Chapter 5 – Meet Cute – Callie & Richard
Rebellion be damned, his farm needed a little attention, and he needed some basic provisions. His farm provided him with food - basic meat and vegetables - but he relied on modern convenience for clothing, flour, beans, medicine, and of course, seeds. He had not been able to prepare for spring planting season since he had been focused on the rebellion and had been at the family compound down south. His supplies had been depleted when he left, and he needed to get things in order to begin planting this month. His father thought it was stupid - he could easily survive without the farm - but he felt whole when he lived off the land and he didn't plan on abandoning the lifestyle anytime soon. So, that day in late April, he took the Northwest Light-Rail from the country to Kansas City. He would have to go back soon - things would start happening very quickly after his father did his counter-broadcast to Roark. He also had to lead the secret operation to steal the malaria payload in another month. But, for now, he could pretend life was tranquil.
As the Light-Rail car zipped over the city, he looked down and contemplated it. The area looked the same as it had for centuries, aside from some technological advances. The Light-Rails shuttling cars in and out, large screens along the major roadways broadcasting the Martian News, and the occasional Hovercar headed to Supply Line 16 filled with manufactured goods – but from a distance, it had the same appearance a city had had for millennia. It bustled with activity. Personal vehicles came in and out on roadways under the Light-Rail, factories showed the telltale signs of manufacturing, and storefronts were lit up to advertise the days' sales. It seemed to him that although time marched on and people thought they changed the world, the basic structure would always remain.
His musings were interrupted when they reached the stop in the heart of the city. There was a shopping market there where he could pick up the basics he needed. His summer shirts were threadbare, and he needed some food to get him through to the next harvest. It was possible he wouldn't be around for the harvest if his father had his way, but he didn't see any reason not to prepare to live as he always had. A change in the larger powers-that-be wouldn't affect the day to day lives of the average person, and he intended to be average. As soon as this was done. He would hire someone to plant and be home to harvest.
He waited for the rest of the passengers, six in all, to exit the car before he tried. He preferred to watch everyone exit first, rather than be jostled down the aisle and to the door with them in a herd. Finally, he got up, nodded to the supervisor on the car, and made his way down the steps and to the platform. Several cars had stopped to let off passengers, so there was a large crowd of people there to meet those that had departed with him. He felt a brief tug of loneliness and regret for his solitary existence when he saw people hugging and waving excitedly, but he shrugged it off. He joined those turning right through an entrance labeled Westport Market and made his way to Goodman's Clothing first, seeing as how clothes couldn't spoil. He found the naming of the stores and neighborhoods ridiculous – it was all owned by the Martians, but they tried to give it a small-town feel.
To the dismay of the store-clerk, who seemed to be bored and intent on helping him with his purchases, he refused to try on any of the shirts he bought. He simply picked five that looked durable, paid, and came back out. He peered out into the neighborhood and tried to remember if the seed store was left or right. Scanning and squinting, he saw a commotion a ways down the road to the East. There were several people trying to discreetly point at another group of people who were coming out of the Wornall House – an old American Civil War museum in this area.
Richard was interested. By definition, there was nothing interesting about people touring an old Museum. Unless. Some intuition clicked in his head. The same intuition he'd inherited from Jordan but liked to dismiss in his quest to be different than his father. The intuition when there is an opportunity, and the intuition to take it.
They could be Martian. He had heard of them taking tours on Earth. Now was a horrible time for them to be here, but they wouldn't be aware of that, would they? People wouldn't automatically assume they were Martian students. He didn't understand what they found interesting about this museum, but he knew nothing about what they studied. He supposed knowledge of old wars on Earth would help them create their peacekeeping policies.
He nonchalantly made his way across the street. He decided he would buy a ticket.
****
I'm excited for this tour. The Wornall House is a house that was used as a hospital during the American Civil War. Soldiers from both sides were brought here. I love the idea of the conflict being put aside to save the sick and dying men. Social History has taught me that people really aren't that different, they only think they are. Obviously I have no experience with a war, but I would imagine that when it comes down to it and everyone is in need, a brotherhood would grow. I hope to hear a story that reflects this. We all love it when our little beliefs about the world are confirmed.
I stand back from the group a little bit and take in my surroundings. Green grass, blue sky above, the red brick house with its white columns and black shutters. Mars homes are utilitarian, self-sustainable, made of eco-friendly materials. My family's, while nice, is like all the other nice ones near it. I know it's more practical, and Earth would have done less damage to herself if people throughout history weren't given to flaunting their wealth by building to excess. But the home is beautiful and I can see why people did it. Here, they probably still do.
"Callie, hurry up!" Hera gestures at me to quit daydreaming and join the group. They are getting tickets. I oblige.
"I don't really understand why we're here... There's probably much more interesting battle sights and museums to see than this dealing with the World Wars, or anything on the East Coast. What's the point of some old hospital in the middle of nowhere?" Hera is complaining, as I am well accustomed to. She's only part of the Social History Tour for bragging rights back on Mars, not because she really cares.
"Well, it's because we can see a place where they put aside their differences and worked together to-"
"Oh Father, Callie. Give it up with your humanity comes together in times of trial nonsense. Let's just get the visit over with. We're headed to New York tomorrow and maybe we can sneak out and see some real Earth nightlife!"
Hera is being obnoxious. I decide to hold back for a few minutes and lose her. Our earlier friendship over her helping me get ready has been forgotten. She's one of those people you vacillate between hating and liking at a moment's notice.
"Oh hey, sorry Hera. I need to run to the restroom. I doubt there's one in there!" She is self-absorbed and doesn't notice I'm trying to get away from her.
"Ok. I'll tell Latimer if he wonders where you are. I think I saw one back in that Market across the street."
"Thanks!"
Free from Hera, I actually just go sit on a bench under a tree outside. My plan is to wait about 5 minutes and let them start their tour. I've been noticing interesting things by joining the tours late, I figure I should keep at it. I can enter the house and spend a little time looking around on my own before I catch back up with them all. I close my eyes and inhale. Earth has different smells and sounds than Mars. Since arriving here, I've become accustomed to it, but if I think about it I can note the differences. Mostly it's because of the manufacturing. I hear the sounds of factories, personal vehicles, and smell gasoline and coal burning. People here probably don't notice it. Here in this yard, though, the trees are flowering and it's has the aroma of any park on Mars, only like everything else on Earth, it's just more.
"Excuse me." It's a deep, serious voice.
My eyelids flicker open and I find myself looking into some eyes. They are as blue as Earth's sky, bluer than any eyes I have ever seen on a living person.
"Ah, um, y-yes?" I stutter inarticulately. I'm not usually inarticulate, but these eyes!
"Are there tours here today?" The eyes are part of a face. Sandy hair above it, sun-bleached like ours doesn't get on Mars. He is playing with a short beard and peering at me with the eyes, inquisitively.
"Yes, my classmates are on one, I'm joining them in a minute, we're here for school." Learning from earlier mistakes, I'm careful not to mention what school. "I am really excited to see this place, to see the hospital where two sides of soldiers had to put aside their differences and-"
"Why are you outside, then?"
"Uh... What?" Obviously he doesn't care about my studies. Why would he? I chide myself.
"If you're so excited to see it, why are you outside while they're inside?"
"I wanted to see it alone." I am beginning to feel indignant. Who is this guy, and why is he harassing me out here? "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I'm not doing anything wrong. If I have done something to offend you, I'm sorry." I'm afraid I've committed another obvious faux paus unawares.
"It's perfectly fine to sit on a bench." My, this man is abrupt.
