Mother of Mars (Whispers of A Planet Book 1)

by Sean Clark

“Something is telling me that I want to go home. I know I can’t though. I’ve invested too much of myself into this. Years of my life training to be here, so much sacrificed, and many months at work. That’s part of me that’s gone into this place. Now I’ve heard about everything that’s been in the works since I’ve been out, and it seems I’ve just been left behind. Somehow, I need to come back, I need to redeem myself. Can you grant me that chance, Sir?”

  “Well, well.” Cassius says, smacking his lips. “Agrippa here says you’re unfit to work.”

  “I’ve explained sir, even if his sight returns, there are other issues that concern me.” Agrippa seems to taunt. “It’s impossible to tell at this point, but if some sort of post-traumatic stress manifests, Cecil could end up endangering himself or others.”

  Cecil grits his teeth. Sweat gathers around his collar, and the heat of the room beats down on the exposed skin of his face.

  Cassius clears his throat loudly. “What evidence do you have to back this up Agrippa? I’m weighing the cost of sending him home versus the risk of such a thing happening. Not that we expect anything to happen, Ruiz.” Cassius adds, switching his focus to Cecil.

  “Cassius, Sir.” Agrippa addresses him. “Both the nurse who has been overseeing Ruiz, and one of my subordinates have noted Cecil’s behavior and told me to keep an eye out on him.”

  “What do you have to say about that, Ruiz?” The commander questions.

  “Answer truthfully, Cecil.” Agrippa insists.

  Still posing with hands at his side, Cecil can feel himself trembling in place. He senses the words directed at him, but they fail to process in his mind. The hum in his ears makes it hard to concentrate.

  Cecil.

  An indistinct voice speaks out to him, entering his brain. “Who’s that, calling my name just now? Quit hounding me.” Cecil grinds his teeth, swinging his head back and forth.

  “What are you on about?” Cassius asks incredulously. “We simply asked you a question, Ruiz. Are you unable to answer?”

  “Cecil, please.” Agrippa seems to beg.

  “Just shut the fuck up, would you.” Cecil snaps, swinging his arm in the direction of Agrippa. His hand swishes through the air harmlessly, but he can hear footsteps clatter out of the way.

  Cecil.

  The voice calls out his name again, whispering in almost a taunting way. Cecil spins around, searching for the source. “What the fuck are you doing?” Cassius screams.

  Cecil turns quickly on his feet, heart racing. The hum of the computers is near deafening. Before he can react, someone rams into his chest, almost knocking him off balance. Pushing back, the attacker recoils. Loud footsteps approach him, rattling the floor panels, before slamming into him with a pile of muscle and bulk. Cecil tumbles to the floor, and a pair of arms lock him in a half nelson.

  “Get off me.” Cecil struggles, the forearm pressing his head down towards his chest.

  “Cecil, Cecil.” Agrippa’s voice speaks sternly in his ear. “Stop. Stop now. I don’t want to hurt you.” All strength leaving his body, Cecil’s heart pounds with a few last bursts of adrenaline. He takes in deep, strained breaths. “Do you see now?” Agrippa directs his comment at Cassius.

  “Christ, Ruiz.” Cassius exclaims, cracking his knuckles loudly. “If you hadn’t just come out of a coma, we would have had a real problem. I see what we’re dealing with now.” The chair creaks as the large man returns to take his seat.

  Agrippa, tangled with Cecil on the floor, releases his grip slowly, and Cecil moves to rub his neck. The old man scrambles to his feet with a strained groan before offering his hand down to Cecil. Feeling Agrippa’s hand against his, Cecil allows himself to be pulled up.

  “Are you calm now, Ruiz?” Cassius growls. “Whatever, I have my answer. I really wanted to keep you around, but it seems I can’t do that now. Do you have anything you want to say before I kick your ass off this planet, Ruiz?”

  “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.” Cecil mumbles under his breath.

  “Cecil, it’s going to be okay for you back on Earth.” Agrippa attempts to console him. “When you get home, you’ll get better medical care and a place where you can be useful again. We’ll make sure it all gets arranged for you. Go off and get some rest, and I’ll catch up with you later so we can discuss this… incident.”

