Chapter 13
Richard's life took on a certain rhythm. A rhythm as old as time. There were no longer any clocks ruling his days. He woke with the sun, worked all morning, ate and dozed during the hottest part of the day, and then worked till dusk. Sometimes, in the spring, it was planting, then later, it was harvesting. It reminded him of working on his farm, before all of this. And sometimes he could will himself to believe it hadn't really happened, or that it hadn't been that big of a deal to him. It was easiest to do that when he was the most tired, which was why he worked so hard.
He had sent his would-be girlfriend away. Told her he just couldn't. But she still watched him. She was pretty. He may have been interested in another time and place. He supposed that since he was telling himself he wasn't interested, there must be a part of him that was. It wasn't that he was against having a fling. In fact, he thought it would probably make him feel a lot better. But he knew it wouldn't be more than that, and he didn't want to hurt her. It was better she find someone else.
But there wasn't anyone else, at least not at the moment.
There weren't a whole lot of eligible, young, attractive-enough males and females left. It bothered him a little bit, because how was the Earth going to repopulate if nobody of child-bearing age was pairing off? He watched her talk to other males. There were some that were about 15 years her senior who he was sure wouldn't mind the age difference. There were two other boys near their age, but one was crude and immature, and one was lazy and obese. The rest were younger than her by a few years. He thought maybe as they grew up, she would like them more. Until then though, she was his pick if only by default. This, and his own interest in her, should have been enough for him to just go for it. And he figured someday he just might.
But for now, he still dreamed of Callie.
He thought she was probably becoming mythic in his mind. More beautiful than she had been in reality. More sensitive. More loving. He chided himself for it when he would wake up, the feel of her kiss on his lips and remembering the weight of his body on top of hers.
Until he could stop the dreams, or at least have them less frequently, he would leave the other girl alone.
If he just knew for a fact that he would never see her again, he could do it. He could move on. People moved on all the time. A spouse died, they divorced, and they found a new love that rivaled or maybe even was better than the first. He had only known her for a few weeks. They never even got to experience day to day life together. Maybe they would have imploded. It was the not knowing that was the worst. Not knowing if she would somehow make it back, or if communication would open back up. Part of him hoped it wouldn't, because only seeing her face and not having her there physically would be torture worse than not knowing at all.
But for now, he stared up at the stars, looking for a red one, wondering what could have been, and hoping that someday there might be something more. Preferably with her, but maybe with someone else.
Before fully committing to this, I need to talk to Roark. I need to know if he is just trying to send away one of the people who could stop him and therefore have better odds of success, or if maybe, just maybe, he's trying to be nice.
I knock on his door.
"Who is it?" He bellows, somewhat angrily.
"It's Callie!" I say, trying to sound friendly.
"You have reporters with you?" He sounds accusatory.
"What? No?" I am bewildered. Reporters?
He yanks the door open and looks behind me suspiciously. "Get in here." He motions me in, obviously anxious that someone will see him.
"What is wrong with you?"
"I don't want any paparazzi snapping pictures of me, saying you're my latest conquest or something like that. It's crazy out there."
"Reporters wouldn't waste their time on something like that. Not here." I explain.
"Tell that to the three who have showed up just this morning!"
I look at him quizzically.
"You know, for someone who is supposed to be so informed, you sure don't know much about what's happening."
"I know you funded my mission trip." I say bluntly, getting to the point.
"Ah ha! So that's why you're here. I figured as much, but I thought you might lead with a 'thank you'".
"Thank you." I say, belatedly.
"You're welcome. When do you leave? When do you get to 'go get your guy'?"
"I'm not sure I'm taking your money. I want to know why you gave it to me."
"Don't kick a gift horse in the mouth, little Martian."
"Tell me." I demand.
He sighs and walks toward the living area, motioning me to sit down.
"I want Sienna back." He explains.
"So... giving me Martian gold will make her come back to you?"
"Doubtful, that in itself. It's what it symbolizes."
"So she'll think you're some missionary, good Samaritan type? Does that get women to flock to you?"
"No, Martian. It shows that I believe in love."
Butterflies flutter In my stomach at the idea that someone else believes in my love. It makes it seems more real.
