The Colonists (The Movement Trilogy)

by Jason Gurley

• • •

  Amaterasu stretches out in the grass and giggles.

  It's tickly, she says.

  Grandfather is stretched out beside her, arms crossed behind his white hair. Above them, the glass dome seems to touch the pale yellow Martian sky above Olympus City. Within the dome are trees and grasses and flowers, all cultivated from seeds originated from Earth which was.

  Did you ever wonder why this place is called the Earth Room, Ammie? Grandfather asks.

  Amaterasu shakes her head.

  It's because the grass we're lying on comes from Earth originally, he says. And those trees, they once lived on Earth, too. Does that make you wonder anything about Earth?

  These are plants, Amaterasu says, running her fingers through the glass.

  Yes.

  Plants are alive, she says.

  Yes, they are.

  So if they were once on Earth -- that means Earth has life?

  Yes, Grandfather says. Can I tell you a story?

  I love your stories, Grandfather.

  Grandfather turns on his side, and Amaterasu mimics him.

  Once, Grandfather says, there was absolutely nothing at all.

  Nothing at all?

  Nothing, he says. No system. No planets. No sun. There weren't any stars. There wasn't a Mars, and Olympus City didn't exist. Pure, utter, complete nothing.

  Nothing, Amaterasu repeats.

  And then one day, everything exploded.

  What exploded? she asks.

  Nothing, he says.

  But you said everything did.

  Nothing exploded and created everything, he says. Do you understand?

  No, she admits.

  It's okay. I don't really, either. But listen what happened next.

  Okay, she says, scooting in close.

  All of that nothing exploded, and there was a lot of dust and stuff floating around. And some of it got stuck together, and then more of it got stuck together, and it started to turn into things.

  What kind of things?

  Oh, you know. Planets and stars and stuff.

  What? Really?

  Oh, yes, Grandfather says. This is all very accurate.

  I don't believe you.

  That's because you've been sheltered from the truth, he whispers.

  Like in the broadcasts! she says.

  Like in the broadcasts, he says.

  Then what happened? she asks.

  Well, all of those planets sort of grouped up together, and made systems. Our system has thirteen planets, but some have just two or three, and some have hundreds.

  Wow, she says. Then what?

  Then a lot of time passed, he says. And the same thing happened, but on a much, much, much, much smaller scale. Remember how all the stuff came together and made planets?

  Yes, Amaterasu says.

  Well, a lot of smaller stuff came together and made life, Grandfather explains. And that life started really, really small and simple. But then, as a lot of time went by, it started to get more and more interesting. And eventually, do you know what happened?

  Amaterasu shakes her head.

  Some of that simple life turned into very complex life, he says. And that's where we came from. So in a way, you could say that you and the sun are cousins.

  Amaterasu laughs and claps her hands. Tell me more!

  Well, when we first showed up, we lived on the planet Earth, Grandfather says. And we were pretty helpless at first, but we got better and better at things. We figured out tools, and we figured out fire, and we figured out how to eat other things to stay alive, and we learned how to make babies and --

  How do you do that? Amaterasu asks.

  Grandfather smiles. Maybe that part we'll tell a little later, he says. But for now -- we got better at being alive. And then we learned how to build things, like houses and towns and cities. And then we started making vehicles, like little things called automobiles that rolled around on the ground very fast, and other things, called aeroplanes, that soared around in the sky, also very fast. And do you know where all of that happened?

  On Citadel Meili? Amaterasu asks.

  Oh, no, Grandfather says. All of this happened on Earth.

  But Miss Hamu says --

  Oh, never mind what Miss Hamu says. Let me tell you very simply what happened. Okay?

  Okay.

  You trust me? You know I wouldn't lie to you?

  I trust you, Amaterasu says.

  For a long time, Grandfather explains, we were really good at being impolite to one another, we humans. We did bad things like kill each other, and enslave each other, and lie to each other. But after awhile we learned how to be bad to the Earth, too, and we started to really mess things up. You could almost say that we broke the Earth. Ruined it.

