Offworld

by Robin Parrish

  And then, with everyone's needs seen to, the strangest thing happened. Mae watched as her four newfound companions dispersed without exchanging any further words, each one going in opposite directions. It was as if each of them had retreated inward to some place deep inside. Each consumed by his or her own thoughts. She wondered if they had done this before. She gathered they'd spent a lot of time together on their big mission. Was this how they had always dealt with things while they were in space?

  They would probably be surprised, she thought, to know that she was observant enough to notice such details. She might not talk like them or think like them or act like them, but she understood them. She understood most everyone. And she always noticed the little things. She had a knack.

  Hours later, Mae was lying in a bed of her own, wondering if any of them had really gone to sleep. She heard creaks and bumps from elsewhere in the house, but that could've been the house just creaking and bumping the way buildings do.

  Or not.

  Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, while still staring at the drab ceiling, Mae's curiosity got the best of her.

  An ear to the next bedroom door over revealed sounds of movement. Mae knocked, and then opened the door, afraid that if she waited for permission to enter, it might never come.

  "Did I wake you?" Chris immediately said. The room he occupied appeared to be the house's master bedroom, with a canopy bed, meager walls lined with bookshelves, and an adjacent bath. It felt cozy, quaint.

  Yet Chris couldn't have been more out of place. His eyes were red and blotchy, shifting uncomfortably around the room. He was pacing, yet looked as if he could fall over unconscious at any moment. She had no idea what was feeding this strange behavior, but she still remembered what she'd seen him do at his father's house.

  "Wasn't sleepin'," Mae replied.

  "Hey, listen, I'm glad you're here.... I wanted to explain what you saw this afternoon."

  "Sorry," she said.

  "What?" he said, surprised.

  "Broke into your parents' place . .

  Chris let out a nervous breath. "That doesn't matter."

  Mae said nothing, watching his face, his body language. He looked like a coil wound exceptionally tight, something he buried with the others around. She wondered how he had gotten so far in his career while keeping powerful feelings and thoughts buried deep inside.

  `About what you saw .. " he began, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  "Was private," she said, shrugging.

  He sighed, eyeing her carefully. "Then you know that ... that rock was more than just a rock."

  "Gravestone," she replied. "Walked through the backyard before goin' inside, saw letters on the rocks. Didn't know what they meant, but figured after you showed up ... Sorry," she said again.

  "It's okay, I'm not upset with you. It's just ... it's complicated. My father and I ... It's a long story, and honestly I'm too tired to get into it now. What you saw was ... a moment of weakness. I would appreciate it if you kept it between us."

  "Don't like secrets," replied Mae matter-of-factly. "Keeping 'em don't never do nobody no good. But don't usually do no good telling 'em either."

  That seemed to satisfy him, so she turned to go.

  "Mae?" he called, and she stopped in the doorway. "What about you? Did you lose your family to-well, to whatever's happened?"

  She shook her head. "They was lost already." She didn't look back as she spoke, but there was no self-pity in her voice.

  He didn't come up with a response to that.

  She left and shut the door.

  At the foot of the stairs was another bedroom. From inside she heard a quiet sniffling and knew it had to be where Trisha had finally settled in. She thought of going inside and making sure Trisha was okay, but Trisha didn't seem to care for her, and whatever she was going through right now, it seemed to be intensely private.

  She kept on walking.

  Mae heard the tinny sound of a bouncing ball just outside the front door, so she investigated. She found Terry dribbling a basketball on the pavement to her right. An old hoop on a white pole was stuck into the ground on the far side of the driveway.

  Terry took a tired jump shot from outside an imaginary three-point line, and the ball bounced off the basket. He still looked pale-white as linen, really-from his ordeal.

  "Brick," Mae said. He hadn't noticed she was there.

  "Hey, keep it clown," he said, smiling as if to ease the admonishment. "If Trish realizes I'm out here, she'll skin me."