I grin at him. "That might just work. But before I agree to take it, and agree to tell Sienna what you said, I need to know that you aren't also trying to get me away so that you can come up with some new plan, a way into people's good graces. Sienna could just be part of that – if she takes you back she can't play the part of the scorned woman and make people hate you."
"I don't know that you'll believe this, but I'm going to hang all that up. It's not that I couldn't rise above that little scheme you all cooked up about me being some womanizer – which I'm not, by the way – but I don't care to put in the effort. I wanted world domination when I thought my planet was being taken advantage of. That's a moot point. I don't want to rule this place. It functions fine. And I'll receive just as many benefits as anyone else, more so because of my former position. As long as I get my girl, that's all I want. But there's another question, why would you help me?"
"By telling Sienna, you mean?"
"Yep."
It's my turn to sigh and do a 180. "I guess I'm a sucker for love. She's my friend. She doesn't seem happy. Or when she does, it's the kind of happy that's covering for something. I think her hatred for you was just love, misplaced. I think it could work."
"Your boyfriend may not forgive you for helping me. He's pretty solidly convinced I am nothing but evil."
"Nobody is nothing but evil, or nothing but good, him included. And anyway, if you're not trying to do anything wrong anymore, and this is all you need in life, he will be fine with it. He doesn't hate you for the past, it's his father. It was just easier to blame you."
"Aren't you just the psychoanalyst."
"Be nice, it fits you better."
He smiles at me, a genuine one. "I'm going to miss you, Martian. You're a ball buster. I hope you and Richard end up very happy together. Think of it as my peace offering – his Martian girlfriend so he doesn't have to hate me for taking his job so long ago."
"It seems so... perfect." I say. I don't have another adjective for how nicely it all ties up.
"Just think of it as divine intervention. I'm not sure anything else could have changed my heart so fully."
"I've noticed you at the last couple church services." I point out.
"I'm pretty noticeable."
I roll my eyes at him.
"I used to go to church all the time, back on Earth." He says.
"Yeah?" I prod at him, not sure where the conversation is going.
"I've always believed. Fervently, in fact. But until I met Herrera it just didn't click the way it has lately. Lately, it seems to be... inside me, controlling me."
"I think he makes a lot of people feel that way. I think it's cause he openly admits he lost his faith and found it again. It makes people feel more comfortable following him."
"Maybe." He says.
After that, there is no conversation left to have. I don't relish the idea of making small talk with Roark. I especially don't want to talk about God with him. But I will choose to believe he isn't lying. It makes sense. Something as simple as art school or Geli Roebbels' love could have stopped Hitler, but they didn't happen. If God is involved, too, who am I to argue. I have it in my power to give love to Roark, and stop him. Love can stop a war quicker than a bomb can. I go home with a truly happy heart for the first time in a long time.
My happiness doesn't last long.
I get home to see some kind of meeting occurring at my parent's kitchen table. I can see them through the front window. Something in their posture reminds me a little too much of when Jordan Spencer had headquarters at his house. Also, there's the fact that Jordan Spencer is one of the people at the table. Along with my father, a man my father works with, and Dr. Henderson, one of Latimer's colleagues at school who doesn't get along with Latimer in the slightest. This cannot be good.
I bypass the walkway to my own apartment and barge in the front door.
"Callie." Says my father, without the slightest hint of friendliness or fatherly love in his tone. "What are you doing in here?"
"The same could be said for your guests. What's going on? What are you planning?"
My father's mouth stays in a prim line, as though he will not be the one who brings his daughter into the fold. I've been in the middle this whole time though, and I'll be damned if I'm shut out now. I turn my eyes to Jordan and repeat my demand. He doesn't speak either. It is Dr. Henderson who does.
I've never liked him. He has a different take on most things than Dr. Latimer. He believes there is a right side to every argument, not in the perspective-driven problem solving and understanding of all sides that Latimer advocates for.
"We have devised a plan to stop Roark. I understand you were key in the attempts on Earth and at your mission party. Would you like to be involved again?"
I smile, because I have what I believe to be good news.