  Then what?

  Well, then we had to leave, because it got really hard to stay alive on Earth. Things weren't good. Do you know where we went?

  Amaterasu shakes her head.

  Of course you do, Grandfather says. We went to space, and we lived on big space stations, and that's where Citadel Meili came from. We built it. And do you remember how I told you that once upon a time humans did bad things to each other, about how they used to enslave each other? Do you know what that means?

  It means that some people made other people do things they didn't want to do, she says.

  That's about the sum of it, Grandfather says. Well, little girl, that's where we are right now. Do you know that?

  Amaterasu says, We're enslaved, aren't we, Grandfather.

  Grandfather nods. We are. And that's why you aren't supposed to listen to your broadcasts at night, or talk about them at school, or go places you aren't supposed to go.

  Like the Earth Room, she says.

  Well, we're lucky, you and me, because I've been a Machiner for a very, very long time, Grandfather says. And I've saved up some credits that mean we get to be in here for a little while longer. It's pretty nice, isn't it?

  It's really nice, she says.

  Earth was really like this once, you know?

  It must have been special, she says. Did you ever live there?

  Oh, no, Grandfather says. I'm very old, but not that old.

  • • •

  The afternoon shift changes are happening when Grandfather and Amaterasu make their way back into the corridors. More tired Machiners trudge by.

  Grandfather, Amaterasu says, tugging at his hand.

  Yes, dear.

  When I grow up, can I not be enslaved?

  He feels a pang in his chest, and he says, I hope so, Ammie. I really do.

  Oh, good, she says.

  They walk along a little while longer, and Grandfather fights the urge to cry once again.

  He loses.

  • • •

  When dinner has been eaten and the dishes have been cleared, Amaterasu announces that she is going to bed.

  Grandmother says, Don't you want to watch the stories with us tonight?

  No, thank you, Amaterasu says. I'm tired. I think I'll go to sleep.

  Grandmother gives Grandfather a knowing look.

  Okay, dear, Grandmother says. We'll be along to check on you soon.

  Yes, ma'am. Goodnight.

  Goodnight, Ammie, Grandfather says.

  The little girl skips to her room, and Grandmother says, You didn't have the talk with her, did you.

  I did, Grandfather says.

  And did she understand?

  She seemed to, he says. She's young, so she may need that childlike optimism crushed out of her yet, but she seemed to understand that she can't listen to the broadcasts anymore.

  Grandmother stacks the dishes on the washing counter and puts her hands on her hips.

  She'd better learn that lesson, she says. I won't have a granddaughter who dreams. Or a husband, for that matter. Oh, don't look at me like that. I know you better than you think.

  Grandfather opens his mouth to speak, but a terrible tremor shakes the compartment, and
he grabs the wall for balance.

  Grandmother trips into the wall and almost falls over.

  My, she cries.

  Are you okay? Grandfather asks.

  Grandmother dusts herself off. I think so, she says.

  I'm going to check on Ammie, he says.

  But Amaterasu comes out of her room and sobs, Grandfather, Grandfather, and throws herself into his arms.

  It was just a shimmy, he says. No need to worry, my dear.

  No, Amaterasu cries. No, it's not a shimmy.

  She holds up her screenview.

  Grandmother's eyes narrow, and she says, Didn't I tell you not to --

  Another tremor rocks the compartment, and this time the dishes slide off of the counter and onto the floor. The table bounces across the room, and the chairs overturn.

  Jesus, Grandfather says. What's going on?

  Amaterasu holds up the screenview and says, Listen, listen.

  Grandmother steps around the toppled chairs and reaches for the device.

  If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, she says.

  But Grandfather lifts the device out of Amaterasu's hand and away from Grandmother, who scowls up at him.

  No, he says. Listen to the child for once.

  He scoops up Amaterasu into his arms, and they watch the screenview while Grandmother mutters and stomps back into the kitchen.

  My god, Grandfather says.