"Ok then, well, I think enough time has passed, I think I'll head on in now..."
"You're a Martian?"
I start to laugh at the slur, then stop when I realize he isn't joining me. I look at him, trying to gauge whether or not he is serious. Seeing no trace of humor in his face, I cut off the laugh. I am still not quite used to being called something derogatory. Furthermore, how did he know? I ask as much.
"How did you know?"
"Call it a lucky guess. Nobody would be this excited to see The Wornall House." He laughs.
He seems like the type of person who doesn't miss much, so I actually believe he had a hunch that turned out to be correct. Probably happens to him often. It seems funny that I am able to surmise this much about a man who has literally spoken three sentences to me. Every now and then, I've met someone that seems obvious to me. My childhood friend Kamala was like that. One day we were strangers; one day we seemed to share everything over a playground game of sorting out different types of fallen leaves in the fall. Obvious to me or not though, I bristle at the idea of his contempt.
"I'm a human, there's no such thing as Martians. I am from Mars. Born there. My parents were first generation settlers. Is that what you call us?" I suppose it makes sense, we call them Earthlings. Once again, I'm blowing my cover, but one man isn't going to hurt me, and he seems like someone I need to tell the truth to.
I suddenly remember my assignment to learn more about Earth first hand, from the people who live here.
"Will you show me around?"
He looks as shocked as I did when he asked if I was a Martian, and now it's his turn to laugh. A deep, rich sound. I have the startling thought that I would love to make him laugh more.
"Ma'am, I'm not exactly sure what you mean. Isn't your group wondering where you are? Surely your tours are enough, I can't tell you anything you won't learn."
"You're so humble. But yes, you can! Don't you understand this opportunity? I could see, first-hand, what life here is like for a real, live Earth-born, human! I'm here to learn about history, but this is invaluable. Ple-" He looks a little bit sick, and I feel a little bit bad but not much. He is getting more than he bargained for. I am hoping my naivety makes me seem innocent. I'm new to this spy game. But, I need to find out about this broadcast, and I have a gut feeling that earning this man's trust seems like something that could lead to that. Also, Jackson Connor did tell me to go off on my own.
"Please sir. I'm sorry, this probably seems a little bit strange. Let me back up. I'm here for school, like I said. I am studying something called Social History. Basically, the reasons for conflicts between humans. We are going to historical places and learning about history, but it's all from tour guides who didn't really live it. It would be really interesting for me to talk with you for awhile and get some unscripted information. Maybe just let me know what it's really like for you to live here. What you do all day. What your family is like. That kind of thing."
He is eyeing me, with the blue eyes, skeptically. He makes me feel like he sees right through me. This could be a problem, since I'm attempting to spy on him and find out if there's a rebellion. From what the old woman says, it seems that there very well could be. This could be so amazing! If he would only agree! He looks like he really doesn't know what to do. I use this as the opportunity to stare at him pleadingly, hoping I get it right. I've never had to plead much to get what I want. It's either handed to me on a silver platter, or I lie.
"I guess I have a little bit more shopping to do. You ever see a feed store?"
"See! Yes! Exactly! I don't even know what you mean by that! I'd love to see a feed store!"
There's the laugh again. I smile at him, pleased that I could produce it again. This time, it's even better because he genuinely thinks what I have said is funny, instead of just feeling incredulous at what I am saying. Well, maybe.
******
Richard didn't know what the hell to do with this girl.
She wanted him to show her around and tell her about life as an Earthling, did she? He could do that. Show her the farm, tell her about the rebellion, really give her the inside scoop. Yeah right. He laughed inwardly, watching her watch the crowd in the market. He shouldn't even be taking her. If his father knew, he'd probably demand he kidnap her and question her.
She had such an intense gaze. She was taking in everything. He had never thought about the market like this before. People interacting, doing their everyday thing. Buying food and clothes and stopping at the street-vendors for lunch. It was no big thing to him. But of course it was to her. She'd never been here. They probably didn't even do things like that on Mars. What was it like on Mars? What exactly was this Utopia he was fighting against? Was there a market? Farms? He knew surprisingly little about it. He felt a sudden and swift desire to learn about her and her kind, rather than fight in the dark. The turmoil starting within him simply because of her presence was little unnerving.
And what the hell was he going to do with her?
She obviously had parents. She was only a university student. He couldn't just keep her, although he got the impression she probably would stay with him. He didn't even know her name yet!
"Hey, what's your name?" He asked, interrupting her from her reverie while she watched the market move about her.
She turned back and smiled at him. He was struck by her beauty. It was a strange beauty. She was so very pale, why? The sun wasn't as strong there, he knew. Maybe it was colder? Did they not go outside much? His lack of knowledge became more painful by the second, as well as his desire to rid himself of it. He didn't like to not know things. It stemmed from being blindsided by his father's favor for Roark. Her hair contrasted with her paleness, raven black. Her eyes stood out big against it, dark. Knock it off Richard, he thought. He seriously needed to extricate himself from this situation. Before it got serious.
"Callie." She said. She smiled. It was quite the smile.
Shit.
"Actually, it's Calanthe. It's an ancient Greek name. It's silly, really. There was a trend when I was born, to name children that way. I guess it had to do with being the first group to conquer a new planet; they were like Gods themselves."
"That's, ummm, interesting..." He replied, involuntarily. He wanted to shut this girl out, just leave her behind. He had left society behind him once, and his father, too, so why should leaving her, someone he had just met, be hard? Something about her wide-eyed naivety. She was like a child, wondering about the world. He couldn't help feeling an honest-to-god need to show her around, just like she wanted. He couldn't know it, but it came from a lifetime of getting exactly what she wanted. She conveyed the expectation that he give it to her, and he found himself going along with it.
"So, where are you taking me next?" It was like she was reading his mind, saying the exact thing she needed to to push him to continuing this ridiculous interaction.
"Ma'am, I don't really know what I should do here". He may as well just be honest. "I mean, don't you have parents? You can't just leave your group. I'm sure their tour is ending soon. What happens when you aren't there?"
Her face contorted into a thinking position. She obviously hadn't thought about the consequences to leaving her group. She seemed accustomed to doing what she wanted without worry of the fallout. Maybe that was the Martian way? Permissive parenting? He laughed inwardly, thinking of Jordan.
"I can't imagine it would really matter."
"Really..."
"Sure, yeah. I don't mean to brag, but I'm Dr. Latimer's favorite. I can just go tell him I have this opportunity to really experience Earth. His advisor told me to do it, in fact. I'm sure he will love it! I mean, if you don't mind..." She gave him that same pleading look she had earlier.
"I guess."
"What's your name?"
"Richard."
"Richard. That's an interesting one. Is it common here? I hadn't heard it until recently, when we studied Earth's current situation on the way in. Most people on Mars would have never heard it at all." At this, his heart gave a little lurch. Did they study him? Would she put together who he was? Furthermore, maybe she already knew and this was all some con to get him in their custody. Somehow he doubted it, though.
"It's common enough." Was she aware of the rebellion, then? Why had she heard the name Richard? The thought nagged at him. Maybe he needed to try to get information out of her after all.
This short exchange made him realize he wanted to stay with her, too. He hoped she got permission. Think of the information he could learn about the inner-workings of Mars. His father would be proud. The sudden desire to please his father was at odds with his general feelings of hatred for the man. He shook it off. He wouldn't sell her out to him. He would learn what he could and send her on her way. He would be proud Richard had done it; he wouldn't hurt Callie. Two birds with one stone.