"You don't need to plan anything at all! He's agreed to quit. I just visited him." I say breathlessly, excitedly.
Jordan plants his fist angrily on the table. "What on Earth are you talking about."
I explain my visit and the donation of the gold, Roark's desire to live a life with Sienna and make peace.
My Dad looks hopeful. Dr. Henderson looks irritated. Jordan, looks angrier by the second. He speaks first. "He is obviously lying. You've been taken in by his tricks."
"No! I haven't. Talk to him yourself. You'll s-"
"This is ridiculous. Your daughter thinks she has managed to thrwart and interplanetary would-be dictator by promising to get him back together with his girlfriend."
I think back to the connection I made earlier, or Hitler and art school, or Geli Roebbels. I say as much.
Dr. Henderson buts in. "Don't act like you have some monopoly on historical knowledge. You've taken too many classes with my colleague. That wouldn't have happened. It's just one of those cute little historical stories people like to throw out to justify following their dreams or not taking the necessary action." He looks at me dismissively and then motions at the men to look at him. "We must proceed."
"Proceed with what." I demand.
Dr. Henderson continues. It must be some ingrained inability to not answer a student's question, even when your co-conspirators look irritated with you for proceeding. "We cannot be sure that Roark has given up. But we have no real proof of what he was planning on Earth. The rumors about his ways with women were a good idea, sure, but how long can that stop him? Historically, it has worked awhile, but not forever. We need to make it look like he has done something since he got here, something evil, something real, so he can be stopped permanently."
My mind spins with all the levels of wrong in this scenario. "So you're going to frame him for something he didn't even do?" I ask incredulously. "That's so underhanded, so-"
"Necessary." My father shoots back. "He did something originally. We are just recreating the scenario."
"What scenario?"
Now it's Jordan's turn. "Something similar to what he did on Earth. Planning to spread disease when only he has the cure. It's not like we're lying, he did that."
"But he isn't doing it now." I continue to stare at them, disbelieving their scheme and waiting for a better explanation.
Looks like I won't get it.
They stare back, we are at a stalemate.
Hitler is on my mind, so I shoot back with a story – "Do you not understand what it is you are doing? You are acting exactly like those you condemn to get what you want. The Nazi government wanted war with Poland and they faked an attack by the Poles on their radio station so it would look like they were justified in going to war with them. You are staging an attack by Roark – something he didn't even do, even if he did do it in the past – when you know from he me has agreed to back off. It wasn't right when the Nazi's did it; it isn't right now. The end doesn't justify the means, especially when the end has already been accomplished without your intervention."
They continue to be unresponsive for a few seconds, when Dr. Henderson speaks again. "We are going to respectfully disagree. We have talked through this scenario. Do you think we don't know it's wrong? How it feels like we are very close to being the type of people we hate? But you're wrong, Callie – the ends DO justify the means."
"No."
"Look. What if Roark was lying to you. Which, you must admit, is very possible. You're a naïve girl. You want to believe the best in people. So, let's just say he's lying. But we believe him. And we do nothing. How do we forgive ourselves for the loss of life? How do we sit back and watch, knowing we could have stopped him if we had just moved earlier?" Henderson loves rhetorical questions when he lectures, and this lecture is no different although the stakes are much higher.
I'm not ready to back down though. I've spent the time listening to his line of questioning coming up with my own hypotheticals to pose. "But you don't know. You can never know for sure whether someone will do something evil and hurt others or not, and if you react before they've done it, YOU are the evil one. Let's just say we invented a time machine and you could go back and kill off the people that have done the most damage to this world – Hitler, Mussolini, Jong Il, Hussein – as children. You can't kill a child. They haven't done anything yet. You're the one who is evil."
Jordan coughs. "I would argue that you're wrong, and I would gladly end the lives of any of those men to stop the genocide of millions. I intend to be on the right side of history here, along with these men."
I sigh. The problem is, if I hadn't just spoken with Roark and seen the change in him with my own eyes, I would want to join in. The ends, to them, probably do rightly justify the means. But to me they don't, simply because I have a different perspective, but it is a perspective that I will not be able to convince them of.
"I'll take him to Earth."
