You're Going to Mars!

by Rob Dircks

  “And so, Martha, will you do us the honor, and announce the fourth runner up?”

  “Certainly, Zach. The fourth runner up is… Albert Morse.”

  Ugh. I can’t say I’m surprised, for Albert, as smart as he is, didn’t exactly shine on this stage. I suspect he secretly wanted to explore his love-hate thing with Suzie Q instead. And on cue, as if to confirm my suspicion, the monitors cut to a live feed of Suzie Q. She’s giddy. “Ooooh, Albert! You comin’ home now! I’m sad for you, sorry you didn’t win, honey-bunch, but man-o-man I been waitin’ on you! What did you do to me, you mysterious man you? You got me turned all inside out! Ha!”

  We all laugh, and Albert sneaks a smile, another little betrayal of his poor performance this week. Awww. He really wanted instead to go home to Suzie Q, didn’t he? Once again, People Magazine is right and love proves to be a weird, powerful thing.

  He floats over to all of us, with little hugs, me last, and whispers right into my ear, “Good luck.”

  “I haven’t won yet.”

  “Yes, you have.” And he kisses me on the cheek and smiles. “Wish me luck with Suzie. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” I chuckle and nod and wish him luck. He floats off to Skylar, who’s manning the lifeboat down the second hallway.

  Larson gives him a hearty handshake on the way. “Albert! You’ve done well, my boy. As fourth runner up, you’ll find half a million credits in your account when you return home, that should keep you and our wonderful Suzie Q occupied for a while, and of course, you’ve earned a lifetime subscription to Groupie Gold.”

  “Do I get on the Wall of Heroes?”

  Larson laughs. “Of course! How could I forget? Ted?”

  The monitor cuts to Ted in the hidden control room. He nods, and the monitor is filled with all the contestants who’ve failed – I mean, ‘become heroes’ – before us, now including Albert.

  “Martha, it’s time now for our third runner up.”

  “Certainly, Zach. The third runner up is… Claire Soams.”

  Claire bursts into tears instantly, releasing ten weeks of angst and joy and physical torture and the thrills of winning, and the pride of knowing she’s come much, much further than anyone had thought she would.

  Larson is actually wiping away tears. “Claire, Claire, Claire. What can I say?”

  “Don’t say anything.” She hurtles across the few feet between them, and smushes her face against his, trying to see how far she can get her tongue down his throat.

  “Mmmppphhhggghhh!” Larson is struggling to say something, or scream, but her mouth is really glued to his face. Claire’s been looking for love this entire time, and dammit she’s not going home without at least a little taste.

  She finally comes up for air, giving Larson an opportunity to peel her off and get a safe arm’s length between them. “Well! That’s something to remember!” Then he leans over, taking a huge risk if you ask me, and pecks her gently on the cheek. “You are a gem, Claire.”

  She blushes and waves her hands. “I will always love you, Zach Larson.”

  Wow. She just realized she loved him yesterday and today she’s making a lifelong vow? But it’s cute, so cute, and everyone sighs and laughs, and we all have to admire Claire’s enduring ability to, in her own words, “Seize the day!”

  We each get a sloppy Claire hug and kiss, and as she drifts off to Skylar, crying, disappearing into the hallway forever, I notice it.

  She has her flight pants on backwards.

  “Well, Martha. We almost didn’t make it out of this without another wedding, did we?”

  “There was a point-zero-zero-zero-zero-six percent chance of marital union between you and Claire Soams.”

  “I won’t even ask how you calculated that, Martha. Now, moving on: our second runner up?”

  Certainly, Zach. The second runner up is… Benji Greenberg.”

  I turn to my roommate, my buddy from the first moment he hung his head from the top bunk, the one who instantly forgave me for pretending to be someone I wasn’t, the fellow nerd who fixed my rocket landing problem. My friend. The tears really start now, it feels like the moment I left Fill City One and my sisters, like some part of me was being wrenched free and left behind. I rush to him and pull him into my arms. “Benji.”

