Mission Mars (3 page)

I wasn't the only one who benefited from my new adulthood. Barry and my parents now shared a three-bedroom
unit. As I walked into their quarters, I saw a paper banner hanging from the ceiling in the common area. A cake with eighteen candles rested on a plate of my mom's best china. I cringed at the thought of how much of her weight allowance she'd used to bring it along.

In deference to the occasion, my dad opened the family meeting with a toast of sparkling wine, but after Captain Larkin's speech, none of us was in a celebratory mood.

“I don't see how this changes anything,” I said. “Before MarsCorp decided to require the trial period, we were prepared to board the ship in a couple of months.”

“What's changed is the timing of our final decision.”

“I've made my decision.” My parents exchanged looks that left no doubt as to what the next topic would be. I spoke before either of them could broach the matter. “Dr. Grant told me.” Without waiting for my parents to respond, I said, “How long have you known that you needed my participation?”

Mom spoke first. “Most of the last two years.” She was a teacher, a natural nurturer. She took the lead when sensitivity was required. “I know it feels like a betrayal, Celia, but we didn't want our wishes to influence your decision.”

The door chime interrupted further discussion. Marta and Alex burst in bearing jugs emblazoned with the logo of their favorite beer. From the looks of it, they probably blew their entire alcohol allowance for the month in celebration of my adulthood. They accepted glasses of wine and echoed my parents' toast: Live Long and Prosper. We were all inveterate sci-fi fans.

Devon's arrival a few minutes later pleased me more than I wanted to show. Not really sure if he intended to join
the celebration, I hadn't mentioned him to my parents. The look that passed between them triggered my newly acquired paranoia. Was there something else they'd kept to themselves?

He handed my mom a box while I made the round of introductions. Silence descended all around as my mom opened the lid, and we all stared at the contents.

“What?” he said, his smile dimming as his gaze swept our faces, finally settling on mine. “Don't tell me you're all vegetarians.”

“How did you know pepperoni and olives was my favorite?” I asked.

“I thought that's how everyone ate pizza.”

We laughed at his joke, but as the night wore on, I realized he'd been sincere. For an adult—albeit a young one—he demonstrated an amazing level of naiveté regarding a wide range of subjects. He seemed surprised, too, when my parents included Barry in the conversation. And more than once, he looked puzzled at something Marta or Alex said. He was the only one, except for Barry, who didn't partake of the liquid refreshment that flowed liberally throughout the evening. Even my parents drank way more than I'd ever seen them consume in one sitting.

It was well after midnight when the party broke up. Devon insisted on accompanying me to my berth, and I was in no condition to argue. I was already regretting the last two cups of beer. It took three tries to get my eye lined up properly for the security scan. If Devon hadn't been holding my arm,
I would've fallen on my face when the door opened. “Whoa, better help me lie down.”

He guided me toward the sofa, but I pulled us toward the bedroom door instead. “Bed please, closer to the toilet.”

It wasn't until I was sitting on the bed tugging at my pants that I realized how uneasy he looked. “I'll be fine. You don't need to hang around.”

“It's just—” He gave a little shrug. “I've never been alone in a room with a woman before.”

Strangers occupied the seats assigned to my family: a couple in their mid-thirties and a preteen girl. Of course, I'd known long before the meeting that my mother and father and Barry wouldn't be here. We'd said our goodbyes earlier in the day.

The physical misery brought on by a hangover paled in comparison to the heartache I felt at their absence. Recent job offers, combined with the guilt my mom felt at subjecting Barry to the considerable danger we would face as first landers, along with the captain's ultimatum, tipped the scales in their decision to remain on Earth. I don't know whether having more time to get used to the idea of going alone would have been better or worse, but I'd always been more of a rip-the-bandage-off kind of person.

Devon sank slowly into his seat, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Marta told me about your family.”

I'd spent most of the afternoon crying on her shoulder. Marta was trained as a med-tech and was studying
organizational psychology and process management. Like my mom, she was a natural caregiver. It wasn't the first time she'd nursed me through a crisis. Times like this made me wonder what she got out of our friendship.