The proclamation is out of my mouth before I know it will come, but when it comes I see the necessity in it. It's the only way to stop them, and him, at once. The problem is that I am betraying Richard in the process, who didn't want to be on the same planet as him.
But I'll worry about that later.
Jordan rolls his eyes at me and echoes my thoughts. "I doubt my son will like that."
"I'll worry about that myself."
My dad raises his eyebrows, not understanding the connection I might have with his son, but nobody explains further.
Jordan continues. "I'm getting a little tired of you being so involved in everything as well. Perhaps you should butt out."
Now my dad looks irritated, which makes me happy. "Now just you-" he begins, pointing a finger at Jordan.
Dr. Henderson stops him before he can get in a petty argument with Jordan. "Actually, that's an idea. Kill two birds with one stone."
Nobody asks him who the other bird is, but I guess it's me.
Jordan scoffs. My dad looks at me pleadingly, "You don't need to be involved in this. Not that I don't think you could do it – you could, you've proven as much – but you don't have to." It's the closest he will ever come to telling me he will miss me when I go. My parents know I am leaving this time. I told them I felt called to do mission work on Earth. I left out the part about Richard, thinking they would think it frivolous, but I'm sure they'll question me now after Jordan's sneering comments.
Dr. Henderson, who is apparently quite the planner and has a lot of clout with these two, tells me that I have 24 hours to convince Roark. During this time, they will still be planning their own coup. If I fail, I go alone, and they get to do what they want.
"Deal." I say. Spinning on my heel and leaving. I summon the driverless car and am prepared to punch in the coordinates back to Roark's, but realize I need to visit Sienna first. She alone will be the key in convincing him that he needs to go, and I doubt he will go unless she also is willing. Without her, spending his life in jail will seem like a nice respite to him.
I try to compose my thoughts on the way over, but my mind is a whirl. She is staying at Herrera's makeshift church quarters at VMU. There are locker rooms in a gymnasium near the great hall where he has his services that he convinced them to turn into housing for some of the refugees. He summoned Sienna to live there, as it is just slightly better than the tents the rest of the refugees are living in until proper housing can be built.
My brain is on autopilot as I walk through campus, a place where I have lived and learned for so many years. I note the juxtaposition of the girl I once was when I learned here to the girl that I am now, involved in these intricate plots of worldsaving. I never would have guessed it, back then. I am not the girl I was before. Maybe I am naïve, as Henderson just described, but I like to think of that as a belief in the good in people and not plain stupidity because I am young. I am glad that quality has survived the past few months. The obedient, studious girl is gone, but Callie as she truly is remains.
I make my way into the locker room but quickly realize it won't do as a meeting place to convince Sienna to take Roark back. The areas where people dress had been partitioned into semi-private rooms with hanging curtains, but the sound carries over the tops of the lockers. The people staying alongside Sienna probably aren't listening, but it's an awkward conversation to have even between friends.
I call her name out down the row of curtains and identify myself. A curtain toward the end of the row rustles and she sticks her head out.
"Hey! Come on down!"
"I thought we could go for a walk? Get you out of here for awhile?"
She laughs. "Yeah, it's not exactly a great space for entertaining. Nothing like Roark's mansion, after all." She's joking, but I feel like I can hear a hint of sadness for the life she has lost with him. But maybe I'm just hearing because I hope it's there, because it makes my job easier.
I smile as she makes her way to me and then we join in step and head outside. We wander through the leafy walkways and she chatters about life in the locker rooms, claiming it's not so bad, and she's trying to stay positive and make friends, although communal bathrooms certainly suck at this age.
"But you wouldn't believe how much of a celebrity I am! They can't believe I'm even staying with them!"
"Where else would you go?" I ask, honestly curious. She wasn't a head of state – no special privileges would be given to her. She's lucky she isn't in the crowded camps.
"I guess they think I should have some kind of connection."
It does make sense that one of us would have invited her to live with us. I should have, and I mentally kick myself for it. But I've been too preoccupied with thoughts of Richard to be a good friend – the long-time fallacy of female friendships. Still, I'm surprised someone besides me didn't help her out. The stigma of the mistress must be a real thing.
