You're Going to Mars!

by Rob Dircks

I’m having that longing again. I can hardly bear it, I want to reach out and embrace my sisters, and Dad, and Nana, and never let them go. Take them with me to my home on Mars. Build a little confined space for us up there, a little place to grow our own food, and make our own air, and, and… be free.

  Someday.

  Claire was joking about the mistletoe, and who knows if Tanner ever really learned anything about Japanese philosophy, but they both wind up being right. Over the next week, as we tend to our farm and experiments, the tight living arrangements and close work quarters seem to be having a hormonal effect on some of the contestants. Not me, thank God. I’m just enjoying the steady pace of progress, lack of emergencies, and-

  “Robin! Emergency!”

  34

  Hamburger

  “Hey boss. What’s u– eewww…” A quick glance behind Aurora tells me everything I need to know: Jayden, the really quiet one on the Orange team, has his arm pinned in one of the gears on the mining excavator-feeder that grinds anything we dig up into analyzable powder. I can’t see beyond the gear, there’s blood mixed with the drill lubricant all over the place, so there could be a whole lower arm and hand in there, salvageable, or it could be a couple of pounds of ground meat. My bet is ground meat.

  Aurora leans into my ear, whispers. “Look. You know I’m faking this whole thing. But Jayden’s hurt. Bad. I can’t fake this shit. Everyone’s flipping out. Help?”

  She’s right about the flipping out. It’s like a coop full of chickens just saw a fox stroll in.

  “Okay. Everyone calm down. Nana’s right: Calm down. Solve the problem.”

  “Nana?”

  “Sorry. Something she says. Albert, give me the brief.”

  “I- I- Nnn-“

  “Oh, boy. Okay, Lucy, give me the brief.”

  “The feeder was jammed with a rock. Jayden stopped it, reached in, but somehow it turned back on. We stopped it immediately, but his hand got sucked in.”

  Claire faints. One down.

  “You couldn’t reverse it?”

  "The reverse shorted out I think. Won’t work.”

  “Will it turn forward?”

  Jayden shouts, “You want to turn it forward? My arm is in there!”

  “Listen. If it’s like a broken lift, we can trick it into thinking it’s going forward, even though the gear is turning backward. Does it have an audible interface?”

  “No, Visual only. Panel-based.”

  “Crap.” I move to face the input panel. “Okay. Settings… good. There’s a command line option. Albert, you think you can dig into the settings deep enough, search for gear rotation?”

  “Nnn…”

  “Albert! Snap out of it man. I need you. Can you do it?”

  “I… can try.”

  “You better.”

  I turn to Jayden. “How are you holding up, buddy?”

  He spits out through his teeth, “My arm is in the mining feeder. Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “Now, if this works, Jayden, your arm’s going to come out the way it went in, and that’s not all good news. Right now the gear is so clamped down on you it’s stanching any bleeding. But as soon as you’re free you’re probably going to go off like a geyser.” Sophia faints. Two down. “We’ll tourniquet at your shoulder, that’ll help, but just letting you know.”

  “Thanks?”

  “You’re welcome. Would you rather be awake or asleep?”

  “Another rhetorical question.”

  “Okay, Aurora, go into the MedBay, find the propofol. Get it and a syringe, stat.”

  “Stat?”

  “I watch a lot of TV. Go.”

  Albert calls from the other side. “Got it. Found the line of code. I think.”

  “Good. Can you set the forward rotation to a negative number?”

  “I think.”

  “Don’t think. Just do. On my count, commit the edit and recompile.”

  Albert nods.

  “Five.”

  Lucy faints. Three down.

  “Four.”

  Aurora jabs Jayden with the needle. He’s out in an instant.

  “Three.”

  I put my arms under Jayden’s shoulder. Aurora supports his other shoulder.

  “Two.”

  Benji runs over and kicks the MedBay dome open for us. Avery jumps off the bed and cowers by a cabinet.

  “One.”

  Albert stutters, “On one, or on go?”

  “Just go!”