  “Paper. It’s okay. You won’t be alone.” I feel him wrap something around my wrist.

  “Your prayer bracelet! No, I can’t-”

  “Please. It was three credits. I have like five more at home. Now,” he turns the bracelet softly around, “remember, when you need to, turn it and use the beads to count your mantra.”

  I whisper, “I don’t have a mantra.”

  He smiles. “Yes you do.”

  And we whisper the words together: “Gaba gaba ganeshi.”

  It’s the nerdiest thing ever, our shared mantra, and we both laugh like idiots, but I don’t care – it’s perfect. I hold him tight, trying not to let him float away, laughing and crying. “Don’t leave, Benji. Who’ll save me from DanDan?”

  Aurora finally pulls us apart. “Hey, Robenji. Enough. Leave some of this stud muffin to me.” And she gives him a dramatic kiss, it’s like a kiss from a music video, I’m sure sending Benji’s poor heart into palpitations, and he drifts of out of view with a dreamy grin on his face.

  Goodbye, Benji.

  Off to the Wall of Heroes for you.

  Daniels looks relieved. One less young punk for him to deal with. But Larson seems sincerely sad, he’s down to…

  Aurora. And me.

  It’s hard to describe how I feel. On the one hand, I’ve never felt closer to my destiny. Where I belong. I can feel the sand of Mars beneath my feet already. I can see the dome rising in a Martian sunrise. I can hear the gears of machinery building a new life on a new world for humanity. And I can sense that I’m here, in this place, at this time, to find whatever secrets lay beneath its surface.

  But on the other hand, I think… Aurora deserves this more. She’s more honest. More courageous. Better in just about every way than me. Sure, I’m smart, I can run circles around her in a discussion of chemistry or engineering, but is that what matters? Or does it matter more that in just ten weeks, she’s revealed more about me than I even knew about myself? Or does it matter more that she’ll selflessly dive out of an airlock into the void of space, determined not to let anything bad happen to me?

  I will never forget her face at that moment.

  The face of love.

  The face of giving more of yourself than you expect in return. Of inviting someone into a broom closet to share a song. The face of someone that knows when you need a laugh. Or a shoulder. Or to talk in the dark. Or when you need to be saved.

  I have two sisters. Rock. Scissors.

  And now I have a third. Aurora.

  It’s time I gave more than I expect in return. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I hope I lose.

  I look over to her, and she catches my glance, and she makes a face at me and whispers, “You know what I’m thinking, right Paper?”

  “Yes. That you can’t wait to beat my ass.”

  “Ha! No. I’m thinking second place is kind of my thing. It’s my jam. I’m going to make it one of the songs on the album. ‘Second Place.’ I’ve finally embraced it, Paper. I don’t need it any more. Thank you. Sincerely.”

  “Wow.”

  Now I really don’t know what the hell to think.

  Larson, meanwhile, is at the apex of his showmanship, dramatically drawing this out, squeezing the very last drops of entertainment – and as a by-product, ad revenue – in this finale. He turns away from the cameras, to us, and his look says it all: that the two contestants he and the global audience have not-so-secretly been rooting for, twenty-four hours a day for ten weeks, are the two that are left.

  He grins. “Hmm. Aurora and Paper Farris. Who would’ve guessed?”

  Daniels can’t hide his disdain. “Not me.”

  Aurora takes a swipe. “Funny, DanD
an.”

  Daniels fights with himself to remain on the sideline instead of lunging at Aurora. Larson just smiles calmly. “Okay, settle down. Now… the moment we’ve all been waiting for. One of you, and it will be just one, will be reborn like the mythical scarab beetle of millennia past, and usher in a rebirth for all mankind. And bring back the secrets that Mars has yet to reveal!” He waves his arms, reminding me strangely of Nana and her little scarab routine. “Martha, drumroll please. And the winner is…?”

  “I can’t provide that information.”

  “You- you can’t?”

  “I cannot. Because there is a tie.”

