Wyrm

A martian epic I started. We all have our wild sides I suppose.


The Wyrm
Pt.1
On Mercury, Hermes stood. He skin was light and dark, shining out in all directions while he pitched the little ball, on which he stood, faster and faster.
The landscape shifted like quiksilver and he watched the planets and spun.
He was smiling at the stars when he heard a flutter of wings behind him. A small cherubic boy stood before him, a parcel tucked under his arm.
Hermes frowned at the child, but watched intently, nonetheless as the child drew a pictograph in the air. As the message began to unfold, Hermes expression waned and even the sun king grew pale.
As it was, no one could remember who arrived on Mars first anymore. It had become one of those useless details which, given the number of newsworthy incidents, had been eclipsed in the grander scheme of things.
All anyone could remember was the race.
Each of Earth's country's had sought to colonize the red planet. Each president and politician drove it's people to new fervors. They talked incessantly about a place they had never been and the wonders that could be found there. It was an El Dorado for the 21st century. It's red carpet led, not to gold, but new scientific discoveries.
Surely, they said, that by knowing more about our neighboring planet, we will be able to ascertain new information about our own!
So it was settled, in all manner of ways.
Each country set off for the new world, brushing their shoulders against the other.
It was risky and rash. Each astronaut, cosmonaut, what-have-you, was pushed to be the first. Pilots made ridiculous decisions, politicians made ridiculous statements; and, as the race went on, it seemed as if everyone was winning, in all directions, and all at once.
Then a rocket exploded, killing twelve men and women. All genius' in their field, all in the best form of their lives.
This, in a twisted way, brought the interstellar aviators back down to Earth.
One captain looked at his crew and broke the silence. Another answered and spoke to another. In a fleet of 9 crafts, each had been flying solo.
One ship was almost out of food.
Another had lost their navigating equipment and had been following the others, line-of-sight, ever since.
On the dark road of space, between home and glory, they became one nation, one people, one cause.
The stress and anxiety dissolved with those twelve.
It was so when they arrived, each man a refugee. The countries of Earth had laughed at their soldiers and scientists, so far away from home. Politicians sipping exotic flavors had told them that they should do what they are told, if they knew what was good for them.
But the new people new what was good for them.
As the settlers to America, so many years in the past, they had no idea.
Pin stood in the desert, breathing deep and looked at the red sand shifting across the horizon. It blew through his hair, painting his face chest. He watched the horizon ripple with the wind. The great ocean of sand, billowing out into infinity.
From the depths of the ocean, there came a call.
It sang across the great distance to him. He listened, but did not understand. The horizon continued to ripple. A shape emerged from the waves.
Pin looked down at the small outcrop of rocks on which he stood, bare but for some shorts. Alive when he shouldn't be. He looked down at his hands. They were blood stained evenly from the tip of his fingernail to his elbow and onto his chest.
He was a martian, he thought.
He heard a deep echoing call and looked out again. Amongst the waves, the shape grew larger and larger still. It was too far off to make out anything more than it's size. It was immense, but moved with incredible finesse through the rolling landscape.
Pin became afraid.
The creature was growing in size, thrusting it's way towards him. It's splashing and jumping were precise and patterned, so that it became a leviathan arrow; flying towards him out of the heart of the great planet.
The echoing began to sound like rolling thunder. Or laughter.
Pin's legs felt weak, but he couldn't sit or fall over. The wind kept him upright and motionless. The painting desert presented him to the creature. The creature would take him, he knew.
It was as the creature finally neared him that he finally felt something cold pressed into his palm. He looked down at the new weight and found a huge jagged sword.
He lifted it up at the howling monster and the dream evaporated around him.
It was on an unknown date, unknown month, unknown year, that Pin awoke in a bunk inside North Dome. He looked around hazily, stopping to look at his skin, which wasn't crimson at all. He sighed and lay back against the bed. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms and legs out.
When his hand came down on the mattress, it struck something cold.
Pin felt a shiver cross him. His fingers felt around the spot for the hard, metallic cold. The came around a round ball, which attached to a filligreed cylinder. The sword.
Pin shivered and felt himself shake all over. He breathed a deep sigh and took his hand from the object.