And with that, he knew he would do anything in his power to keep her with him.
They made their way back to the Wornall House.
*****
I don't know how I've done it, but I've convinced him. I'm not entirely sure of what I am attempting here. It's true, I can learn a lot from him. But what am I thinking? Going off with some stranger to learn whatever I can is impulsive at best, dangerous at worst. But I know Dr. Latimer is going to agree. He won't like sending me off like this, but the idea of this real life experience will win out in the end. That, and I can get some intel for our spy mission.
"Hey, I should probably talk to him alone, Richard."
His eyes go a little bit wider when I say his name, almost imperceptibly. I wouldn't notice except for being fixated on them all the time. He agrees.
"You'll wait for me here?"
"Yep." He says, clearing his throat.
I make my way into the Wornall House, briefly taking in the Pre-Civil War Era furniture and feeling a mild disappointment it isn't decorated like the hospital, but like it belongs to the family who lived there previously. It's a small consolation for the fact I'll never take the real tour, that and knowing what I am getting instead will be so much better.
I walk through the hall and the parlor and spot my group filing down a back staircase and out the back entrance. Their tour is finished. Dr. Latimer is toward the back, near Hera.
I saunter over and try to attract Dr. Latimer's attention, but Hera is chattering his ear off.
"I just think it's so interesting! How they lived, it's so quaint and primitive, really!"
Dr. Latimer smiles at her condescendingly; he knows she doesn't really care and merely thinks her charms will hide it. Sometimes its interesting to me that Hera is in our program at all. At age 12, we are tested for aptitude and given a certain amount of career choices. Sometimes, if someone wants to pursue a path not in their aptitudes, they can appeal. Hera was one of the appeal students. She was just outside of the parameters of empathy to not be originally considered. However, they let her in because she tested high in problem solving and social ability. Apparently two sides of the triangle, along with powerful parents, was enough to get her into her program of choice. It still seems strange she wanted to pursue something she wasn't innately made for, but I imagine she has beliefs about herself and even if they aren't entirely true, she will do anything to seem that way to others. She imagines herself as enigmatic, magnanimous person. Unfortunately for Hera, people are often wrong about themselves. While she may not know it, the rest of us do. Dr. Latimer looks around, bored, then his face lights up when he sees me.
"Callie! Did you enjoy the tour? I know it didn't look like the hospital, but you could probably meet with the tour guide..."
"Dr. Latimer, I need to talk to you."
"What's the matter, Callie, trying to think up a way to explain why you missed the whole tour?" Hera looks smug, like she's managed to take down her enemy in one fell swoop. Sometimes she's nice to me; sometimes she's not. I believe it to be part of her charm. She keeps people on their toes. Our earlier camaraderie is apparently over.
"You missed the tour?" Dr. Latimer looks disbelieving.
"Can we just go back inside and talk for a minute?"
He assents and follows me. I look back to see Hera looking both curious and indignant.
"Callie, what is this about?"
"I have an opportunity." I tell him about avoiding Hera, which makes him chuckle, and how I met someone from Earth outside. Suddenly it occurs to me I may need to sweeten this deal and lie just a little bit. Omitting the truth is easier than an outright lie, and I leave out the gender of my new companion.
"Anyway, I've been invited to be shown around the city and see how life really is here!"
"How will you meet back up with us?"
"I'll be back! Tomorrow morning, I'll meet you at the light-rail station and go to the East Coast with you."
"Callie, I really don't know if this is a good idea. Twenty-four hours is a long time to be gone. If anything should happen to you..."
"You can reach me at any time! I'll send telecommunications hourly. I'm an adult according to Earth's standards. Let me experience it! I can handle myself. You told me we were spies. What if I learn something we need to know? Remember your friend, Jackson Connor? He told me I needed to try to get off the beaten path and experience real Earth once while I was here."
He sighs, but I know I've won. The knowledge is on my side, and Jackson, and he can't resist.
"Hourly. Any sign of trouble, and I will triangulate your signal and send law enforcement after you."
"You won't regret it." My smile takes over my whole face.
Back through the house, out to the brilliant green and blue of the front yard, and Richard's eyes that match the sky. The smile never leaves.
Later – Richard's Home at the Edge of the Woods:
I still can't believe I was able to convince Dr. Latimer, let alone Richard himself, of this. I am free for almost two days! Think of the things I might find out! Secret Agent Callie, at your service!
We exit the light-rail together and make our way to a staircase that will lead us to his personal vehicle. Our surroundings have changed drastically.
I walk faster than Richard, anxious to see the wilderness on Earth. We are the only ones leaving the light-rail, so it doesn't matter when I stop dead in my tracks on the staircase. The glass enclosure allows me to see out, and the world is magnificent. For miles, I see fields of crops blowing in the wind. The fields are not uniform, the road winding through it is not straight. It is a bit unplanned, unkempt even, and yet so much more beautiful than our planned world could ever hope to be.
Richard comes up behind me. I sense his presence before he speaks. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes. I guess you could never understand how I'm seeing this. I've never been to the countryside on Earth before. I have on Mars, obviously. It's so different. It's bigger..." I gesture at the window helplessly.
He gives me a confused look. "I wouldn't have guessed that. It's supposed to be perfect up there." He says this quiety, and I detect even a bit of jealousy.
"Me either."
"Well, let's go then." He places a hand lightly on my elbow and steers me away from the window.
He leads me to his car. The surprises just keep coming.
"A gasoline car!"
"Yes, I suppose that does seem strange. Most people don't have them, even here. It's an old farm truck, and I had to work pretty hard to get it working, but I just kind of enjoy driving it."
"This is exactly why I had to do this! No one, and I mean no one, has seen a gasoline car outside of a picture. They aren't even in museum - obviously we didn't bring them to Mars with us and they weren't built there. Waste of resources. Nobody has ever ridden in one! This is amazing, really. I have to warn you though, I get carsick in the driverless cars, and it's been worse since I got here when I've ridden with people."
"Do you want to drive? That should help." He looks apprehensive.
"I wouldn't know how."
"There's no one out here, you can learn. You know, in the name of research."
"Can I watch you for awhile first?"
"Sure."
We climb in, and as we leave the parking lot and get onto the road, he explains the controls. The steering wheel, the gas and brake. There's not much to it, really.
Until he pulls over and lets me get started.
Everything about it feels completely foreign to me, of course, someone who has never been responsible for driving herself anywhere.
I have to adjust the seat by a foot before my feet touch the pedals; he is so much taller than me. He explains the mirrors and helps me adjust them, but tells me not to worry since no one is out here, and I won't be backing up.
Thank Father.
"There's not much to it, just push the gas, and when you want to slow down or stop, use the brake. Even a spoiled Martian like yourself can handle two things at once." I get irritated until the grin shows me he is teasing.
So I do what he says and push the gas pedal. The farm truck jerks forward and the gravel beside the road crunches and kicks up behind us.
"Woah!!" He is gripping the handle of his door and looks a bit white. "You don't have to push it all the way down!"
"How would I know, you didn't say!"
"You're right, ok, just be gentle with it. Hold it down until we get up to the speedometer saying 55-60, then press that button and just steer."
"What's the button?"
"Cruise control. It'll keep the speed constant and you don't have to use the pedal anymore until you want to brake." That's right! I saw that earlier on our tours.
"So Earth does at least have some helpful technology." I say sarcastically. "You have a beautiful, but largely unhelpful, planet."
He raises his eyebrows, "Can't have it all, princess."