"I must admit that I feel bad about it though. Everyone seems to feel sorry for me. They think I am the victim; they think Roark is the scoundrel. I mean, he was, but I'm not innocent."
Thinking it might lead into remorse, which might pave my way easier, I smile and let her continue.
"I mean. I guess I'm saying he wasn't all bad. It's not like he could help it that it wasn't socially acceptable to marry me. He should have ignored it, obviously – if a man loves you he'll ignore a lot – but that doesn't make him a horrible person. And he was a little bit controlling, but I exaggerated that. You know, you exaggerate someone's bad qualities when you're trying to move on."
"Did you?" I ask, gently.
She sighs. "I did. A little bit. The story of the dress. Who wouldn't be mad their girlfriend didn't wear the expensive dress they commissioned specifically for her?"
"That's an interesting perspective." I muse.
"Well, yeah. And then there's everything I did to him in the aftermath. He trusted me and I betrayed him. Just because I was sick of waiting."
Instead of saying she shouldn't blame herself, and that she should have been sick of waiting and it was the right thing to do to out him, I plunge in.
"That's what I came here to talk to you about. I've just been to visit Roark, and then Jordan."
I explain Roark's donation and his proclamation that he's done with politics. That he wants to win her back. But that Jordan, my father, and Henderson, are planning to frame him for a similar plot to the plot he created on Earth. And how I have 24 hours to convince him to go to Earth with me, but that I think he won't go unless she does, too.
It's almost too easy. I don't fool myself into thinking I could have convinced her if she wasn't already ready to go – she must have been.
"Yes." She says breathlessly. There are tears in her eyes.
"That was too easy." I voice my concern out loud.
She throws her arms around me. "Let's go see him."
And we do.
I let her go in without me. I don't need to be part of the reunion. I have my own reunion to plan for, one that I may have just sabotaged by enabling theirs. But I hope that my karma for helping one love bodes well for my own. She sends me a communication an hour later that they will join me. I communicate to my father that they can stop their underhanded plans. I tell the Space Travel Federation that the crew will consist of two extra people, to which they agree easily. People aren't exactly clamoring to get aboard the ship and there's plenty of space.
So, I start packing. This time, I bring only utilitarian clothes, nothing adorably cute. I am not longer a tourist, I am a missionary. I do pick one dress though. It's an olive tone that sets off my skin and compliments my dark eyes. Short sleeves and hits me mid-thigh. It's always been one of my favorites.
I think I will wear it when I see Richard again. And I hope he will have me.
Back in my apartment, packing once again for a trip to Earth, I am struck by the difference between the girl who packed the first time and the girl who is packing now. Scratch that, woman who is packing now. I haven't realized how much I have changed, but doing the simple task and comparing myself to how I felt initially brings it into focus. When I left the first time, it was all about me. All I wanted to do was go on my trip, parental opinions be damned, and learn what there was to learn. I had no idea what there was out there. I didn't know what to expect. I thought I would increase my knowledge base and be even smarter than my professors already praised me for. I would come back and be a lawmaker. I had everything planned out.
But the best-laid plans of people don't work. Especially those plans made out of immaturity, without a concept of how the world works. And the world works like this – you cannot go into a foreign culture, a whole other planet, and not come out a different person with different ideas. When you see the people's faces who a small part of you imagined to be inferior and happy with working, and you realize their frustration, it makes you realize how selfish you truly are. It changes you forever. If it doesn't, you're in denial and only trying to preserve your own life status quo. That wasn't something I did. When Richard told me about the world, I managed to come out of my shell and face it head on. Rather than being involved in studies about conflicts, I was involved in one. I realized the stakes in these things I'd read about in print were real – real people, real loves, real families, real life.
The impulsivity of the younger Callie is gone, but at the same time she is still there. It's like a recipe made several times – each time it gets better, but the fundamental ingredients stay the same. Now my impulsivity is channeled into action – I will go to Earth to help. I will go to Earth to see what Richard thinks of my actions. I will understand if he will not have me after I helped Roark, but maybe he will understand why I had to do it, as I understood why he had to stay on Earth. I know I have grown to be a more understanding person – the world isn't black and white – and I am hopeful he is the same. I believe him to be able to see my perspective, but maybe I am wrong. I am both the same and different. A new layer of me has been added, assimilated into the old Callie. How do we assimilate our old and new selves into one and keep true to both? I was impulsive in my help of Roark, and systematic in my second trip to Earth. I am no longer lying, but I am still doing what I believe in.