He opened his eyes, through off the blanket, and calmly ran from his bed.
In the years following their settling of Mars, the newcomers built and made and invented, with a ferocity mankind had never seen. They still hadn't seen, as mankind had turned its back on the explorers upon the space fleets arrival to Mars. Communication was lost, or abandoned, and in the hopelessness of the situation, many died quietly alone in their beds.
It was in this vacuum, that Charles Fox stepped forward and presented them with a future.
He outlined a plan. A plan for survival. A plan for sustainability. He presented them with life.
So they made the domes, dividing them into cardinal points.
They made the houses and bunkers within the domes to keep the sand at bay.
The built labs and workshops, silos and farms.
When they came upon a problem, the collective mind of the colony invented a way around it.
If the ground was too hard, they built a better drill.
It the water was too far and too cold, they built a better aquaduct.
If the people became, fatigued, sickly, or weak; they made and created and worked around or through it.
In those first ten years, only 11 died.
They continued to strive, but to some, it seemed forever hopeless. They could not breathe the air or go outside without a suit. They were foreign contaminants to a planet that did not want them.
It was such that, no matter the level of success in providing food or medicine or safety; they settlers never felt like more than unwelcome guests.
Pin stepped into a shaft of light and climbed the stairs to the Mess. His stomach growled at him and he stepped quickly into the queue of people. He flexed his hand and tried to forget his bed and his dream. Friends smiled at him and he bid them a fine day, but he was lost inside himself. He stepped through the line and received his meal, thanking the service man and receding to a table next to a portculis.
There he was sitting when Plenty arrived.
As the first children were born, the crew turned colonists turned parents, decided to name their children after the things they missed about their old home. Children were called Garden or Tree or Gelato, each to the smiles and sadness of those who could remember their life before the domes and the sand.
This was done in a lighthearted manner in a time when most of the crew members considered dying quietly, alone in their beds. However, with the first child, a strange new emotion climbed into the hearts of the men and women.
For once, they began to see the future as more than a bleak cliff in the red landscape; that they would, at some point or another, topple off, ending all that they had built. Without discussion or consensus they had all come to believe that it was all just Christmas lights on a dead tree.
But, when the first child came, the first human ever born on Mars, those who had felt only abandonment and estrangement, indulged in hope.
“What's new?” she asked.
He looked out the glass, trying to count the inches between himself and the desert.
“Oi!” She tapped at his cup. Without looking over at her, he said:
“Plenty of time to tell.”
She made a noise in her throat and stood up.
He paused for effect and looked over, watching as she carried her bowl to her brother's table. He sighed and turned back to the window.
The horizon seemed to ripple and he felt a moment of euphoria. He turned to his food.
Pin stood in the docks, his bare feet shuffling through the dust colored by iron oxide. Each man in the bay moved quickly. Gathering gear and setting it out for the next expedition. Pin looked and looked about the room, searching for Plenty's brother.
“Pin?” someone said to his left. He turned to find Peanut, a great jovial hulk, looking down at him. He shuffled his feet and turned to the giant.
“Peanut!” He said with a great smile, “Where are you off to today?”
“Same as usual,” said the man with a sigh, “What're you doing down here?”
“Well...” Pin started, looking casually around the room for any alarm, “I was wondering if you had an extra spot open for today's trip?”
Peanut's expression brightened. Since an accident a few weeks back had sucked Pin's second cousin, Noodle, out of his suit, partly; the volunteers for the excursions for water had been wanting.
“Well sure, I think we can figure something out.”
It was almost funny to the settlers. It reminded them of back home, when you saw something one way from far away, but as it came closer, it was the opposite.
They broke ground on the dome as fast as they could, but ran into a number of problems with the wind that whipped around the planet. They had thousands of tons of materials,including their ships, turning over because of it.
Finally, with little recourse, they drilled the dense Martian soil, with the hopes of creating a more solid base for the domes to rest upon.
It was then that they made a fantastic discovery.
After less than a hundred feet, they struck mud. This sent the scientists into frenzies, each with a Nobel Prize in mind. But Fox stepped forward and pointed to the mud that came oozing out of the ground and said one word: water.