  Agrippa places his hand on Cecil’s shoulder, turning him around towards the back wall. Cecil can hear the door open again, and a hand on his back pushes him outside. The door closes behind him without another word from either of the men.

  Cecil stands unable to move, dumbfounded. Feeling at his neck, it is sore from the lock Agrippa had put him in. His teeth continue to sink into his lip, and his hand starts to strain, bunched up in a fist. Breathing in deeply from his nose, he swings his fist back, sending it flying into the wall in front of him. It bounces off an aluminum panel, crinkling it ever so slightly. His hand recoils in a sharp pain.

  Moping, he clumsily slides his hand along the wall. His legs feel weak underneath his body weight, and he imagines the old sleeping quarters and his bunk. Under his feet, he begins to feel the worn-down areas of the corridor inside the more active areas of the base, around where much of the crew hangs out in the few times after duty. He comes to a corner that he seemed to remember always passing, right before heading into the quarters. He takes a few unguided steps forward and reaches out. The door frame greets his fingertips.

  The door is slightly ajar as usual, left open a crack so people could come and go without disturbing those who were sleeping. As he steps inside he hears the regular breathing of people asleep in their bunks. Cecil figures most people are sleeping in between shifts and nobody would be awake for a few hours. Carefully he moves along the bunks to the third row where he remembers his bed being. Plopping down on the rough blanket, the bed is made just as he had left it, almost three months ago… although for Cecil it feels like only a few days had passed. There is a folded piece of paper on his pillow, a letter. He would have to have someone read it to him later when one of them was awake. He shoves it under his pillow without a second thought.

  Cecil lay down on top of the covers. The feeling of the cramped bunk is nostalgic and somewhat comforting. Feelings of anger still dancing in his mind, he lays down uncomfortably before finally drifting off to sleep.

  Letter from Earth

  Cecil awakes to a buzzing in his ears and a feeling he had forgotten possible… an appetite. Laying atop the rough wool covers on the bunk, he can feel a chill on his skin. The room seems to be illuminated and there is a commotion of people. He sits up with a grunt.

  “Whoa! Hey guys, guess who’s up?” An excited shout comes from nearby. Before Cecil can orient himself on the bed, he hears a mass of footsteps scuttling towards him.

  “You disappear for months, then one day we come back to see you here asleep in bed. We thought we were looking at a ghost.”

  “Is that really you Ruiz?” Says another voice. “You look… worse for wear. How are you doing?”

  Cecil groggily nudges the small group away from his bunk, saying nothing. He keeps his head down, hoping to guard his face away from view. “I’m alive, I guess.” He says, hesitantly, mustering up a small laugh. Shakily, he gets to his feet. He can hear the others slowly back away from him as he holds on to the top bed frame for balance. Someone plants an overly ambitious pat on his back. Flinching, he hangs onto the bed frame tighter. The room slowly goes silent.

  “So, what’s next for you, Ruiz? That ship is preparing to leave soon. Rumor is that you’re… leaving.” There are a few sounds of agreement. Cecil remains silent and keeps his head down.

  Another speaks up. “Cassius was pissed when you got put out of commission. Not like he could do anything about it, considering your uhm… condition. He couldn’t force you to go home now, could he? You must be eager to get back to work, too, huh Cecil?”

  Cecil balls up his fist. Still hanging onto the bed with the opposite hand,
he reaches out in front of him. He grabs at someone’s partially unzipped collar, and guides his hand up to the man’s shoulder. They flinch slightly. Cecil hesitates, and then pulls away. He finds himself holding his breath, clenching his jaw tight.

  “That’s not an option.” Cecil sighs. “I’ve lost my vision. I can’t work here. Cassius told me that I’m a liability.” Cecil continues to look downwards, shaking his head. “I’m just here to give my farewells.”

  The room goes silent once more. Someone finally speaks up. “Well, we can’t have your last memory of this place just you feeling sorry for yourself.” They announce. “Let’s get some food and tell him some of the stories from all the time he’s been away.”

