“Oh, that.” Lamont’s tone was dismissive. “I just wanted to see if it would catch your attention.”
Carter sighed. “Let’s assume for the sake of argument that it did. Why would it?”
“There are rumors,” The newspaperman conceded, “Among some of the ‘69ers. To the effect that when you went off by yourself on the first day of the expedition, you didn’t come back alone.”
“Do you believe them?” Carter asked, looking ahead at the road. The tunnel had opened up; they were now traveling along what looked like a broad highway. Overhead loomed a vaulted canopy of Martian architecture, made up of colossal columns that bloomed at the tops into a network that resembled great interconnected fronds. Every so often, Carter would overtake another private car, passing it easily on the wide road.
“It ain’t my job to believe anything,” Lamont sniffed, folding his arms. “I just follow the facts. The facts that everybody agrees on are that you disappeared by yourself into the mountains of Mars, for three weeks, with three hours’ worth of air. And that when you did return, you kept largely to yourself for the remainder of the initial expedition, despite being officially in charge of it.”
“I wasn’t in charge of the colonization,” Carter corrected him. There was an edge in his voice. “I was merely at the head of it. If it had been possible, I would have returned here, at the appointed time, by myself.” The last words were all but hissed. After a pause, he added: “But I—lacked the resources. The only way I could convince the company to bring me back was with a colonization party behind me.”
“What do you mean by, ‘At the appointed time?’” Lamont asked, straightening.
Carter’s jaw tightened. “We think of Mars as a graveyard, a corpse. We come here to inhabit the carcass, make our home in it, feed off its resources. Behold, the conqueror worm. But Mars isn’t dead. Look anywhere and you’ll see that she’s still very much alive. Her heart beats, her nerves pulse with energy. And she remembers. She remembers more than we can ever grasp or imagine. She even remembers us.”
“Go on,” Lamont urged.
“I was born five years before Epiphany. In ‘47, when the Axis mounted its invasion of the East Coast, my family fled westward. We ended up in Utah. I don’t remember any of that, really, but I remember the sky. My earliest memories are of gazing out at the stars, seeing the brilliant red eye of Mars. The feeling of knowing and being known. When the sky turned red, I knew that my life would be spent finding a way to see her again. And when I did, I knew with absolute certainty that she would welcome me.”
Lamont listened intently, astonished. Francis Carter was a bachelor and a recluse, portrayed in the media as a cold and scientific mind. Now he was realizing that this enigmatic astronaut was in fact a poet and a romantic. “You speak of Mars like a lover,” he suggested.
Carter frowned, shaking his head quickly as if he found the thought repulsive. “A mother. Mars is our mother. From the very beginning, she’s watched over us, nursed us, guided us to survive and flourish. Do you want proof of that? Fifty years ago, we all but annihilated ourselves. And when we came to Mars for refuge, she opened her arms to us. She gives us everything we need to keep moving forward. She even gave us--”
He paused, clamping his lips tightly.
“Gave us what?” Lamont prodded, staring at the older man intently.
Carter’s mouth widened into something of a forlorn smile. “I like to think of him as a brother. A big brother.”
Just then, an electronic beep emanated from the car’s console. Lamont cursed the timing, hardly caring anymore about the precariousness of his situation as Carter blinked and absently toggled the speaker on again.
“This is the operator,” came the calm, female voice. “Are you still on the line?”
Next: A Gambit
Did you enjoy today’s installment? Leave a comment or share with a friend!
Beautiful