Pin was more than halfway into his suit, when a voice called to him. He sagged as Plenty's brother, Good, was pointed to him. He could hear Good siddle up behind him and whisper in his ear.
“What's this about messing with my sister?”
Pin turned quickly around at him, his eyes staring into Good's. Good was taken aback by the gesture and repeated his question.
“I've done nothing to her, mate,” Pin answered.
“Why do you shun her when she clearly thinks the Earth of you?”
He didn't know. He never knew. It was just the way he felt. But how can you say that to her brother, he thought. How can you tell her that, in a place filled with death and survival, you can't bring yourself to enough civility to procreate.
“I..” he started. Good's eyebrows ticked up.
“I'll talked...I'll talk to her about it.”
Good looked at him for a moment, still weary, but unsatisfied. Pin turned from him and continued to prep his suit.
They called the short distance to the wells and pumps “The Opening Measure”, because after that, anything was bound to happen. Peanut stood out near the front of the line, as he was very tall. Each of them wore what looked like a suit of armor, their heads encapsulated in shining metal bubbles. The suits had once been white, Pin had been told, but now each of them were brown and red from long use.
Peanut trudged along quietly for a while, the rest of the procession, a short man named Curry, a lanky boy named Corn and a few others Pin didn't readily remember, walk along in his footsteps.
After a few minutes of it, his intercom switched on. It was Peanut.
“Hey ya Pin.”
“Hi Peanut.”
“So what will it be today?”
Peanut scanned the horizon for a moment and turned the group slightly to the right.
“What's available, Pea?”
“Well we got Curry here checking the electrical on the wells, Bobo is with him while Corn and me check the pumps. You up for checking the line?”
“Sure thing.”
The intercom clicked off.
Curry sped up for a moment and Pin assumed that he was talking with Peanut.
Pin knew that while in the Measure, it was extremely important to focus on the line. The leaders realized that the corroding of the paint on the suit, while detrimental in a small way, made for good camouflage. Not that there were any predators, but they still decided on playing it safe.
But as they were the only life on Mars, Pin had always thought it like hiding from oneself.
Pin understood all of this, but, as it was a clear day of sorts, he indulged himself. He looked around, watching the clouds, great dust devils off in the distance. The mountains (the distance of sight affirming the beauty of the day) were great and hulking in the distance. Their size so much more than imposing. As a child, Pin had asked his father once if he could climb them. His father skipped the rational response in this and told him instead: “Maybe someday”.
Peanut clicked on again, this time as an all call.
“Alright folks, there she is in the distance. You guys know what to do, so let's be quick and get out of here so we can see the look on Station Manager's face at all the oxygen we saved.”
There was no hurray from the men, only the click and the absence of Peanut's voice.
There were six wells. Each was set 50 meters from the one before it. Wires ran between them for the teams to use in transit. The wells were set at staggers depths, but all drew from an enormous underground reservoir known as Fox Deep. Above each well, there were large pumps, each with a reinforced hose leading to the main line. This line was made from incredibly thick pipe, and was buried for it's own safety.
Pin's job, was to check the distance from each hose to the mainline, looking for leaks, abrasions, etc. When they arrived, Curry handed Pin a flashlight and a scanner to accomplish his task. The problem with the hoses was, due to their reinforced nature, no anchoring wires were attached to them. The scientists either didn't want to weaken them or forgot, no one knew.
It was a clear day, the sky a swirling light orange, the martian landscape some semblance of calm. Peanut had a radio in his helmet that with which the domes could reach him. This channel was only used in case of emergency. If they should find themselves stranded or if one of them were hurt, they would radio to base and measures would be taken.
These radio transmissions only occurred three times in the history of Mars.
The first, happened during the building of the wells. A group scientists wanted to try to build at night, such was the fervor for water at the time. When questioned, they outlined addition measures for the protection of themselves and their suits. These, with the radio, they said, would provide them ample security to survive anything the night had to offer. One man, George Mannecart, asked them, at the time, what measures they had to survive an attack (this before they had found that their sector, if not all of Mars, was uninhabited). The scientists proposed that one of them might bring along a tazer and the matter was settled.