“I never dreamed they'd back out.”

“How about you? No second thoughts?” Devon asked. After he'd fled my bedroom the night before, I'd worried that we'd feel awkward with one another, but he didn't seem aware that his departure had been anything out of the ordinary.

“It hurts like hell knowing I'll never see them again, and I feel guilty for leaving them. But now I wonder whether Mars hasn't always been more my dream than theirs.”

Over the next few weeks, our threesome became a foursome with only minor changes in group dynamics. It was as if Devon became the missing piece we'd been waiting for. Most nights we ate dinner together, rotating the role of host.

Although Marta and Alex had long been a couple, they'd scrupulously avoided any overt sexual contact in my presence, other than hand-holding and the occasional peck on the check. With Devon's addition, they felt freer to stretch the boundaries. In spite of attempts to hide his feelings, we all noticed Devon's discomfort. It was Alex who finally brought the matter out into the open.

“Man, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were raised in a monastery.”

“Alex!” Marta jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“It's OK. That's not too far off the truth.” Devon lowered
his cup to the table, but didn't release his grip. “I was born in the Montana Enclave. My parents named me Devotion. I didn't even know there were Unbelievers until I was twelve.”

Alex was the only one who wasn't staring at Devon like he'd suddenly sprouted an extra limb. “What's an enclave?” he asked.

The look on Devon's face made me come to his rescue. “The Enclaves are self-sufficient communities established by fundamentalist Christian groups in the '20s. Members aren't allowed any contact with the outside world.”

“I didn't think anyone ever left those places. How did you escape?” Marta's expression mirrored the horror I felt.

Devon's laugh was genuine and popped the bubble of tension that enveloped the table. “Believe me, no one is held against their will.”

“So, members of the Enclave can choose to leave at any time?” From our previous discussions, I knew he'd spent a year studying extra-terrestrial geology at Harvard before joining the Mars colony.

His amusement vanished. “It's more a matter of being allowed to stay. Unbelievers threaten the integrity of the group. Inquiry is discouraged, and the Enclaves don't tolerate dissent. Young people who express doubt are sequestered for more intense education.”

“That sounds like brainwashing,” I said.

He shrugged. “Maybe, but in my case, it didn't work.”

“So you were forced to leave?” I was treading into personal territory, but sensed a barrier we needed to breach.

“The Enclave placed me with a Christian family in Boston where I fostered until my eighteenth.”

“How old were you when they sent you away?”

His expression conveyed a loss that was more distant in time, but no less wrenching, than my own. “Thirteen.”

I found the shortcut to the hydroponic gardens by accident. Lingering over a second cup of coffee with Marta at breakfast left no time to stop by my berth for a bathroom break before reporting to work. The toilet was located mid-corridor, adjacent to the lift. I was washing my hands when I noticed light shining through a crevice in the access panel beside the sink. Intrigued, I pried at the metal covering. It popped open easily. The cover on the opposite side of the plumbing chase was ajar and even easier to remove. I stuck my head through the meter-wide opening into a toilet room, the mirror image of the one I occupied. A notice posted on the door confirmed my suspicion: the room was located within steps of the hydroponic gardens. Even with the time it took to secure the chase, I strolled into work with ten minutes to spare.

When I reported my find at dinner, Devon and Marta were polite, but largely unimpressed. Alex whipped out his compad and sketched the configuration of the corridors with deft strokes. Training as an environmental engineer, he'd been privy to the habitat's schematics.

He tapped his finger on the locations of the plumbing and electrical chases. “You can see how it'd be possible to use them as shortcuts.”

“Was that part of the design?” Devon said.

“Not that I was told.”

“You think that's why the cover was loose?” At the time, I'd assumed one of the workers had been careless in securing the panel.

Alex traced a path with his finger from his compartment to the dining hall. “I'll check out some of the other chases. See what turns up.”