  Mae frowned.

  Terry almost laughed, but stopped short, clutching his chest and wincing. "Not literally. She just ... she kind of mothers me a little. I guess she does it to all of us."

  "How come?" Mae asked.

  "She's from a big family." He shrugged. "Sometimes I think she doesn't even know she's doing it."

  Mae looked around, breathing in the muggy night air and wondered what it'd be like to have a family. "It's late."

  "My legs were restless. Still feeling kinda numb, thought I'd give 'em a stretch."

  Terry took another shot and it ricocheted off the backboard, soaring in her direction. She picked it up as it rolled to her feet.

  "Oughta be sleepin'."

  "So should you," he noted. He rubbed again at the spot where the beam had pressed into him.

  "Pain bad?" asked Mae. She didn't move forward to offer comfort, but her voice wasn't entirely devoid of sympathy.

  He unbuttoned his short-sleeve shirt just enough to expose a bruise, running the central length of his chest.

  "Get you something," she said, making to go inside to retrieve some painkillers.

  "Hey, okay," he said, "you got me. The pain's not the only thing keeping me awake."

  She turned back and said nothing. Merely cast him a blank expression.

  "Everyone else has better reasons to be upset about all this than I do," he said slowly, looking down the street at nothing. "I do know that. I'm the only one who didn't have someone waiting for me to get back home. The others all have family, friends, loved ones."

  "You don't got friends?"

  "Oh, sure I have . . " He paused for a moment of reflection and then scrunched up his face. `Actually, I kinda have groupies. They keep me from being alone, but ..

  "No family neither?" she asked.

  "Nah. Beech has a wife and a son. Chris has friends and colleagues, and Trish has her gi-normous family. I'm sure they miss the people who care about them. So does it make me a terrible person that all I can think about is myself?"

  "Yep," she answered with conviction. He turned to her, shocked, but she gave just the barest hint of a smirk. He returned the gesture, his shoulders dropping at ease.

  "It's just ... after the whole 'buried alive' thing ... and looking around at our home, at where we are now, and what's happened ... I guess it's sinking in." He paused again, then faced her. "This isn't how it was supposed to be when we got back. There were going to be parades and stuff. Instead, it doesn't even feel like we're really here. Is home still home if nobody's there?"

  Mae tossed the ball to him and then gazed up at the overcast sky. "No stars out tonight," she said. "Don't mean they ain't there." She turned to go.

  "You know," said Terry, "astronauts are trained not to dwell on their feelings. They get in the way of the job. But for someone who doesn't say much, you got me talking about my feelings pretty quick."

  She shrugged and didn't look back.

  "Use your powers for good, not evil," he joked, calling out to her as she went inside.

  She heard him shoot the ball once more, but it must not have gone close to the rim.

  Nothing but air.

  Mae yawned as she entered the living room. Owen's bulky frame still sprawled over the couch. But he was awake. She took a seat in an armchair nearby, but he didn't acknowledge her entrance. He had the television on and was focused on it.

  "You feeling okay?"

  "No, I feel like a building
fell on me," he replied, without any trace of warmth.

  "What's that?" she asked, nodding at the TV.

  "Home video," he said, not looking her way. The video showed some sort of celebration. A child's birthday party, perhaps. She didn't examine it too closely, but Owen wouldn't stop watching it.

  "They the ones that lived here?"

  Owen nodded, ignoring her.

  "Terry said you got a kid, and a wife," Mae said. She thought she saw his jaw clench when she said it.

  Finally, he nodded. "I do. I left them. I went away, on a very important mission. For a long time. And now they've gone away. Maybe forever."

  She said nothing.

  He glanced at her and continued. "It's fitting. It's justice. I'm getting what I deserve."

  Mae cocked her head to one side. " 'Cause now you know how they felt."

  He turned to look at her, and it was an uncomfortable sensation. He wasn't merely regarding her, he was examining her like a specimen on a microscope slide. She'd already learned that he was extremely smart, and now he was bringing that intellect to bear on her. She didn't like it.