  Albert commits, the machine thinks for a moment, and then the gear grinds backward. We pull Jayden out in a spray of blood.

  Albert faints. Four down.

  I pause, for just a millisecond, to admire the human body. It’s an amazing machine, and actually much more flexible and resilient than we think. Take Jayden’s arm, for example. To look at that mining gear, you’d expect hamburger to come spitting back out. But the whole arm, in one piece, reappears. It’s broken in – oh God – at least fifteen places, and there’s so much blood I can’t see where the cuts are, but it’s whole. Amazing.

  I pull the tourniquet even tighter and we haul ass to the MedBay dome, plop him on the table, and the miracle machine goes to work – immediately sucking his arm into a sleeve, like a balloon around the whole thing, but clear, so we can watch it washing his wounds, stitching his lacerations, setting his bones, waving the wand thing, re-infusing him with his own lost blood.

  “Whew.”

  Aurora looks down at our shirts, covered in blood and drill lubricant. “That is not gonna come out.” And we start laughing, and share a hug, and then start crying, releasing all the freakout that had bottled up inside us. “Thanks, Robin.”

  “Don’t thank me, Aurora. Thank this miracle machine.”

  In answer, the machine beeps. “Chance of full recovery. Ninety-nine-point-three percent. Time to recovery. Eighteen days.”

  “See? What can’t this thing do?”

  The machine beeps again. “Update. There seems to be a problem.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. It was a rhetorical question.”

  Another beep. “Mister Jayden Freid is showing signs of epileptic seizure and cardiac arrest.”

  Jayden’s body is convulsing. “MedBay – do something!”

  “Negative. Mobile MedBay not equipped for arrhythmias caused by temporal lobe epilepsy, as this condition is present only in point-zero-two percent of humans, and not included on Mister Jayden Freid’s medical report. Please schedule immediate transfer to full MedBay facility.”

  “Transfer?!”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t do that! We’re in a freaking dome! In the middle of nowhere!” Think. Think. Think. I look around at the faces staring at Aurora and me. What the hell are we going to do? Who knows even the slightest thing about MedBays? Albert? Sophia? Tanner? Benji?

  Wait. Benji.

  “Benji. Your phone! Give me your phone!”

  “What phone? Me? We’re not allowed phones. Remember, zero access. I don’t have a-”

  “No time! The phone from the bus!”

  Benji runs back to our shelter dome, reaches under his cot, pulls out a pair of underwear, and tucked inside is the phone. He dashes back and hands it to me.

  “Gross, Benji.”

  “You want the phone or not?”

  “Ick. It smells. I’m not kidding.” I tap out a number. “Uh, hello?”

  “Good afternoon. Groupie Studios. How may I direct your call?”

  “Zach Larson.”

  The woman on the other end tries not to, but she chuckles. “Is there a department you’d like to be directed to?”

  “Zach Larson. Now.”

  “I can take a message.”

  “Put him on. Now!”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Larson has a staff-“

  “It’s Robin Smith. You got a TV there? Look at it right now.”

  I’m giving the finger to the Big Board, assuming there’s a camera up there. “See that? That’s me, talki
ng to you, live, in front of a billion people.”

  “I’ll put him on.”

  “Thank you.”

  Larson’s on the line faster than a bolt of lightning. “How did you get a phone in there?”

  “That’s your first question?! We’ve got a little problem, Zach!”

  Aurora nudges me. “Gee, you guys are on a first name basis?”

  “He told me to call him Za- it doesn’t matter! Zach, Jayden’s in trouble!”

  “I have eyes.”

  “Then DO something!”

  Before I even finish saying the words, four people, at least I think they’re people, they’re in head-to-toe white quarantine suits, push past me. They grab the top of the MedBay bed and silently, perfectly, rush in unison out of the MedBay and out of sight with Jayden, toward the other, larger dome, without a word.

  Avery Jacobs calls after them. “Hey! What about me?”

  A fifth quarantine suit guy, who I hadn’t even noticed, turns to her. Shrugs.

  Wait. The phone. I hear Larson’s voice. “Robin. Are you still there?”