That evening, before sunset, the group, radio code Red Eye, the group reached the well construction site and relieved the day crew. A few hours after the sun set on the red planet, the radio transmission was received:
“Help! This is a mayday! SOS! Whatever the bloody hell you want! Over!”
“Lt. Martyr. Come in. What is the problem?”
“We've got a hurricane HQ! Some of the scientists are blathering that it's so large we don't even have a classification for it! There also seem to be a number of tornadoes joined in with the storm! Over!”
“What's your 20? Over.”
“We've taken shelter in as much of the construction site as there is left to offer, but it's tearing the wells and the equipment apart! Over!”
“Okay, we are have paged Dr. Mansard. He'll advise as to survival protocol. Over!”
“This is Mansard. Martyr?”
“Yes sir! Over!”
“We exactly in the site are you? Erm...Over.”
“We have taken shelter in the wells sir! I'm here with Stepan, and Peter and Nikolai are in another! Our positions are temporary, at most! The storm is destroying everything sir! Over.”
Mansard consulted his notes and believed he had found a suitably place for them to survive the storm. He consulted with Fox before issuing the orders.
“Martyr? Over.”
“Yes sir. Here sir. Over.”
“There is an outcropping of rocks just east of the site. Do you have your GPS? Over”
“Yes sir, but the storm, sir...Over”
“Martyr, you can't survive there all night. Now in the rocks, there are some small caves. We haven't properly searched them, but the reconnaissance I have suggests that the four of you can fit. I need you to try and make it to the caves. Wait for a break in the storm. It should be more than a hundred and fifty feet away at most. Over.”
“I'll consult the engineers. Over.”
In the end, they were left with no other choice. After radioing back to the domes, Martyr led the men to the caves. After that, the domes lost contact with the scientists. When the morning came, a search party was sent, consisting of three men, to find the Red Eye. They found the site abandoned, but upon entering the caves found the bodies of the three engineers. Each suit had been ravaged and torn, presumably by the storm. Martyr was no where to be found.
The second transmission was some years after that and was equally enigmatic.
It was led by a naval officer named Bottle Jones (earth born), a uproariously funny man, who engaged himself in the finding of new water sources. His team consisted of two twins, Twist and Shout, both born on Mars. They were young, but he employed their speed and dexterity in quick raid missions into the surrounding waste.
They worked in concentric circles, using underground mapping techniques invented and pioneered by Jones himself. He used them to make a three dimensional map of the ground beneath the wells and the domes. What he found was an inlet, leading to Fox's Deep. This river underground was thought, at first, to pour from the reservoir. It was in following it that Bottle discovered that it was widening the farther it went from Fox's. He conjectured that the river, in actuality, was flowing from some where much larger. With this electric news, he went to Fox for permission to follow it back to it's source. He hoped that, if possible, the river could lead to a mass of water large enough to not only sustain them, but allow them to grow more food and plants. He dreamed of expansion. He told Fox that with that level of comfortable survival, they could begin to search out mineral deposits and begin to refine them.
But Fox was unmoved by Bottles elaborate dreams. The two argued over the project, Fox referring to it as a suicide mission, but in the end, consent was given.
After this, Bottle and the twins worked for two months, making the equipment and resources they'd need. Bottle knew they would have to spend at least one night in the Martian landscape, and thus he made provisions for it. Such was Jones' amiable nature, that the entire colony buzzed with excitement. Many began to dream of buildings and resources beyond their grasp. The dreamed of easy life and hope that they might do more than survive.
The day they left, most of the citizens arrived to send them off with songs and cheering. Bottle flashed his brilliant smile and the twins grinned. There is still a picture of three of them in the computers. They look like heroes.
After that, they were never seen from again.
The only data on their mission comes from transmitters in each of their suits. The colony watched in awe as they traversed the landscape. They had only a few satellites to track them with, so they could only map their terrain for a few hundred miles. Bottle's team never made it that far.
The technician on the radio, a woman named Eartha, received Bottle's last transmission very early in the morning of their second day.
“(A great shout, uncomprehensible)”
“Jones, sir? Over.”
“Whhhhhhhat's yyyooooouuuur name?”
“Jones? Over?”
“Whhhhhhooooo iiiiiisssss thissssss?”