I follow his advice and things get a little smoother. This is enjoyable, just watching the countryside unfold and operating this vehicle.
"Tell me about this vehicle. How old is it?"
"About 50 years. It's from 2995. They were manufactured here for years. Some things are just better for hauling large loads. And although gasoline is scarce, when almost no one uses it, it's lasted for those who need it. Some of us just have a voucher for it. For the most part, people use the self-driving technology you use, especially in metropolitan areas, but for working, you want control. They still make them, but I like to tinker with things, and I found it on my farm and got to work on it. It's actually got so many new parts that you may as well call it new, but it has more character than the ones they make today."
"I just can't believe they are still used. It's been centuries since they learned how much they hurt the atmosphere here."
"The atmosphere is fine. We have drastically reduced our CO2 output. A few trucks here and there won't hurt it. Everything in moderation. Besides, mostly everything is electric, or people use the light-rails. Just like Mars."
"Earth is nothing like Mars." I must sound defensive, and he takes it that way. He doesn't know I'm struggling with actually feeling cheated out of knowing the sheer magnitude of this beautiful place and being told all my life I lived on the better planet.
"What's the matter? Missing your home?"
His question gets me thinking, and I don't answer him right away. He waits patiently. It's obvious he is used to silence and doesn't mind it between us. I can't quite come to terms with what I feel since landing here. I feel like I've come home, yet everything is unfamiliar and I am out of my element at the same time. I tell him as much.
We make it back to his farm about 30 minutes later, which passed in companionable silence, both of us watching the road. He managed to relax a little after I figured out, mostly, how to drive on a straightaway. Both of us probably wondering just what the other could possibly be thinking about this strange situation. At least, that's what I was wondering.
He signals that I should turn onto a gravel road off the main, paved one. So, he wasn't kidding when he said he lived off the grid then. He explained a driverless vehicle wouldn't be able to find his house, since the sensors for them were built into any frequently traveled pavement roads, but never gravel. I turn with relative ease.
"You could have taken that a little slower. You don't want to turn fast onto gravel, you'll skid." He says. He has one hand bracing himself on the dash and the other gripping the door handle.
And I thought I was doing so well!
"Sorry." I mumble. "How many more turns? Guess I need practice."
"Just one. It'll be fine. You do have a track record of only making a mistake once, as long as I've known you."
I burst out laughing at that one. I suppose it's true about driving, at least.
The gravel spurts out from under the tires, and sometimes I can hear it smacking the side of the truck.
"Doesn't the gravel hurt the truck?"
"It's built to handle it. But yeah, something driven on gravel will age more quickly."
"Explains why they didn't make any gravel roads on Mars."
He looks a little bewildered. "Is the whole thing like a new housing development?"
"Not sure what you mean."
"Like a new area of town that's preplanned, everything looks perfect. Lined up. New paint. Shiny windows. No weeds in the grass. Houses the same-ish."
"Exactly like that."
"You're not probably going to like my place then. Turn here."
I oblige, taking it much slower. He doesn't comment, but also makes no move to brace himself ahead of time before I take the turn.
I don't see the house until we are upon it. You can't see as far out here on the gravel with the overgrowth of the beautiful wildflowers on both sides of me. Their color, their randomness, is distracting me.
"Here we are. Nothing special. Stop over there, under that tree. I'll pull it in the garage later."
"You don't think I can?"
"No offense." Stars twinkle in the blue sky of his eyes.
The house is a ramshackle thing. It appears it was built in two, possibly three separate additions. I assume this because there are three types of siding, two of which match in color but not size, and one that stands out like a sore thumb. The main part of the house is built of logs, and then there is a lean-to against it sided in brown shingles. On the other end, there is a white, metal square building attached by a breezeway. There is a barn nearby, trees all around. Mangy landscaping. Fields in the distance. Like pictures I've seen of the old-west, if he only had a cowboy hat on and there was a horse hitched to a wagon.
"Just like the old-west!"
"Funny how you say that about here, when really your parents are the true frontiersmen."
"Irony at its finest."
"Come on in."
"Hold on." I pull the telecommunication device out of my bag. "This will get better reception out here." I say, eyeing the metal roof on the house. I quickly type out a message to Dr. Latimer. I'm ok! Just got here. Learning lots! Drove a gasoline car!
"Letting them all know you haven't been axe-murdered yet?" He grins mischievously.
"Something like that." I roll my eyes.
The device beeps at me. Great! Thanks Callie!
Duty finished, I follow him up the rickety front steps. "You ever thought about doing a little bit of home-improvement here?"
"I've thought about it, sure. Just don't have time with trying to keep up with the planting, harvesting, keeping food for the winter. I'm a one-man show; generally farms were run by families."
"Well, maybe a wife then? Some kids?" I'm just teasing, trying to keep conversation going because I'm starting to feel nervous now that we're actually at his house. I'm beginning to question myself. Maybe he's joking about axe-murdering because he's trying to make me at ease when he's truly a murderer/rapist. Earth is supposed to full of people like that! But, as we make our way through the dim entryway and into a bright kitchen with white cabinets and lots of windows, he surprises me by responding to the question truthfully.
"Never had much interest in that area. I spent the first part of my life too busy learning my father's business. Then, when he didn't name me as his successor, I decided to come here and live off the land. Be as far from him as possible. Always been too busy."
I don't immediately put it together that Richard and Non-named successor means I am with none of the than Richard Spencer. But, I'm nervous, I'm distracted, and I continue the conversation as if I'm talking to any old country-bumpkin.
"Well do you like it out here? Maybe it's better you didn't join the family business if you're doing what you love. On Mars, there's no such thing, you just take aptitude and intelligence tests and your career path is pretty much laid out by about age 15."
"Sounds... efficient. Maybe a little stifling."
"It can be. But you can get out of it if you really want to. My friend... well, classmate, Hera. She wasn't originally placed on our track, but insisted on it. Her parents got her in." I trail off, realizing I've derailed the conversation from my curiosity about him. He indicates I should sit down at the large, wooden table. I eye is skeptically. Why does he have a table this large for just him? I doubt the estranged family comes over for Sunday dinner.
"The table came with the house." Apparently he's a mind reader. Maybe he just knows it looks strange in the space.
We both sit. Opposite ends. "I do love it out here. A little lonely, but better than having continued to work for him, and especially the guy he named instead of me."
Realizing that I'm grilling him, I try a new tactic because I don't want to scare him off. And I am, after all, just a guest. I add a caveat at the beginning of my next inquiry.
"So, sorry if I'm asking too much, but if you don't mind my asking, I would really like to learn more about what it's like here. I suppose learning about you is good, for starters. Would you mind telling me what kind of business you were supposed to go into?"
"We haven't even had dinner yet." He winks, and I realize I've been too direct. With that, he stands up and begins getting ingredients together. Some frozen meat out of the freezer, pasta from the cupboard, and a few types of canned vegetables and sauces. I hope I haven't made him mad.
"I'm sorry if I'm coming across that way. It's just, we have limited time. I guess, I've been at university too long. We just question everything, say what is on our minds. I tried to study your culture, but I'm sorry if I've been inappropriate."
A pan clatters, water runs from the faucet, I wait.
"You're being fine. You just very obviously know what you want and you aren't afraid to say it. It's refreshing. Lots of people aren't like that. You never know what someone's ulterior motives are."
The guilt that comes with lying, and apparently also with omitting the truth, burns through my stomach again. The sensation is getting all too familiar. If he knew I was trying to find evidence of a rebellion, he might get a little irritated. In fact, I doubt I'll find any evidence of that here. All this side-trip is going to get me is information about working a farm on Earth. But, that can be valuable, and I'm looking forward to it despite it being a bust for Dr. Latimer.
