friendship has never seemed so inviting. For a moment, she cannot believe she was going to spend her birthday alone.
She watches a lady, black hair shimmering, push her child on what must be any other day to her. Melody does and does not envy her. Her great work and her great sacrifice is known to her more than anyone.
She is on the steps to Terrance’s house without realizing it. “Come in her little sister,” he says with the warmest hug the world has ever known. She bursts in to tears. “Why do you do this to yourself Melody. Be happy baby sister, you’re not alone.” She looks past him the small council seated both couches. Business. This was a
business call.
Melody is almost relieved. Thank god I have work to do, she says beneath her breath.