  She sighed and settled back into her seat. "What?" Mae asked, her voice a little louder than before.

  "What, what?" Owen replied.

  "Been watchin' me all day long, but never said nothing. So ... what?"

  Owen watched her, a look of curiosity or confusion on his face. "You're the fly in the ointment. There are so many things about this situation that make no sense. But you most of all. When I look at you, I see a giant, flashing question mark hovering over your head. And I can't answer it. Yet."

  "How come I'm still around?" said Mae.

  Owen made no movement to indicate an affirmative, but she knew she'd hit the bull's-eye.

  Already said ... Don't know why."

  And the whole Earth breathed a sigh of relief," he remarked melodramatically. "If you weren't involved in what happened to everyone, then it stands to reason that you would be more than a little curious as to why you are the only person still here that we know of. But I've yet to see even a trace of concern from you over this. Maybe you hide your feelings very well, maybe you're desensitized from living alone too long. Maybe you really do have no idea why you're still here. Or maybe ... you are somehow right at the heart of all of this. Either way, you're the fly in the ointment. I have spent considerable time over the last few years solving scientific mysteries, and you're next on the list. And I promise you, I will figure you out."

  Mae studied him, scouring every inch of his face. She was unmoved by his words. "Don't know me. Don't like me. Don't trust me." She wasn't frowning exactly, but her face became somehow more stern. `Just so happens ... been watching you too. On to you."

  Now she had his undivided attention.

  "You keep everybody away. Don't let nobody close-not even the ones you run with. They're used to you-don't even see it. I see it." She leaned forward in her seat and reduced her voice to just above a whisper. "Don't know what ... but you're hiding something. And it ain't nothing little."

  Owen returned his gaze to the television, very pointedly ignoring her.

  "Secrets is dangerous," she said, rising from her seat. "Awful lot of 'em in this house tonight."

  FIVE

  Get up, boy.!" Chris heard his father's voice, ringing in his ears. "Snap to!"

  Open your eyes, Chris. Open. Open.

  Come on, get up!

  With considerable effort, Burkeforced his eyes open, ficshting off an oppressive wave offatigue. He was lying flat, facedown on ... someth. ing. But there was no change when his eyes were open-everything was black, everywhere he looked. The taste of blood was on his tongue, and he felt sore all over.

  His arm sluggishly responded to his command to turn on his internal .helmet light. The dim fluorescent didn't provide much help. Next he activated the bright beam attached to one arm of .his space suit. He couldn't have much power left in the suit, but without getting a look at where he was, there was no chance of escape. Or rescue.

  Ground.

  He was lying on the ground. That wasn't really a surprise.

  But what ground? Where?

  And why was the ground so smooth?

  Very carefully, Burke raised himself to a seated position, resting on his knees. He used the beam to scan the immediate area and saw that the ground was indeed hard and very smooth. Almost polished in appearance.

  He shined the beam straight up and could see the hole that hed fallen through. It had to be over thirty feet away; he was lucky not to have broken anything. He turned the light o fbr a moment and gazed up through the small hole directly above. Even in the darkness he couldn't make out any stars.

  Had he really only fallen thirty feet?

  He brought the beam back to l fe, tracing it slowly down the walls on either side of this odd cave. At least he supposed it was a cave. What else could it be?

  The walls were as smooth as the ground. The ground and the walls weren't perfectly even-there were sizable bumps and grooves carved into them. But even these had the rounded off appearance of something that had been buffed or polished. There wasn't a sharp edge to be, jbund.

  The one truly positive thing he could say about this place was that it was considerably warmer down here than it was on the nighttime surface above. Though that was odd.

  Slowly, he stood. Checked the time. A little over an hour of oxygen remained in his suit.

  Well, if they couldn't pick up my signal before, they'll never hear it now.