  “Y- y- yes?”

  “This call was unnecessary. Do you really think I would let you die?”

  The fifth suit guy puts his hand out, wordlessly but clearly demanding the phone. I hand it over. And as he grabs the phone from my hand and snaps it in two, in that moment before it dies, I faintly hear Larson's voice:

  “Strike two.”

  35

  You’re Playing With Fire.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Aurora’s pacing, furious. It’s just her and me, she demanded we be alone in the MedBay. Even Avery is gone. Aurora is scary when she’s angry. Why am I even in here?

  “Aurora, Larson didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “The temporal lobe epilepsy or whatever it’s called. It wasn’t on Jayden's medical report. He either lied, or nobody caught it. Larson didn’t know. Couldn’t have anticipated it. He anticipates everything.”

  “Look at you, advocating for Larson. Whatever. It’s good to know our saviors in white suits are right next door, but he’s still playing with our lives. That’s bullshit. This is supposed to be fun. You know, 'fun, fun, fun'?”

  “I hear you, Aurora. But this is serious training. Think about it: one of us is going to Mars. Not winning a recording contract.”

  She glares. “Low blow, Smith. If that’s even your last name.”

  I take a step back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Whatever.”

  “Okay, listen, obviously we’re stressed, close quarters and near-death experiences and all.”

  “And Avery. She annoys the shit out of me. Have I told you that?”

  “A bunch of times. Hey, where is she?”

  “Over there. Banging on the wall nearest the other dome. Trying to get them to rescue her. You better go get her.”

  As I head out, I put my hand on her shoulder. “Hey. I’m sorry. Are we okay?”

  “Whatever. I guess. Sure.” Then she looks right through me. “I just really don’t like being played with. Like, really. You’re playing with fire if you’re playing with Aurora.”

  Oh, God. I have to tell her the truth. Now. Her eyes are burning holes into my soul.

  No. Wait. Let her calm down first. Later. I’ll tell her later. After I get Avery.

  By the time I reach Avery, her palms are red from slapping them feebly against the dome’s wall. “Please… please… come back…”

  “Avery. There’s nothing wrong with you. They’re not coming back. It’s time to come home.”

  “I’m tapping out. Please.”

  “I don’t think you get to tap out on this stage. We’re stuck with each other for the next five days, unless you want to get your arm stuck in a mining machine. But don’t get any ideas. Forget I said that. Come on.” I take her hand and lead her back to MedBay. On the way she trips and falls. “Avery, come on. You’re making this harder than it needs to b-“

  Huh. She tripped on a wrench. Who’s leaving wrenches laying around? This isn’t like we’re in some ramshackle shed out back of Nana’s trailer with two-bit tools lying wherever. This wrench alone probably cost a thousand credits, and every single screw has been accounted for. Hmm. But I guess we’re just regular people, like the kid who forgets her drink overnight on the dresser, leaving a nice, permanent moisture ring in the wood and nearly giving Dad a coronary (in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m that kid). I pick the wrench and Avery up and head back to MedBay.

  36

  Secret Weapon

  Aside from almost dying of oxygen depletion, and watching Jayden be devoured by a mining machine, and occasionally wiping drool from Avery’s lip, I’m really enjoying this stage. I wouldn’t say that out loud, of course, as some of the contestants clearly have the what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into? face on pretty much all the time now. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them volunteer off the show after this stage. Avery being first in line, of course.

  Not me. I’m actually getting my nerd on learning about farming on Mars. For example: did you know that Martian soil has all the macro- and micronutrients needed to support plant growth, including nitrogen, calcium, iron, even boron? And there could be a limitless water supply? Regions of ice stretch across Mars, some of it just below the surface, waiting to be converted to liquid water. And the beets? Boy, Tanner could tell you more than you ever need or want to know about beets on Mars.