“Bottle Jones, sir! Is that you?”
Eartha was shaken by the voice on the receiver. She sent for her directing officer. Miles (short for Smiles) Breener took over for her after she told him about the transmission.
“Chief Jones. Come in. Over.”
“Jooooonnnnessss?”
Miles looked at Eartha. He wasn't smiling.
“Who is this? Over?”
“Jooooonnnnessss?”
“You are not Chief Jones.”
“Yoooouuu aaaaarrrrre nooooot Eaaaaarrrrrtha.”
At this, Eartha fainted.
The transmission severed soon after that and the GPS on the three men moved irratically and then disappeared off of the map.
No search party was sent, as Fox saw their distance and the irrational nature of the transmission as cause to pronounce Bottle's group MIA. The colony felt the blow and mourned the loss of their friends and dreams.
Peanut's transmission was the third.
Pin made footsteps with horizontal lines in the dirt as he paced away from the work crew. He held the scanner close to the pipes and ran his flashlight over it as he walked. For a moment, he had a feeling nudity; he felt all of the layers over his skin. He stood for a moment and looked again out into the red orange landscape. He watched the dust devils, spinning in an almost magnificent way. It's like dancing, he thought; the great whirlwinds spinning this way and that.
Peanut clicked in.
“You alright there?”
“Yeah, I'm good.”
“You thinkin' about Good's sister or something?”
“Nah.”
“Good, 'cause we are done over here so we are moving on to the next. We'll see you over there alright?”
“Right-o.”
Peanut clicked out and Pin continued to walk. He glanced over at the crew, each clipped to the transit wires, making their way over to the next well. I have to hurry, he thought, and returned to the scanner.
His concentration could only hold out for a few moments, however, as his attention was diverted. From the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed something. When he was first allowed out on these missions, his father told him that the desert can play with your eyes. He called it “Marvin the Martian” syndrome. He had bent down to Pin in a loading bay and looked him in the eyes.
“There's nothing out there.” He said and Pin had nodded his agreement.
There was even a rhyme known to the handful of children raised in the domes.
'Marvin the Martian never lived in the ocean/
Marvin the Martian never did./
If Marvin the Martian doesn't live in the ocean/
Then where does the Martian man live?'
The first few times Pin went out into the land ocean, he would hum the words like a mantra; and although no one ever felt truly relaxed or at home, they all stopped humming after a while. It wasn't a comfort with the surroundings, how could it be? They were aliens here.
Try putting a fish on land and asking if it feels the dirt is hospitable.
But because of the mental training and the frequency of excursions in which Pin was included, Pin had learned that there were no monsters or trapdoor spiders hiding in the red sand.
So when Pin turned, he felt like he had found a sword in his bed.
Peanut marched the men over to the next well, taking care to keep an eye on little Curry. He watched the wire and kept an eye on the horizon. It seemed darker to him somehow.
He knew from experience, that it was sometimes possible to see a storm from hundreds of miles away, especially on a clear day like this. He only worried about it in a casual way, like he did members of his team and their equipment.
He walked the last length of the wire and put his hand on the pump. He felt it thrumming through his glove and was relieved. Another of his worries was damaged machinery, a bigger one was water shortage. He walked around the unit, named Prancer, and bent down to open the diagnostics hatch. He looked again at the sky. It seems brighter, he thought.
Curry stepped in next to him and he and Bobo checked the well.
“Still wet sir.” Curry sang to him.
Peanut nodded and pulled out his diagnostic scanner. He plugged it into the machine and waited. All Peanut had to do was to check if it was green or red on the scanner. The more complex data would be uploaded and returned to the engineers in East Dome for decoding. Peanut was no moron, but the danger of the missions necessitated simplicity.
He looked down at Curry and marveled at the speed of the man's hands. He's done this for so long, he thought.
It was just then that his scanner flashed red and the sky began to darken.
It was just as before.
From out in the ocean of sand, Pin heard the call. It sang across a great distance to him, but he did not understand.
I've left my sword in my bunk, Pin thought.
The creature swam across the horizon, as it had in his dream. It grew in size, ebbing and flowing with the martian tide. It moved, again, with incredible dexterity and purpose; as if it was the only creature that could call Mars a home.
Pin was entranced by it, turning his suit away from the pipes and his crew to marvel.
The dream flashed for a moment in his mind and something felt wrong. Terror slid insidiously into him and he stepped towards the creature.
The beast threw itself about in the land ocean, seemingly chaotic, but drawing nearer. It moved as if insane or in great anguish, casting itself unheeding into rocks and dunes. Pin felt there was something sinister about the creature, but before he could press himself as to what, Peanut came on in a panic.
“This is an ALL CALL! REGROUP AT THE FIRST WELL!”
Pin turned quickly and fell into the dirt. He looked up at the gigantic mast of orange clouds storming down upon them. He tried to stand up, but a gust of wind blew him over again. Sand rolled over him and he was blind for a moment.
“PIN! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!”
Pin tried to answer, but paused at the echoing roar. It sounded like rolling thunder. Or laughter. He turned to see the great monster bearing down upon them, only a few miles away. He carefully pushed himself upright and turned to look for the work crew. He saw them huddled around the last well, Peanut's hulking figure turned toward him.
He glanced once more at the monstrosity. It was a great worm, he saw. It's skin black and ridged. It had many red eyes, each more hateful than the next.
It was in that moment, that Pin felt an unknown call to do something. He turned away from Peanut and began to run.
What the hell is the kid doing? Peanut thought. He watched Pin, the boy's back to them. He was about to radio again, when suddenly Pin began to run, after a fashion, away from them.
Peanut was flabbergasted. Of all the suicidal maniacs to end up with, he thought. He stood up and looked at the hose, thinking he had to go after the kid. He ducked back down after a moment, as the wind buffeted the team again.
I have to get the team back, he thought. He knew this, but his heart went out to Pin. He felt an immense amount of feeling for the boy, but he knew after a moment that he could not save him. He watched as Pin continued to disappear into the ever-growing storm.
Peanut froze and his heart beat in his ears. He thought he saw something else out there with Pin, something enormous. Curry came on.
“What's going on?!”
Peanut shook his head as the scene disappeared.
“We have to leave him. He's gone.”
Curry didn't respond. Peanut breathed out the sadness and fear he felt and called back to the domes.
“This is Peanut. Over.”
“Go ahead Peanut. Over.” This was Tanya.
“We're stuck in a sandstorm. Over.”
“Do you have shelter? Over.”
“No, we are trapped against a well. Over.”
“Alright, time to take Rover for a test drive then. I'm sending Good to get you. Over.”
“Also...we lost Pin...Over.”
“Say again Peanut? Over”
“Pin, Fox's boy, we've lost him...”
Over.
At first, Pin ran towards the beast. His heart, at first terrified beyond reason, began to swell with something new. He felt himself start to lift inwardly.
He stared at the worm, the great monster flashing this way and that. It's great evil eyes staring at him. It seemed to understand the newness of the boy's courage and laughed. It's call filled Pin's ears and his eyes watered. His heart shook with fear, but he pushed himself faster. He sprint through the land ocean and the sand storm, his eyes almost shut with tears. Unknowingly, his hands balled into fists.
He blinked and found himself standing before a great pit. His eyes grew wide and he through his arms out before him. He left his feet and found himself in open air. The pit was only about ten feet across and he groped for the other side.
The last thing he saw, before his helmet struck the side wall, was the worm. But at this last glance, it was no longer a worm, but a wolf, huge and black. It's eyes still glared maliciously and as it disappeared from view, Pin heard its barking laughter.
Charles Fox sat in his office in the East Dome staring at the wall. His eyes were blank and his face was drawn. He unconsciously tapped his hand on the desk. After a moment, his eyes came back to life and he began to outline a new draft of blue prints.
The colony had no schools to speak of, as they were, in some respects, a rural community. If one populated by as many genius' the nations from Earth could stuff inside a spaceship. It was the politicians idea that schools would be relatively unnecessary, as they were scientists on a mission. Charlie's eyes laughed.
The politicians had also stated that the second wave of space colonists would follow the first so closely that there would hardly be time for them to need any formal education system.