  63

  Tied

  Oh my God.

  Tied.

  Aurora and I burst out laughing.

  “Come, come, settle down,” says Zach. “There must be some kind of mistake, Martha. I thought the points system didn’t allow for a tie?”

  “There was a point-zero-zero-three percent chance of a tie.”

  Aurora pats Larson on the shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. That’s higher odds than you getting married to Claire.”

  He laughs. “Have no fear. We’ve anticipated any outcome. In this case, we’ll simply go to the Likes, and let them decide.” He glances over one of the small screens near the main camera. “My. Would you look at those?” The Like Counter is burning up, clicking faster than I’ve ever seen it. “Martha, can you give us some live stats?”

  “Certainly, Zach. We are receiving nearly two million Likes per minute. The previous record, set by the high-speed car chase of actor Aidan Bailey and the Los Angeles Police in 2077, was one-point-four million. And the show, Zach…”

  “Yes?”

  “Officially this is the most watched television broadcast stream in history.”

  Larson’s eyes well up. He’s done it. Not stroke his own ego, though that was part of it surely, but no. He’s gotten the entire world interested in our journey. Our journey as a species to another world. They’re believers now, all of them. They can’t wait to see us succeed, and forge ahead in the spirit of discovery. (Either that, or they’ve tuned in to see if we get blown out of the sky by the U.S. Government.)

  I reach over and grab his elbow. “Zach. You did it.”

  “We.”

  He puts his arms around both of us and grins wide at the camera. “It’s been my honor and privilege to be your host, fellow Earthlings. And now you, mainlanders and Fillers, people of every stripe and walk of life, will decide who joins me on this journey, with a simple tap of a button.” He holds us a little tighter. “I welcome the winner of You’re Going to Mars!, with the most Likes, in three… two… one…

  And the monitors go black.

  64

  Did You Miss Me, Larson?

  The monitors spring back to life, but instead of the Likes Counter, they’re showing a face.

  Agent Burke.

  “Did you miss me, Larson?” He waves to the camera. “You’re crafty, Larson, I can’t even imagine how much it cost to get that encrypted communications array up and running, but we found it. We found it all, all the nooks and crannies. We’re shutting you down. If you dare to continue on this mission, you’ll be completely blind. No coms to Earth. For the entire trip. Nothing.”

  “You can’t!”

  “Watch me. You have five minutes to get everyone on a lifeboat, Larson. Goodbye.”

  The monitors go black one final time.

  “Skylar,” Larson shouts into a com, “get ready to release the lifeboat.” He turns to us. “Well, Paper, Aurora, we may never know who truly won the show. There is only one thing to do.”

  We say it together: “We’re not going home.”

  He laughs. “That’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say I think we have room for two.” The light twinkles in his eyes.

  “You have both won You’re Going to Mars!”

  It seems a little small, this celebration, without a single person on Earth watching; the Fillers didn’t get to see their representative take the main stage. I imagine they’ll be speculating about who won for weeks, or months even, assuming we make it back. With Skylar out at the lifeboat hatch, our only audience right now is Captain Daniels and Drew Innes. And Martha, I guess. She says, “Congratulations, Paper Farris. Congratulation, Aurora.” Daniels claps half-heartedly, sneering at Aurora, and gives Skylar the command to release the lifeboat.

  Out of the front window, we can see a mini-ship darting across space, arcing toward Earth, beginning to glow in the heat of the atmosphere.

  Skylar returns to the main cabin, and Zach motions us to our chairs. “Now. We won’t be able to communicate with Earth, at least until Martha can find us another satellite to hijack. But we’ve got everything we need for the trip. They thought they could stop us with a little blackout? That’s what we were supposed to be so scared of? Ha! I told y-”

  “Zach! Incoming!” Daniels is tapping his radar, as if he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

  Larson looks out the window. “My God. They weren’t bluffing.”