Another thing that has changed is my faith. I used to believe in the knowledge of history, and how if we could only understand the trends of the past, we could build a better future. I believed it was in our hands. And to some extent I still do, because I believe I can go to Earth to do good things. I think my knowledge will help them rebuild. At the same time though, I realize there are things bigger than my own mental prowess can handle. I am not sure I believe in Herrera's god in his strict terms, but I now believe there is something out there. He might look like the Christian Jesus. Either way, I believe there is some divine orchestration. Something created human nature, in all its glory and flaws, for a reason. There is a reason we can't escape human nature, and maybe it's to realize we aren't all powerful.
This train of thought inspires me to visit Herrera one last time before I leave. I leave my luggage behind and head to his makeshift church. His door is open, as a holy man's door often is, but I rap my knuckles on it anyway as I make my way inside.
"Hey." I say.
"Hi there. I was hoping I would see you before you left."
I smile and sit down across the desk from him. "I wouldn't miss it. You're sure you don't want to go back?"
He smiles knowingly. "Just as you know your work is there, I know mine is here."
We pause, contemplating the missions we will embark on in the coming days, months, years.
"Why is it you feel called to go there?" He asks me.
"I was just thinking about all this. It's just, well, I spent my whole life believing what the Earthlings call "The Martian Lie" – that we were doing good work here on Mars. Helping everyone. I almost worshipped it. But, it didn't work. We aren't a "lifeboat" for humanity – there are still humans dying on Earth. They need help. I feel that God, whoever he is or whatever he looks like, needs me to go. Maybe my knowledge can help them rebuild, or maybe humanity is always doomed to go back to hating one another. Maybe it's a never-ending cycle of peace and war. Extreme to extreme. But the part I am in right now is where I think I need to help. The help doesn't need to be here, it needs to be there."
"That's as good of a reason as any. I feel the same way, although I would say there needs to be help here with getting everyone used to each other and coming together to a higher purpose."
"God?"
"If I can put together a flock that does his work, I would consider that a blessing."
"I would, too. It's funny we both feel the same conviction about different planets."
"I don't think it's funny, I think it's the Lord's wisdom – all of humanity needs advocates for peace, not just half of them."
He's right. Humanity doesn't need one perfect planet and one manufacturing planet. It needs a cohesive humanity. A world doesn't work well with only one type of person. Hard as it is to get along, we need each other to be complete.
We continue to chat for a while, about my specific plans. He asks if I will find Richard. He commends me for offering Roark a chance at redemption. He is of the mind that everything will work out for me and offers to pray. I accept the offer, figuring that nothing can hurt at this point.
The next day, I board the ship. This time, my parents see me off. I do not tell them I will see them again someday, because I believe I will not. They don't say anything about a young man named Richard, related to Jordan Spencer. Surprisingly, my mom is not in tears. She gives me a knowing smile though, just like she did before I left.
"I am so proud of what you have become. Please be in touch." She says, squeezing my shoulder. Realizing the time for telling me what to do has passed.
My father is stoic. He hugs me, though. Something he hasn't done in years. It makes me cry. "Don't." He says. I appreciate his final command and smile at him.
"As soon as communication opens, I will contact you. I love you both. Thank you for supporting me in everything I have ever done." It's a slight exaggeration, but it's necessary here, as we have our final goodbye.
Simon and Hera came as well. Hera hugs me and hands me a small bag.
"For the trip." She says. I peek inside. It looks to contain a romance novel and a couple tubes of makeup. I laugh out loud. "So you can have a few pointers and maybe practice a little bit. You won't have me anymore, after all."
Simon also engulfs me in a bear hug.
"Go get your guy, honey." He says.
"I will."
And I board the ship with Roark and Sienna to make the Earth-Mars trip one last time.