  Grandmother turns and says, What are you complaining about now?

  And the compartment caves in with a burst of sparks.

  • • •

  Grandfather and Amaterasu run.

  Grandmother! Amaterasu screams. Grandfather, go back, go back!

  But he clutches the girl to his chest and runs out of the compartment and into the hallway, where hundreds of people have spilled, their hair and skin and clothes scorched and dusty. Their screams become a quilt of noise, and Amaterasu covers her ears with her hands and screams herself.

  Grandfather runs as hard as he can, pushing through the crowd, turning his shoulder into them, ignorant of their wounds or their cries. He can only think of escape, only of protecting his granddaughter.

  The residential corridors are burning, the glass shells smeared with soot and full of fissures. If the glass were to break, he knows, the entire wing would depressurize, and everybody inside would asphyxiate. So he runs harder, feeling the ache in his knees turn into a fire.

  They emerge in the plaza, and the scale of the damage becomes more apparent. Entire segments of the city are crushed and burning, and dust fills the air. He can hear the awful whistling sound that means that, somewhere, the protective seals around their segment have been punctured, and so he begins to run again.

  Behind them, the whistle sharpens and turns into a scream and then a groan, and he feels a terrible tug on his clothing as the punctured seals collapse and the oxygen is sucked out of the structure.

  Hang on, Ammie, he wheezes, and he ducks around a corner and throws open a hatch, not knowing where it might lead, knowing only that to stay here means death for both of them.

  Hang on, he says again, and steps through, yanking the hatch closed behind them.

  • • •

  It is dark, but there are fireflies, and the air smells sweet.

  Grandfather, Amaterasu whispers, and he is relieved to hear her voice at all.

  His eyes adjust, and he exhales the breath he has been holding. The Earth Room swims up out of the darkness. Pale blue grass and ghostly trees surround him, and the dome above is intact. The sun is absent, the golden sky now black, and he feels -- if not safe, at least mildly comforted.

  Is Grandmother alright? Amaterasu asks.

  Grandfather kneels in the grass and sets his granddaughter down.

  I don't think so, he says, and he holds her close.

  Something bad is happening, isn't it, she says.

  Something awful, he says.

  Will we be okay?

  Of course, he says. Of course we'll be okay.

  He wants to tell her that she has her whole life ahead of her. That one day she can be whatever she wants to be. But he can't, because he knows that she will never be allowed to be anybody she wishes. She is Machine. She is static.

  So he holds Amaterasu close and feels her bury her head in his neck and cry.

  And he looks up, over her soft hair, and sees streaking fire in the dark Martian sky above the dome. It comes down fast, like rain, and when it kisses Mars the city buckles and comes apart like twigs, and Grandfather presses his face into Amaterasu's hair and holds her tighter than he ever has before, and then it is over.

  HATSUYE

  Deimos

  Hatsuye washes the dishes.

  Here she is known as Linset.

  Linset washes the dishes.

  The rims of the bowls are crusted with soot and grime. The handles of each utensil, smeary with grease. The coffee cups are patterned with black fingerprints. The sludge is not easy to remove, but Linset scrubs, holding the dishes firmly in her prosthetic hand. The motors inside her fingers tick and buzz. She can feel them, but the sounds aren't audible to anyone but her.

  Even she can't hear them. She can only sense their vibrations.

  Her fingers are like mechanical vises.

  In the mess hall outside she can hear the clogged throats and sinuses of the miners. They breathe like windows not firmly shut. Air wheezes in. Acrid air wheezes out. Their faces are thick with black dust. The dust clings to any new surface like glue. When they touch their faces, the dust leaps onto their fingers, leaving a dusky bare spot on their cheeks.

  The sound of the miners choking away makes Linset choke a little, too.

  She wonders: if she changes her name enough times, will she one day forget her given name.

  And so, as she scrubs and scrubs, she chants inside of her mind.

  Hatsuye.

  Hatsuye.

  Hatsuye.

  Hot sue yay.