  These missiles, or whatever they are, streak past the ship. I want to jump out of the way, like I used to when my rocket experiments would return to Earth and try to kill me. But I’m strapped in, the harness strangling me, helpless. Two missiles, I think. They explode out of range of my sight through the front window.

  Zach exhales. “Ah. A warning shot. See? I knew they wouldn’t really-”

  “Two more, sir!”

  Martha speaks, and I don’t think I’m imagining a little panic in her voice. “Zach. Ninety-nine-point-three percent chance of a direct hit by at least one of the two incoming devices.”

  “I suppose I should stop making presumptions now. Martha, please evade.”

  “Evasive maneuvers commencing.”

  The thrusters ignite, and the ship rocks, creaking, clearly not designed to pitch and roll like a fighter jet. I look at Daniels’ hands, gripping his joystick for dear life- wait. Is he steering against Martha? Larson notices too. “Dan! What are you doing?!”

  Gritting his teeth against the strain, Daniels shouts, “Going to manual! I’ve got a thousand more flight hours than Martha!” He throws the High Heaven into a yaw-roll combination, increasing the thrust.

  Oh, yes. I’m definitely going to throw up now.

  The two missiles pass so close to the front window that if they were going slower I could read the lettering on the side. Daniels is clearly indulging his darkest murder-suicide fantasy.

  The missiles explode, much closer this time, and the High Heaven shudders like that old shed at home during a thunderstorm.

  Did I say throw up? I meant die. I’m definitely going to die now.

  65

  The Dream

  I’m about to dream.

  In exactly ten seconds, according to Martha.

  It’s an interesting feeling, that twilight between waking and sleeping and dreaming, here in the Term Sleep chamber. It’s cold, very cold, but warm at the same time, and memories and imaginings mingle in a confusing soup.

  I do remember the missiles as I drift off, that was real, we didn’t die after all, although the fear on all our faces was most certainly the look people have right before they perish. Daniels narrowly avoided a direct hit, and in a single combination righted the ship and sent us slingshotting out of orbit and towards Mars. I remember looking squarely into his eyes and wondering what he felt right then. Relief? Pride? Was he thinking about his kids? Was he angry at Larson? All of the above? But all he said was, “Quit looking at me, Farris,” so I guess that was that.

  It’s getting hard to focus, only a few seconds left.

  These Term Sleep chambers, three in each crew cabin, weren’t necessary for this voyage, it’s only three months until we reach Mars. But Larson is thinking very far ahead. He imagines voyages in the coming years far beyond Mars, where some form of hibernation will be required, lowering all metabolic processes to a minimum to protect crews from
radiation, muscle atrophy, and bone loss, and to keep costs down, and of course, the biggest benefit if you ask me: to prevent people trapped for long periods in a confined space from killing each other.

  As my body approaches 89 degrees, the cold and shaking is replaced with a strange calm. I remember Larson telling us they didn’t design Term Sleep to include dreaming, that it should have felt more like anesthesia, where one moment you’re awake, and the next moment you’re awake again but it’s months later. However, in all the testing, and they’ve been testing it for years, they’ve found vivid dreaming to be part of the experience. Larson’s psychologists hypothesized that humans might need the dreams, to…

  Nana.

  Is this real?

  She’s a young woman, toiling away in a greenhouse, tending to tobacco seedlings. She spies me in the doorway. I’m shaking. “Come! Come! You’ll catch your death of cold out there!”

  I’m next to her now. She hands me a dumpling on a plate. “Hungry?”

  “Ah, no, I’ll pass.”

  “You’ve always liked my dumplings before.”

  Okay, this is definitely not real. I’m dreaming.

  Now she’s showing me how to prepare the little tobacco plants for transplantation into the fields.

  “Tanner would love this.”

  “Who’s Tanner?”

  “Oh. Just a guy. You don’t know him.”

  She pats my hand. “It’s only a couple of weeks yet, after the frost, the machines will dig the holes of course, and take care of the rest, but this part needs the human touch. It’s the most important part. They’re becoming.”