  A few men grunt in agreement. Cecil feels anxious, but his stomach growls impatiently. He plants his feet in a wide stance on the ground and relaxes his grip on the bed frame, nodding his head. “Cecil?” Someone says, nudging him.

  “Sounds great, I’m starving.” He tries his best to put on a smile.

  The group files out of the room, and Cecil feel around the maze of beds, following the sound of the footsteps. Stopping to gain his bearings, he finds someone behind him, their hand ready at his shoulder to help him along. There is some chatter among the men, but Cecil filters it out. All of the voices sound remotely familiar, but he never had much of a chance to talk with them outside of meals.

  “The harvest this time has at least 50% more flavor they say.”

  “What does that even mean? Flavor isn’t just something you can quantify like that.”

  The clatter of the dining hall draws closer. Cecil continues to drag along behind the group, and eventually through the line to grab food. The cold, smooth food tray is put into his hands, and then is laden down with whatever food they chose to slop onto it. Like usual there is no discernible smell.

  Cecil is lead along to a table, where he moves to sit down. Some conversation is sent in his direction, but he ignores it while starting to shovel food into his mouth. The substance is overcooked, plain and having a texture like spoiled yoghurt, but the feeling of it entering his stomach is comforting. The rest of the meal is inhaled in due order.

  With a full stomach the cloudiness in Cecil’s mind lifts. He focuses on the chatter of the men around him, all talking pleasantly. Leaning his head against his palm, he tries to filter it out the noise, almost obnoxious. Feeling starts to return to his legs, and the headache to which he had been accustomed begins to fade away. Cecil clears his throat loudly, feeling as if he wanted to respond. The other’s conversation grinds to a halt. “I know as a group, none of us are very close, but… thank you for welcoming me back like a friend. That means a lot to me.”

  The person next to him grabs his shoulders playfully to shake him back and forth. “This place sucks anyways. You’ll get on much better back there on Earth.”

  People start to clatter their trays around and prepare themselves to leave. Cecil waits until someone grabs his shoulder to follow them out.

  Carefree, the others discuss plans for the day on the way back to the quarters. They enter and Cecil finds his way back to his bunk where he plops down lazily. He hears paper crunch as he leans down on the pillow to rest is head.

  “Oh… right.” Cecil exclaims, sitting back up. The others go silent. He fishes under his pillow to find the note that had become slightly crumpled. “I found this on my bed when I came back earlier. Could… anyone read it?”

  Cecil holds up the note and it is pulled from his fingers. “Is aloud alright?”

  Cecil nods. “I can’t imagine what it could be about though. Can’t hurt, I guess.” He hears the paper rustle as it is unfolded. The reader swallows loudly.

  “To: Cecil Ruiz

  We regret to inform you of the passing of your mother, a Mrs. Maria Ruiz. We offer our condolences in the time of your loss.”

  The cold, brief message rings in Cecil’s ears. He feels a knot form in his throat.

  “Oh Christ. Cecil… I don’t know what to say.” The same voice follows up. Cecil doesn’t respond, hanging his head down at the ground.

  His chest shudders as he tries to draw in a deep breath. “Mother…” He whimpers, swallowing hard. His eyes burn and nose prickles uncomfortably. He slips off the bunk and lands on his knees with a loud clunk. Buckling over with his hands falling on the ground, the hard impact sends a jolt of pain up from his wrists. His stomach gurgles and twists. Before he can restrain himself, his stomach proceeds to release its contents onto the floor in convulsions making his back arch. He finally collapses into the puddle, unconscious.

  Rebuilding

  Cecil awoke, laid back in a familiar position. His head throbs once again in a dull pain. Attempting to prop himself up with his arm, he discovers an IV lodged in his vein, jabbing at the muscle tissue. He twists around and pushes himself to sit on the side of the bed, finding himself draped in another hospital gown.

  “You’re up? Good.” A man’s voice projects at him from across the room.

  “Nurse?” Cecil says faintly.

  “That’s me.” Says the same voice again. “You go without eating proper solid food for months, and you expect you can scarf down a bunch of crap just like that? What are you, a kid at an amusement park?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never been to an amusement park.” