The Aquifers of Mars

Travelling Companions

Gareth was sick. Sick of breathing the same air, sick of drinking the same water, sick of pacing the same cramped corridors, but mostly he was sick because of the zero gravity. While everyone else was celebrating the half way turn, he was alone in his berth, dry heaving into a plastic bag while he adjusted to weightlessness.

Finally, sick of being sick, he determined it was time to get out and circulate among the masses, if only so he didn't have to stare at the same drab walls for another hour. He pushed himself into the corridor and then kicked off toward the passage that would bring him to one of the many observation lounges that dotted the ship. As he rounded the final bend, he could hear the sounds of merriment grow louder, and his mood began to lift immediately. One last course correction and he was headed straight for the lounge entrance, which had been strangely decorated with what looked like ladders. Obviously the people of Mars had some strange customs.

Too late to react, Gareth realized the ladders were not ladders at all, but grab bars used to slow down in zero gravity before ploughing straight into the other revellers, which is exactly what he was now doing. Glancing off a rather unamused man just past the entrance, he began to pinwheel, helpless to stop himself until he collided in slow motion with a woman having a drink at a table. He grabbed the edge of the table tightly with both hands to steady himself.

"Ex-excuse me," Gareth stuttered, trying to regain his composure despite his legs helplessly flailing behind him.

"Still finding your sea legs?" she asked with a giggle. Gareth could feel his face grow warm as it turned beet red in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I'm new at this," he replied lamely, "I'd rather keep my feet planted firmly on Earth."

She arched an eyebrow and sized him up. "You don't look like an economic migrant," she said pointedly, "those real leather shoes are a dead giveaway. So, if it's not poverty that's forcing you off world, what's the real reason? You didn't kill someone, did you?"

Gareth gasped like a fish out of water, struggling to respond, but she continued. "No, that can't be it, you don't strike me as a man who would commit a crime of passion," she said with a wry smile. "It must be something more white collar. Embezzlement? Were you stealing money from your employer to pay for an expensive shoe habit?"

His embarrassment shifted to anger, doing nothing to remove the red from his face. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest. "I'll have you know that I'm a respected diplomat," he responded indignantly, "not some common criminal. I've been sent to Mars on assignment."

"Relax dear," she said as she patted him gently on the chest, "I'm just having a bit of fun with you. After a couple months stuck on a ship with the same people, I'm starting to get sick of them, and it's nice to have someone new to talk to. Tell you what, buy me a drink and I might even tell you my name."

A smile crept across his face and his shoulders visibly relaxed. "What are you having?" he asked.

"I bet you're a man of good taste. Surprise me," she said with a wink.

He pushed off carefully and headed for the bar. She was a strangely rude woman, he thought to himself, and yet there was something undeniably charming about her. None of the lounges on the ship enforced a dress code and he had trouble relaxing when he was surrounded by the crass behaviour of commoners, so he'd mostly kept to himself on the journey so far, staying in his room to work on his memoirs. Except for rare occasions like today, he only ventured out to exercise and get food, which he would eat back in his berth. Lately though, he had begun to talk to himself aloud, even in the corridors, and he had started to worry for his mental well-being. If he could made friends with someone of the same social standing, maybe that would make the rest of the journey more tolerable, and save him from descending into madness. There would be plenty of time for that once he reached Mars.

A terse question from the bartender broke him out of his reverie. "What you want?"

The selection of drinks wasn't great. Most of them were actually a combination of vodka and flavouring agents designed to taste like other spirits, since it wasn't cost effective to bring a full selection of drinks to space, however some were the genuine article. The difference was obvious in the price, with real drinks going for at least ten times the cost of the recombined ones. Gareth ordered two scotches, keeping a suspicious eye on the bartender as she filled up the drink pouches to make sure she didn't try to palm off a cheap substitute on him. He took a sip of his and, reassured that it was actual scotch, paid for the drinks and floated back to his table.

He handed a drink one of the drinks over to his new companion and she took a sip. With an approving nod, she said, "Cassie."

"Pardon?", Gareth asked.

"That's my name. Cassiopeia. But you can call me Cassie," she replied.

"Gareth", he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you Cassie."