  Aurora also seems to be enjoying herself. After her I’m-going-to-kill-Larson moment, she threw herself into the work, channeling her rage into an impressive terraforming experiment. In a separate sub-dome, she and her team added enough gases to warm up a large patch of ice, melting it and releasing its carbon dioxide, further heating up and thickening the atmosphere in the sub-dome, creating a cycle of warming. Then they introduced microbes to see which ones could survive and synthesize the chemicals necessary to support life. It’s just an experiment, but an incredible peek into what we might be able to do up there on the Red Planet.

  “So Aurora, you’re into microbes now, huh?”

  “Don’t tell anyone. And I won’t tell anyone how much you like beets.”

  “Deal.”

  “Anyway, it’s really the telling-other-people-what-to-do part that I like.”

  “I see that.”

  “And the winning.”

  “Hey. You haven’t won yet.”

  She laughs and points over at the mining machine. “Come on. Orange team’s done, they’re still cleaning Jayden’s blood off the mining unit. They haven’t scored a point in days. And you guys, Red and Yellow? Soybeans and potatoes? Be still my heart.”

  “We’ve got a secret weapon.”

  “Who? Benji? Your string beans are more impressive than Benji.”

  “No. You’ll see.”

  37

  This is Going to Be Some Finale.

  The end of the third week. I’ve grown accustomed to the smell that no one else seemed to notice in the first place. Our veggies have flourished and grown enough to get us points on the Big Board tonight. No one else has been hurt, the thermostats have been regulating just fine, and the privacy screening – thankfully – has shielded us from each other’s less sharable activities. I find myself whistling as we approach the large table and chairs out in the open, next to the MedBay. It’s the finale of Stage Two, and as Aurora said, I think it’s a good bet that we’re safe, and that the poor Orange Team is going home: Jayden (who I assume is alive but I have no idea), and Lucy and the silent one, I think her name is Emma (the only truly intact members of Orange Team).

  Aurora greets me. “I didn’t even know you could whistle. Hey, you want a guest appearance on Rocket Girl? I could write you in a whistling part.”

  I sit down next to Aurora and whisper back. “Sure. But you’ll have to wait for me here on Earth until I get back from Mars.”

  She laughs. “We’ll see who’s wa
iting for who, Nerd Girl.”

  The table has been set for a feast. As part of the instructions for the farming teams, we were to prepare a meal for everyone during the finale. I, of course, insisted I be left out of the cooking – I would have gotten us even less points than Orange Team. Instead, behind me marches in the rest of the Red and Yellow teams, each holding a steaming platter. And bringing up the rear, Suzie Q.

  “Psst. Look. Our secret weapon.”

  Aurora smirks. “Ha! Her? You think she’ll get you more- oh my God. Food.”

  At Suzie Q’s command, the teams unveil their platters, and the air around us is filled with the aromas of real, actual, honest-to-goodness food. Delicious-looking food. Pesto with gnocchi. Mushroom risotto with kale. Roasted fingerling potatoes, cauliflower, and – you guessed it – beets. It turns out Suzie Q, in a previous life, was a cook at a busy hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint for years down in her native Alabama, cooking recipes handed down for generations and making up her own. Benji opens a bin we found in the food stores but hadn’t told the others about, a surprise left by Zach Larson. He lifts out four bottles of wine. Then four more.

  “Wine!”

  “To the chef!”

  Suzie Q takes a deep bow while the contestant rush to fill their glasses and taste their first alcohol in weeks. “You’re welcome, folks. See, barbecue is my thing, don’t do vegan, it’s like a curse word where I come from, but I made do. Thank God for the spices and cheese they left us. Put allota love in these here. Whatcha all think?”

  The entire table, including Avery, rises in a standing ovation. Albert raises his glass in a toast. “To Suzie Q. Our savior!”

  Really, Suzie Q could’ve put anything in front of them in place of protein bars and food paste we’ve been eating here, or that mysterious food-like stuff they’ve been feeding us back at the studio, she could plop a big bowl of boiled potatoes and a salt shaker down, and they would’ve cheered like she scored a touchdown in the Super Bowl. But she really has outdone herself, and I even find Albert sneaking a little wink and a nod over in her direction. She bats her eyelashes.