"My father, he's a very important man here. He was Supply Chief. You are aware of what that is, I imagine. From your studies."
My stomach drops. I feel dizzy. The pieces of the puzzle that have been floating freely, nonchalantly in my mind, pieces of a puzzle I didn't even know I was involved in putting together, align with a flash. I feel that proverbial light bulb go off.
"We studied that. Yes."
He begins rambling about how his father is Jordan, how he is retired, how he chose Roark. He is boiling pasta, browning meat, adding sauce. I am not listening to what he is saying, because I already comprehend it all.
I am with Richard Spencer. Somehow, out of all the people on Earth, I met him. Not only that, but I didn't realize it was him, and he brought me home.
What if he wishes me harm? The thought comes at me like a freight train. We were warned there might be some kind of political infighting, fallout, civil war, from that decision. What if I am going to be used as a pawn. They don't like Martians on Earth. Maybe I'll be a hostage. What if this was planned? It would explain this whole weird coincidental meeting. Things like that don't just happen do they? I cannot comprehend the intricacies in the relationships and prejudices on this planet, and I walked blindly, trustingly, into this.
"Are you taking me hostage?" I don't realize I'm going to say this until it comes out, and there it is. Hanging in the middle of the room, blowing my cover and his, if he was hiding anything, at once.
He abandons dinner and comes back to sit, this time in the chair next to me rather than the other end. "Why would I be taking you hostage?"
I try to explain the many leaps my mind made. "We were told there was a political rift on Earth, possibly because your father didn't name you. And that there could be resentment toward us. And to be careful."
"If you were told to be careful, why did you come with me?"
"We were also told to learn. Dr. Latimer, he thinks I am perceptive."
"That doesn't make a lot of sense."
Trying to be as honest as possible without telling him we are on a mission, I say, "You seemed like you wouldn't hurt me. You seemed like someone who could show me things I've never imagined." We stare into each other's eyes. Trying to read the true intentions there.
The water in the pot on the stove boils over, and he jumps up to get it. I sit in silence as he puts together the last of the ingredients, plates it up, and brings me one. I figure he's trying to formulate a coherent thought. I know I am.
I am busily contemplating how someone could make spaghetti badly – the noodles are slightly hard, the sauce not warm – when he speaks. "I wouldn't hurt you. I didn't plan this, if that's what you're thinking."
I expect to feel a rush of relief, but I don't. I realize I don't feel scared in the first place, and have nothing to be relieved from. I must have known it all along.
"Why let me come with you then, if not to hurt me? Take me hostage at least..."
He makes a gesture of uncertainty with his hands. "I'm not sure. I guess I'm lonely. You seemed like you weren't going to take no for an answer. I found myself curious about what a real Martian would be like. If you're going to be as bad as everyone says."
"Am I?"
"A little direct, like I said. Scary driver. But no, you seem like your average sheltered, spoiled young lady."
I give him a sarcastic look at this backhanded compliment.
"So, you're here to learn... What do you want to know?"
I smile, and we have a chat over spaghetti. Although I've never been on a first date, it reminds me of the ones I've seen in the movies. We are feeling each other out, learning the basic facts about each other that seem like revelations when they come from someone new. There is, I assume, another level of otherworldliness to it all considering we are from, literally, different worlds. One would think this would cause communication barriers, but for whatever reason, I think it makes him more open with me and I with him. Nothing to lose when the person you tell your deep dark secrets to is going a minimum of about 34,000,000 miles away in a few more days.
I learn that, like me, he is an only child. This gives us solidarity. When you grow up with no one to share your experiences and understand your worldview because they are raised by the same two, flawed people, you form attachments to others more quickly. A best friend becomes like a big sister; a boyfriend becomes a soulmate. When they leave you, it hurts worse because you don't have a big family to remind you they didn't mean that much. He is 25 years old, five years older than me. It seems like he is older than that, probably because of his lifestyle. He tells me about his teen years, working on the rig boats in the southern sea like a true sailor. He misses that. At the time he couldn't wait to get out, get started with the family business. Now, he realizes the freedom he had. But, the farm gives him the same feeling. I figure he is just someone who needs to be outdoors, managing the world with his hands in some way, to feel whole. There aren't a lot of places for people like that anymore.
I explain my upbringing, and it is him who actually ends up being the one with more questions. To me, he seems like he's an open book, someone who's led a very free life. There isn't much profound to learn. He is a peaceful individual who sticks to his principles and leads a productive, if uneventful, life. He is very curious about the structure of our society and my place in it. I explain that my parents are relatively high ranking members who work in governmental functions. Nothing exciting, they are both involved in policy records - keeping track of decisions related to laws we have made and evaluating whether the law is still effective or not. We both agree that this is much more efficient - the reevaluation of laws - than the old way of doing things in the USA.
"Why is it that we are resented then?" I have to ask. If he agrees with what we are doing, what's the problem with it?
"I think it's just because you're on another planet. You get the good planet, we had to rebuild ours. We don't have representatives. I mean, I know that we obviously sent people a generation ago, but I think that needs reworked. It's like a kid who has parents who dictate with no real reasoning behind it, even if it's for the kid's own good. There's bound to be rebellion."
"So, is there a rebellion here?"
Something flashes in his eyes, and I can see there is more going on in them than I end up getting.
"There's general unrest, yes."
"Anything concrete? We are instructed to find out." I've just outed myself.
"I can't say." Whether this is because he has been told not to, or simply doesn't know, I am not privy to.
"Hey, what do you say we go outside. Bet you've never seen the stars in the country before."
***
So, Callie was on some sort of fact-gathering mission. She was aware of the assignment, but it was plausible she didn't understand the seriousness of it all. The twist of fate that had brought them together was strange indeed. Like getting struck by lightning. Very pretty lightning. All that raven hair and long dark eyelashes fringing around green eyes that innocently believed in him despite every obvious reason not to.
He was having trouble ignoring how pretty she was. He kept staring at her. She had noticed, but she didn't seem to think it was an issue. Apparently it was normal to stare on Mars.
Mars. Sounded surprisingly horrible as she described it. They were so jealous here. Felt cheated. Turns out they hadn't been cheated out of anything other than restrictive rules and scenery that looked contrived like a hotel painting.
He hadn't lied. He wasn't going to hurt her. He knew if his dad knew he had happened upon her, and that she went home with him, he'd tell her to bring her in for questioning immediately. He wouldn't hurt her either, but he'd grill her to the point of giving her serious anxiety and fear. He didn't want Callie to be afraid.
He had suggested the stars more out of desperation than anything else. He didn't want to look at the stars together in any romantic way, although now he realized she might take it that way. Hell, if their potential relationship wasn't complicated by all these extraneous political factors, he might have really meant it in that way. So, maybe he did.
Whatever, they were going out to look. He cleared their plates and led her to the back deck. He often watched stars here, but there was only one chair. His. He let her have it. His father hadn't raised a Supply Chief, but he'd raised a gentleman. He sat on the deck boards beside her.
"It's very pretty." She murmured. She sounded awestruck. "I'm not out in the country like this, ever. Residential areas are very well lit - safety. I've never seen the stars like this."
"I see."
"It's weird, only one moon."
"I think it'd be more weird with two." He laughed.
"Guess it's all in your perspective."
He contemplated her words, and how he had viewed her planet until he talked to her. "Truer words were never spoken."
They sat in silence for a while. Her nervousness from dinner seemed to be gone. Back to how she was in the truck - relaxed and fun.
"See that star there? That's Venus."
"That's so neat!" She exclaimed. "We can see Earth from Mars. It's just a pale, blue dot."
"That would be something to see."
"It is."
They watched for a long while. She watched the stars; he stole glances at her from the corner of his eye. Her hair blended in with the sky. Her eyes reflected the stars.
Knock it off, Richard.
He couldn't let this go on long, or he'd be in real trouble. He was glad she only had a day here and nothing longer.
****
After the stars, I sent another message to Latimer telling him I was going to get some rest and I'd see him in the morning. He responded again with his usual Great! Thanks Callie! I suppose anyone who sends as many telecommunications as a professor has to have an automated response, and it calms me that he isn't worried enough to say anything other than the usual.
Richard put me up on the couch. It's a pattern called plaid, which apparently no human liked enough to bring into the decorating on Mars, but seems to be in abundance in Richard's house. I have to admit the hotel bed was more comfortable. His fat, yellow cat, named Nellie, sat on the coffee table staring at me while I slept, which didn't help matters.
Watching the stars last night was strange. Not only was there only one moon, the placement of the stars looked different. I didn't bother to ask Richard about it, because he doesn't seem like much of an astronomer. Plus, I felt self-conscious the entire time, worrying about how I looked, and really just pretty much pretended to watch the stars the whole time past the first five minutes. I wanted to stay out there with him longer, and feigning interest in the stars was the only way. Not like they weren't pretty, but he is distracting.
I'm not exactly sure what's happening, but I'd assume it's a crush. I've not had one before. Well, once, in secondary school, there was this guy that everyone liked, so I went along with it and called him sooo cute with the girls I sat with at lunch. He was cute. Richard is cuter, although cute isn't something I'd use to describe him. Also, for awhile, Simon and I spent a lot of time together and I almost thought something might be happening. I didn't feel strongly about it, but figured it was time. It turned out Simon thought it was time to date a guy named Zeus, and that solved that. I never felt heartbroken; the fact that Simon and I remain such good friends proves I never was in love with him. I never found myself analyzing Simon's features during any of that. Like I'm thinking about Richard's hair. It's a honey color, seems to be the same shade as his body, which is tanned from the sun. The only thing that stands out from this is his eyes. They match the bright blue sky. Brightest blue I've ever seen. Trouble forming coherent thoughts when he looks at me. Also, I get this churning, spiraling feeling in my stomach and it seems to drop to the floor whenever we talk, but I like it.
The problem is, I'm acting like a ridiculous schoolgirl when I could be in a precarious situation. He says he isn't going to do anything to me, that he just randomly picked me up and thought it would be fun to show me around, but what if that's not true? I trust him, but I don't really think that I, who has been sheltered all my life, is one to judge whether or not someone has ulterior motives and wishes me harm. He could very well be using his charms so I let my guard down and tell him what I'm up to.
Except, what am I really up to? Dr. Latimer says we are on a fact-finding mission, but what does that even mean? I as good as explained that to Richard last night, and he didn't seem to care. Now that I think about it, why should anyone care? Why would it be a secret? Everyone knows we make laws, and that we come here from time to time as tourists. It would only be a secret if there is more of a rebellion going on than anyone has let on, and someone on Mars is aware of that fact. Maybe Latimer himself, which makes me wonder about how much he really cares about any of our safety.
Frankly, I really don't know who I can trust, so I'm relying on instinct here. Flying by the seat of my pants. My instinct says Richard is telling the truth, at least mostly, and I should just enjoy the day, which is going to dawn any minute down. The sky is just beginning to light in the distance. Apparently I wake earlier when the days are slightly shorter.
As if on cue, I hear his door open down the hallway. The cat yowls in greeting. He shuffles out in pants covered in more plaid pattern and a sweatshirt. He rubs his hair, making it stand up like dried grass in the fall.
"Morning. Want some coffee?"
"Nah, I don't drink that. People don't on Mars for the most part, although a few of the first settlers do. It's bad for you."
"You certainly make Mars sound better and better."
"Just healthy I guess. We took what we had learned about human health and relationships and created the perfect place." I say the memorized slogan pridefully, just like I've heard it said my whole life, but I don't feel it for the first time ever.
He raises his eyes at me and sets the coffee to brewing. It smells good, but I don't ask for a cup.
"So, I figure I'll show you around today, then take you back early evening. You said your group was leaving Kansas City in the morning, right?"
He's already talking about me leaving? It seems so soon. I feel awkward and embarrassed now, like I've overstayed my welcome, and say as much.
"If you don't want me to be here, you can take me back now."
"That's not it. I just want you to make it back in time. I'm happy to spend the day with you, in fact, I'm looking forward to it."
I don't respond, because my stomach is too busy flipping around.
"I figure I'll show you all the farm ground, that's really all there is out here. It'll take all day, there's quite a bit out there."
"Sure." I notice there is a little more light outside. "Hey, I'm going to go outside and watch the sunrise. I'm dying to see one. It's my favorite thing on Mars. Everything here is prettier though. It was cloudy yesterday and there wasn't one."
I don't wait for an answer and go out the deck doors to the chair I was at last night. Immediately, I regret not getting a coat. Luckily, prince charming is following me, and he has two blankets from my makeshift bed in his hands and holds one out to me.
"Thanks, it's cold."
"I figured. Early spring and all." Captain obvious.
So far, it hasn't started yet. The sky is gray, no longer black, and although I can tell there's green grass and trees, everything seems shades of gray. Then, the gray turns brighter gray. The deck overlooks the fields, and there is shrubbery and trees over the horizon which are all black, silhouetted against the lightening sky.
Slowly, the sky begins to turn orange, which begins to dye the sky above it shades of blue and purple. This blooms outward, brushing the sky with ever-varying watercolor hues of blue, purple, orange, and yellow. It is heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
I once again find it hard to breathe as I take in the colors, just like when we were flying in and the whole planet was coming up larger and larger in my window. There aren't necessarily more colors to the sunrise, but it's vast, twice the size as any I've seen, and there's more variation in the patterns and colors. It looks like a colorful extension of Richard's land. It seems that if only I could walk out there, I could walk right into it and lounge on the puffy clouds and let the colors overtake me. It looks like colorful mountains making their way to me.
I cannot believe there is such a difference between Mars and Earth. We have been taught to believe we turned Mars into Earth. That we have, in fact, created the better planet and we are the fortuitous ones. I can see now that, at least in terms of pure aesthetics, we have been cheated. Ours is a carbon copy, and a cheap one at that.
I continue to watch until the sun is over the horizon and is just a blinding, bright yellow ball. At this point, it's more inconvenient that beautiful, as it's blinding me. I turn around to face Richard, but all I see is bluish black sunspots in my vision. Somehow, those seem worse than any I have ever experienced, too. It doesn't surprise me. I'm just beginning to see the myriad ways in which everything here is simply more so.
After breakfast, which consists of bacon and eggs (side note - bacon has made its way into a lot of my meals here, and it is amazing), we get back in the farm truck and he shows me around. We are whipping alongside a field on a makeshift rutted track that serves as a road, grasses hitting the rearview mirror, when something occurs to me.
"So, you're an independent farmer? How is that possible?"
He looks at me sheepishly. "I'm not really so independent."
"Ok, that's what I figured. We had been told that free enterprise had been done away with during the millennia of the terraformation, slowly. That's right, right? Then how do you get to have this farm?"
"It's not precisely legal." Then, as an afterthought, "But I'd never get in trouble for it, it's not real criminal activity."
"Real criminal activity? As opposed to illegal activity that isn't criminal?"
"Well, there are degrees... Haven't you studied this, Earth Expert?"
Then the recall comes quickly, "Oh! The prison system reform!"
"Yes. You can't go to prison unless you actually do something truly heinous - murder, rape, no show of remorse. Even a crime of passion is forgivable if you agree to counseling. Saves tons of money. They're not going to lock a guy up with a hobby farm."
"So it's a hobby farm. What do you do with all the crops?"
"I only plant and harvest what I need to sustain the place."
"I see. I guess one little farm wouldn't offset the Global Warming Laws."
"Nope, Supply Line 3 keep that all in check."
He was referring to the Carbon Cycle. Supply Line 3, in charge of growing all spices, plant food, and distributing seeds, keeps this biological cycle in balance. By growing enough plants, carbon dioxide stays out the atmosphere, and global warming cannot keep a foothold.
"So how many people like you are there?"
"Like me?" He eyes me quizzically.
"I mean, how common is it for there to be laws that aren't taken seriously, since there aren't any real prison sentences? How many 'hobby farms', or just how much 'hobby industry' is there out there?" I feel like I'm actually getting some valuable information at this point! It's not a rebellion, but a black market is certainly something we could use.
"It wouldn't be possible to count. It's all a black market, but yes, there is a lot of manufacturing and trading that goes on here under the radar of the Martian law. You're a whole planet away, there's no way for you to regulate it without sending a lot of people down here, and we turn a blind eye to it and don't punish because it gives us a little bit of freedom. You only send a certain amount of Martian Gold, which is obviously the only thing that can make someone truly rich. This gives people a way to feel a little bit ahead."
"I see."
"Gonna tattle on us, Callie?"
"This isn't elementary school. I'm just gaining information. I wouldn't tattle on you specifically, but I'd be lying if I said I'd never share the information if it came up in conversation back on Mars."
"At least you're honest." He sounds vaguely disappointed.
We are silent for a moment, and I contemplate my loyalties. I feel like I've betrayed him by saying I'd give up his information. But, that's such an abstract concept in relation to the life he leads that I don't see why he's even worried. It's highly unlikely a conversation I have on Mars would ever affect his life; nevertheless, I feel bad and like I should have taken his side.
He breaks the silence. "So, how is your system different?"
"System for what?"
"Your laws, your criminal system."
"We don't really have to have them. We have a small population, everyone has their place, and the smallest infraction is turned into a public humiliation. We don't have a prison. The only person in the past 30 years since the settlement who has done anything wrong was exiled to Earth with a shipment of spices."
"Really? Why didn't we hear about that."
"Why would we tell you? He could be anywhere. I guess we just wanted him off of our hands."
"Sent us your trash then? Nice."
I start to protest, then realize that's exactly what we have done. I say nothing.
"What did he do? Your lone criminal."
"He was a thief. Worked in in the distribution center for Martian Gold. You know, the one real thing we have to give you. He was keeping it for himself. It was determined he was making arrangements for it to go to specific individuals on Earth. This was right after the settlement."
"I guess he was really throwing off the concept of Martian Gold, then, wasn't he."
"Exactly. Martian Gold can be earned in small quantities once it's bestowed at random into a supply line and into the economy through purchasing. It's only fair. People can't just be awarding others money or hoarding it for themselves. Only a few in power deserve excess money. That's what causes class strife."
"Callie, you sound like a textbook, reciting these rules."
"What rules do you mean? That's just the way a society has to work. Everyone has to be in agreement to work together, or most fail alone and a few greedy ones hoard it all to themselves. We've eliminated that."
"Ok, I'm not trying to be rude here, but you're wrong, princess."
It's the first time I've heard him sound harsh, and it stops me in my tracks. He steps behind his pulpit and begins refuting me.
"Do you not think that you, the Martians, are in effect the ones who are hoarding the Martian Gold? You turned it into the only viable currency by law, and you dispense it."
"Sure, but it's in the best interest..."
"Right. But you said, the people who have it will be resented as greedy, and yet you can't wrap your mind around why your lovely planet full of privileged inhabitants might be the least bit resented down here?"
"No, I mean, I understand it-"
"Furthermore, do you understand anything about history, leading up to the terraformation?"
My face is reddening and my hands are shaking. Seriously? Know anything about history? "If you don't think-"
He cuts me off. "What I think is you have been told a convenient story to justify your actions here. Before the terraformation, there was capitalism. The Father, the man who terraformed Mars, did it with his own wealth and the donations he received from others who were wealthy. The people that bought tickets and secured their ancestors' place in the settlement were wealthy. None of this was decided by government intervention on high, it happened because of money. You went there with your money, changed the currency, and now you dole it out. A rebellion here would be justified. My father's generation believed in it, those of us a few years younger see it for what it is - we've been snowed into believing you're looking out for our interests and you're really just up there on a playground for the rich, lording it over us."
I'm surprised by his vehemence, but he's not wrong. He's not wrong. Everything he has said is absolutely true, but it has been glossed over. Sure, we know The Father was wealthy, and tickets were bought, but that's the very reason for what we do. We can't let an unfair wealth accumulation happen again that singles out other members of society. I've just never seen the hypocrisy that we are, in fact, still singling out the rest of the society.
"I mean, don't you see it? What do you really believe? Mars wouldn't even be terraformed without The Father and his wealth. NASA, the government space program, never would have done it. They didn't have the funding, they didn't have the gumption. So capitalism, free industry, what GOT you there is now vilified, but really you're still doing it under a new title - Two Planets, One Mankind. It's a bunch of bullshit."
I study my fingernails for awhile. He had been driving during his whole rant, and now he slows the truck and parks it under a tree. Once we come to a complete stop, I chance a look up, but he's not looking at me. He is staring out his open window at the sky. Dark clouds are piling up on the horizon. Seems a little too symbolic if you ask me.
I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I've never been told I was so horrible before, and it's not a comfortable feeling. My whole life, I've been brought up to believe we are doing the best for everyone, when really we've taken away their freedom. The wealthy made it to Mars, then turned the system into a fancy socialist one in which they had the power, so they could keep that power forever. They weren't looking out for humanity as I've been told. They were only looking out for themselves. I never knew everything I so firmly believed could be smashed to pieces in one afternoon, but I'm not one to ignore facts. I'm a scholar, after all, and one must revise her thesis in light of new evidence. One of the tears makes its way out and splashes onto my nail, followed quickly by several more. I wipe my hands on my pants. This rustling makes Richard become aware of my presence again, and he turns to me. I don't think he needs to see me crying, so I look out my window to avoid him.
"Look, I'm sorry. The whole thing just really pisses me off. It's another reason I'm fine with living out here, away from it all. If I think about it too long, I'll be the one who starts the rebellion myself. But you should know, and it was my chance to tell you. I should have been nicer though."
"No, it's ok. I needed it."
My voice must waver, because his voice is transformed with concern. "Are you ok? Are you crying?"
I shake my head and wipe off the tears as discreetly as I can, pretending my face itches. I doubt he's fooled, but I'm not going to openly admit it. Finally, I turn my head back to him and give my best I'm-a-reformed-Martian smile.
"Really, it's fine. What you've said... I've suspected. You're right. It's not right. Not everyone on Mars thinks it's right. There are 'Earth Sympathizers'. I guess I'm one of them. I'm sorry. I'm sorry on behalf of everyone, I guess."