Thus, with the advent of couples, and their children (some born en route, others born on Mars), the colonists had fell into a simple, parent-child apprenticeship. Children, including Fox's own, were taught their parents particular skill, as best they could. It was allowed that not every child would be able to intrinsically understand quantum physics or something of the sort, as well as their parents, who were taught in Earth's most renown and prestigious colleges and universities.
But then, there had never been children such as these.
Borne out of adversity; from possible the most promising gene pool possible; taught the ins and outs of everything their parents did from the moment they could speak; these children were astoundingly capable. Some more so than their parents. It was science as the family business, in a place where failure was not an option.
Fox kept this in mind as he drew up the blue prints. Whittling away at the problem as he saw it.
There was a tone from the wall and a voice came on. It was Tanya. One of the Russians, he thought. Not that it had any bearing anymore.
“Mr. Fox?”
He stepped over to the box on the wall and keyed the speaker.
“Yes Tanya?”
“We've just had a radio call from Peanut, he was the one leading the team to the wells this afternoon.”
Charles knew Peanut and liked him very much. It was something about his adventurous spirit.
“It seems he's been trapped out there by a sandstorm.”
“Is the team alright, Tanya?”
“Mostly, sir. One of the members has gone missing.”
Charles sigh and shook his head.
“Which member?”
“It was your son, Pin, sir.”
A man in shining garb stands before Pin, his feet bare in the red dust. He wears a crown and his body glows with some electric light. His arms are crossed and he stares into Pin.
Who are you, Pin thinks. He is bare and red, as before, breathing in the Martian air and standing in the Martian soil. There is no sword in his hand. He wonders where it has gone.
The man holds out the rod in his hand. He points it at a mountain. But it is more than a mountain, growing larger and taller than any other. Its peak skims the top of the atmosphere and possible into the void beyond. A great red testament to the unknown.
Pin looks between the rod and the mountain and doesn't understand. The electric man looks at him and points to the top. Pin shakes his head inside his helmet.
He wakes for a moment and sees the crack. His head is muddy and he sinks back.
The glowing man is still pointing at the mountain, still looking into Pin. Pin is red and strong in the dream, but he knows he his dying. He tries to shake his head again.
He winces at the pain in his neck. The pain brings him back for a moment. He begins to breath and chokes. Pin's head is filled with pain. There's a pressure on his arm.
An electric hand is grabbing him, pulling him back into the dream. Pin's eyes flutter and he sees the glow before him. They flutter again and he sees the darkness of the cave and crack in the plastic.
I'm dying, Pin thinks.
He looks at the man, who seems to smile at him. At his thought. Pin wonders again who the crowned, shining personage is, as a shining hand reaches towards him. The rod is gone. He is holding Pin with both hands now.
Now in the cave.
Now in the desert.
Through the cracked helmet the man glows and the impossible unblinking eyes stare into him.
Pin begins to feel a pressure all over his body. He can feel it over ever inch of his skin. Even his veins, even his cells, all of them are being pushed and pulled, all at once. It grows uncomfortable, it's too much. He looks at the man, but the man is too bright and the pressure is too strong. The man, king, whomever, is pulling him. Pulling him out of his suit, out of his clothes, out of his skin. Pin glances at his feet as the man gives one final tug, removing his soul from his body.
Pt.2
The hatch opens on West Dome. Plenty carefully careens the buggy up into the bay and they shut again. Pressure normalizes. For a moment, there is a peaceful silence. Then bodies rush into the room. Hands help to remove gear. The team is checked for any injuries. Peanut sits off to one side, his great hulking shoulders sagging under what he knows is coming. He facies the wall, but he knows what he'll hear. Suddenly the bustling room grows quiet. It's admiration, he thinks. It's awe. He stands and turns to face Fox. The entire bay watches the two men. Fox nods to Peanut. Peanut returned the gesture and follows him out.
Once out in the hall, they begin the march to East Dome. Fox begins the question, the one he'd been dwelling on all day.
“Peanut.”
Peanut follows through the corridors, behind and to Fox's right. He feels a weight on him, after the mission, after the mishap. Still, with it, he continues to stand straight, his full height almost touching the ceiling. He sighs.
“Yes sir.”
“Peanut, I...I want you to...”
Fox stops and turns to Peanut.