  I'm dead. Rest in peace, Christopher Burke.

  When the flashlight's beam receded into the distance just ahead, he realized this was no cave.

  It was a tunnel.

  Of course! The answer came to him in a burst of insight. A lava tube ...

  Scientists had speculated for decades that empty lava tubes might stretch beneath the Martian surface, perhaps evidence of ancient volcanic activity. Photographic verification decades ago seemed to confirm it, but he and his crew hadn't had a chance to huntfbr any of the elusive chambers yet.

  I've just proven they exist!

  And ... no one ... will ever know.

  He scowled.

  Three cheers for me.

  JULY 6, 2033 DAY TWO

  Trisha awoke with great reluctance. Foggy and disoriented, she found herself in a strange bed and a strange room, listening to a strange song that had started playing by itself. She glanced at the clock beside the bed, which, like much of the decor in this tiny bedroom, was pink in color. It featured a holographic stream projected a few inches into the air above it, where a tiny pair of teen movie stars were singing and dancing on an invisible stage, to some insipidly cheerful pop tune about sunshine and "the best part of the day."

  She sat up and turned the ridiculous thing off. Ten o'clock in the morning. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept that late.

  Standing up, Trisha gazed in a mirror attached to the inside of the bedroom door. She barely recognized the all-but-dead person who looked back at her. Her hair was hanging down around her shoulders, instead of pulled back in her customary ponytail. She felt creases under her eyes that betrayed the crying she'd done both before falling asleep and after.

  And she was sore. So terribly sore.

  I'm off my routine. That's all. Need to get some good food, a little exercise. It'll make all the difference.

  Trisha did her morning stretches, starting with her legs and working up to her arms, shoulders, and finally the neck. Everything was stiffer than it had been in a long time, but even this routine seemed an annoyance. Why bother keeping up a strict, disciplined lifestyle if ... well, if things were what they now were.

  She zipped open the duffel bag she'd packed back at Kennedy and threw on some clothes. Wandering out of the room but wishing she'd stayed in bed, Trisha was unsurprised to find that all was quiet. Owen snored softly on the couch. Teriy was no doubt deeply asleep somewhere else. Chris wasn't in sight, though she already knew where he w
ould be right now. And Mae-well, she had no idea where Mae was, and couldn't bring herself to care.

  Trisha rubbed her eyes and shuffled into the kitchen, curious about what sort of breakfast foods might be found there. Her first thought was cereal, until she remembered that the world's entire stock of milk would have soured over a month ago. And with all of the animals gone, there was no way to get a fresh supply.

  That's so sad, she thought, fighting the urge to give up and slink back to bed. I really miss milk.

  The mineral supplement NASA had developed for them to drink while on Mars to help their bones and muscles resist breaks and atrophy may have been white and thick, but it just wasn't the same.

  She searched the cupboards and the foul-smelling refrigerator, hoping to supplement what they'd salvaged yesterday. It wasn't long before she was making a little too much noise, slamming doors in weariness and frustration, while under her breath asking the universe why she was always the one who did these kinds of things. She didn't want to be the mom of the group.

  From seemingly out of nowhere, Mae appeared just outside the kitchen.

  "Need help?" she asked, yawning.

  Trisha didn't meet the girl's eyes. "No. Thanks."

  Mae walked away without comment.

  Trisha frowned. Why am I being so snotty to her? She didn't do anything.

  That we know of.

  Toast was out of the question; there was no such thing as fresh bread. As she settled on some frozen waffles in the freezer, Chris jogged through the open front door, wearing an oversized hockey jersey and a pair of mesh basketball shorts. She figured it was the only gym-wear he could find in the house. He was sweating but smiling, hands on his hips as he caught his breath, clearly enjoying the endorphin high of his morning run.

  "Good morning," he said cheerily.

  "That's debatable." She yawned and pushed her hair behind her ears. "Sleep any? I sure didn't."