"You can't fix it singlehandedly. For what it's worth, I don't blame you personally. They always say that back during slavery times, not every slave was unhappy. I'm not. You'd be like the nice plantation owner whose slaves didn't choose to leave."
I snort sarcastically, "At least there's that. You think of me like your owner?!"
"I'm just joking. Truly though. I like you, Callie. I just got carried away. Can we just forget about it and just have the rest of the day? If all Martians are just like you, then I take it all back." He tries to laugh, and it sounds strained enough that I laugh back at him, and then the tension between us is thawed just as quickly as it froze up.
The raindrops start next. Those clouds that were piling up are moving very quickly in the sky.
"Looks like you're in for your first Earth springtime thunderstorm!"
"Really? I can't wait! We have thunderstorms, but the wind isn't ever as fast on Mars, which causes much more mild meteorological phenomenon than here. I've seen thunder and lightening maybe three times in my whole life. I love it!"
"Hmmm. You're probably going to be a little scared then. We're pretty far from the house, and we shouldn't be in this tin can. It's get hit by lightning being the only thing that's metal out here. Come with me up under those trees."
We exit the vehicle and run quickly, trying to dodge raindrops and failing, to the small grove of trees about twenty feet away from the truck. By the time we get there I'm breathing hard.
"Little out of shape?"
"I'm heavier here!" I snap.
"I guess you would be." He starts giggling. I don't appreciate this and so I glare at him.
He's still giggling when he sees he's been rude once again and he wipes the expression off his face and takes a step toward me.
"Really, I'm sorry now. Friends?" I can tell he's still trying to stifle his laughter at my newfound weight gain due to gravitational pull, but I nod.
"You have a-," He reaches out and pulls a fat, wet strand of hair off of my forehead, "-hair."
"Thanks." His hand is lingering on my hair, which sounds awkward, but does not feel awkward at all. My stomach is flip flopping dramatically.
Suddenly the sky breaks open with a loud bang. A tremor runs through me, and I jump an inch into the air involuntarily, also knocking his hand away from my face in the process. I can hear rain falling heavily, although not much is getting to us under the canopy of the trees.
"Father! That was loud!" I am shaking from the shock of the thunder.
"There's gonna be more!" He yells over the sound of the rain while lightning rips from the sky and another thunder burst sounds three seconds later.
"Jesus!" Apparently it scares him, too. Despite the storm, I take mental note of his choice of Lord's name to take in vain. Ask him about his religion later I think.
"The storm is right over top of us! You can tell by how close the lightning and thunder is! It's moving quick though, if it came on us that fast." He's still talking loudly, although not yelling anymore. More thunder crashes. At this point the shock of the sound has subsided, and I get brave. I walk to the edge of the tree's canopy and peer out onto the horizon in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning streak across the sky, followed by a fourth boom of thunder.
"Woah!" I turn around to smile at Richard, to show that I'm enjoying this, only to find him hovering right behind me.
"You should probably not go out in it. It's not the safest thing to stand in a lightning storm..."
"Without the bravery of Benjamin Franklin, electricity wouldn't have been discovered, and then where would we be? I probably would have known you my whole life, cause we might have grown up together in the same village on Earth and drove our horse-drawn carriages to church on Sundays."
He rolls his eyes. "Suit yourself."
I hadn't planned to actually walk out into the rain, but since he's mentioned it, I feel like I have to do it now. So I do. It washes over me, immediately soaking my hair and clothes, which is probably good considering I never took a shower this morning. I open my arms and raise my face to the sky, letting it splatter over my forehead, eyelids, and cheeks. I even drink some. I have never felt anything like it.
And just like that, it's over. He was right, it was a freak, fast-moving storm. The rain stops, and then I feel vaguely stupid for standing there, soaking wet.
"C'mon. We'll go back and get dry."
He doesn't wait, just heads to the truck. Probably knows I'll follow.
It seems that after his little tirade in the truck, he has transformed back into the calm, quiet Richard I have known for the past 24 hours. Apparently, as long as politics and interstellar caste systems aren't mentioned, he's a very nice guy. I really don't blame him though, it's unfair, and I needed the reality check. It seems ridiculous, but I don't feel like I've only known him for 24 hours. I think being in a stressful situation like we are causes you to bond more quickly, I guess. Obviously I would know that, with all my romantic and worldly knowledge, too. Or maybe it's just that I've been grilling him on every aspect of his life since we got together. Either way, I have the feeling I've known him for a very long time, and I don't care if it's just hormones and the result of a stressful situation.
We returned to his house and he gave me an old bathrobe to wear. Instructed me to give him my wet clothes and he would dry them for me. I tried to make a joke, Hey, at least I've got clean clothes now, and he laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. He turned very serious, if hospitable, when we got back. While the clothes dried, he brewed me some hot tea and brought it to me on the couch, where I was finger combing the knots out of my still-damp hair.
And then he told me he was going to take me back.
I knew it was coming - we only agreed to one night of this so-called tour. I never thought he'd ask me to stay longer. I can't stay longer, even if I wanted to. I don't have my luggage with me, and my group moves on tomorrow to the St. Louis area for more tours by mid-morning.
And now we are in the truck again, only he is driving. The lighthearted drive to the farm where I attempted to operate it seems years in the past. It's all seriousness. We aren't speaking. I don't really know what to say. Nothing seems right. So I am surprised when the thing that pops out of my mouth is, "Do you believe in God?"
He clears his throat and continues monitoring the road. "What brings that up?"
"Back there, during the storm. You said 'Jesus' when we heard the thunder the first time."
"I do, although people say that all the time. I notice you said, 'Father'. Why's that?"
"We all say it. He's kind of our God, I guess. He made a planet for us. That's what the Christian god did, too. Doesn't he deserve a swear word in his name?"
Richard laughs, and my heart swells at the sound. I'm going to miss it.
"I guess, when you put it that way. But yes, I go to church. It seems outdated when you consider humans can terraform planets and everything else we've managed over the past millennia, but I just feel better when I go. I don't think much about it. Keeps me grounded, thinking there's something bigger than me out there."
"So you don't believe it, but you go anyway?"
"I didn't say that. It could as easily be true as untrue. I don't really care. All I know is I enjoy it, and it makes me a better person to go, and if that's the case there must be some truth to it all, even if it's not exactly how it all went down in the Bible."
"I'd like to see your church. I went to an abandoned one across the way from The Father's birthplace when we visited there. An old lady was there. Told me she didn't like what my kind had done either, although she didn't elaborate like you."
"You're going to run into that with everyone here, Callie. In fact, you should probably not go around broadcasting who you are. Blend in. It could be dangerous for you. Human beings aren't nice to people they perceive as other, or people who they think are getting one up on them, historically."
"I'm well aware."
He begins to slow the truck and turns off onto a gravel road.
"Where are you going?"
"I'd take you to church with me, if you were staying. But, we can still go see it."
My heart pounds. More time with him. "I'd like that."
We drive through a tunnel of crops, high on either side of us. They give way after a few minutes to a clearing on either side of the road. One side holds a white chapel in the middle of a manicured lawn; the other side houses a cemetery.
I find it interesting to see a second cemetery so soon. We do not dispose of our dead this way on Mars. It takes up land space. As a society, we determined it was better to use our bodies for research. If we are not needed, we are cremated. We are not sentimental in this aspect. I assumed Earth had ended up the same way and the first cemetery I saw was an anomaly, but this cemetery has new looking headstones, too. Richard turns the truck toward the chapel.