“Peanut, for right now, go home. The satellites have mapped that the storm will last for quite some time yet. I see no point in dragging out a traumatic experience, so we will discuss it tomorrow. When the weather is clear. When there's actually something we can do about it.”
“But sir!”
Fox looked into Peanut's eyes.
“But sir, we could go and look for him. We could take the buggy or...”
“Peanut, we don't have the resources.”
He put his hand on the great shoulder.
“Believe me,” He whispers, “I wish that there was something, anything we could do. But we can't, and you can't. Not in this storm, not now.”
Peanut nodded and looked up and down the halls.
“Has there been any problem with water sir?”
Fox looked surprised.
“Why?”
“The pump on Prancer seems to be acting up. That was as far as we got, but they all may be in jeopardy.”
Fox shrugged.
“Not that I know of, but I'll alert Caleb. He'll see it gets dealt with. For now, go ahead and head home.”
Peanut turned and walked toward North Dome, feeling Fox watch him go.
From a distance, Tanya sees Peanut hulk his way down the corridor. She watches him walk, and even in his sulky mood, she cannot help but feel the the attraction. She shakes her head and follows him down a flight of stars and into the Main Hall. The ceilings here aren't much higher than everywhere else, but they are reinforced almost twice as much as any of the other domes. Tanya knows that this is because they are the main junction between all of the segments and without them, everyone would die. She learned this from her father, one of the men buried in South Dome. He told her about it, even as a child.
“My lovely Tanya, where would each be without the other?” he tried to explain, as he walked around enormous planters, filled with every plant imaginable. She followed him obediently, watching him water each small blossom or twig.
“I do not understand, Papa.”
She watched his back. He turned this way and that, holding a leaf in his hand for a moment. He looked around the greenhouse quickly before calmly plucking the small green appendage.
He turned to her, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. His small gray mustache brushing over his lips as he spoke softly to her.
“My little one, light of my heart, do you see this leaf? The one I hold here in my hand?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Why is this leaf green?”
“I do not know, Papa.”
“It is strange isn't it? There is a chemical which I will teach you about, it is in this plant and it makes the leaf green. What do you think of that, my daughter?”
“What does the chemical do?”
“It takes light and turns it into food, energy essentially, for the rest of the plant.”
“Oh.”
He bent down to her and held the leaf up so she could better examine it. Her hand unconsciously reached for it. He smiled at the motion and held the leaf out to her. She was hesitant for a moment, but chose to reach out and touch it. Her fingers played over the smooth outside of the plant, touching the forking symmetrical network of veins. Her father saw her eyes moving and her mind moving behind them.
“Now daughter, why do I use this precious organism when I explain our city? What does it have to do with you and me?”
“I do not know, Papa.”
“Think for me little one.”
She looked up at the artificial light, filling each plant with warmth, giving food to them, making them grow.
“We are the leaves.” She said.
“Yes,” he replied, “And isn't it funny that leaves are green no matter where they are grown?”
She smiled and her returned it.
“Come now.” Tanya remembered him saying.
She passed through the Main Hall, still following Peanut. She knew she would need to return to work soon, but for now, she could spend a little time wondering why he wasn't turning to North Dome, but instead striding towards East.
Pin stood up at the bottom of the pit, the shimmering man gone, leaving him alone in the dark cavern. Light came down through the top of the hole at an angle, affording him a view of the sky. He looked up at it for a moment, a feeling of lightness at the empty pinkish hue. A feeling of lightness everywhere, he thought.
He looked at his hands in the light. He clenched them before his eyes, the knuckles turning white.
Where are my gloves, he thought.
He felt the lightness turn. He was sinking, lowering his hands and looking at his body. Funny, he thought, doesn't even look like me.
The face had blood dried over the forehead and cheek. He could see a discoloration when he looked at the skin. It was pale and slightly blue. The eyes were open, each now empty, devoid of the self which now stood before it. Pin ran his hand over the crack in the helmet, not only to test the fracture, but to find if he could feel it without the flesh of his hands. His hand stopped against the smooth glass and he felt the small fissure the fall had opened in his helmet.
For a moment, he was seized with a strange idea. He bent down over his empty frame, his knees resting in the fine dust.