  Hatsuye.

  Haaaatsuye.

  When she is relieved, she bows to her replacement, and walks barefoot to the kitchen. The food parcels are emptied onto plates and into bowls. Today the choices are carrot stew or beet salad. Hatsuye thinks of her traveling partner, asleep in their compartment, and takes two bowls of stew.

  She carries a tray through the kitchen, scooping up two cups of water as she goes.

  The kitchen is automated, but the machinery clogs daily with grime, and as Hatsuye exits, she hears the familiar chunk-chunk of the parcel line shutting down. The line attendant grumbles to his feet, wakened from a nap, and bangs on the machine with his palm. He spies Hatsuye as she slips away, and thinks of ordering her to help him.

  Something in her eyes suggests otherwise, and he closes his mouth.

  Hatsuye carries the tray through the mining station. It's a long way from the mess to the compartments, but she walks without complaining. The soles of her feet will be black by the time she reaches her quarters.

  She crosses the starbridge without pausing to admire the view, though at this time of evening, the mining station has turned toward the moon below. The hundreds of drilling rigs pulse and glow blue against the pitch sky. From here, thousands of miles above the surface, the rigs are silent. But on the surface, their clatter is cacophonous and muted, as if booming from deep beneath a sea. The rigs are connected by rail to a constantly-active processing hub. The hub is recessed into the surface of Deimos, and is open to the dark sky. From orbit, the hub looks like the socket of a missing tooth.

  On the far side of the starbridge, a man in a linen robe holds up a large screenview. The words on the glass read:

  WE ARE TERMITES

  The man's face pleads with each passerby.

  Hatsuye doesn't meet his eyes, but he speaks to her anyway.

  Deimos is being consumed by human greed, he cries. By the time my children are grown, it will be gone. We will have forever altered our system.

  He turns away from her
, and pleads with the next man.

  Please, he says. Please stop destroying Deimos.

  Hatsuye steps into a descent well, and lightly floats down, out of sight of the protestor.

  She sinks, directed downward by gentle waves that pulse through the gravity-free well, until she reaches the residence sub-level. Her assigned quarters are close to the wells, and Hatsuye presses her fingertips onto the pattern lock pad in sequence.

  The door opens, and she enters.

  • • •

  The doom guy is still there, Hatsuye says.

  You say that every day, comes a reply from the bed.

  The worst part is, he's completely right, Hatsuye says. It kills me. I want to talk to him and say, I get you, I'm with you, man. But I can't. He's right, though. The moon is practically dissolving in front of us. Every day they remove hundreds of tons from the core. I don't think he's right about the timing, though. He says fourteen years. I don't think he's taking into account the orbit. At some point, Deimos is going to destabilize, and drop onto Mars like --

  Like a moon dropping onto Mars. I know, it's terrible. I'm sorry. I want to be supportive of your anger right now, but all I want to do is take these fucking bandages off --

  No, Hatsuye says. You mustn't.

  The person on the bed groans. I can't stand them. I want to rip them off.

  They stay on. We don't know if the room is monitored.

  Hatsuye, her companion says.

  Linset. Get it together, Murray. Bandages stay on. We use the right names. If you give us up this early, so help me, I will --

  Stop it, Murray says. I get it. Okay? I get it. But next time, you're wearing the goddamned disguise. And I'm going to soak it in pepper sauce before you put it on.

  Agreed. I brought food.

  Oh, good, Murray says, sitting up. What is it?

  Carrot stew.

  They don't serve anything else on this shitbox, do they? Carrot stew. Carrot stew. Every day, it's carrot stew.

  Or beet salad.

  Worse, Murray says. Fine. I'll eat it. I'm going to turn orange, though. When you take these bandages off and I'm a carrot, don't be surprised.

  I'll visit the supply lounge tomorrow, Hatsuye says. See when they're expecting more food shipments.

  Mars is orange because it's covered with carrots. Carrot planet. Let's blow it up and create a new asteroid belt made of carrot chunks.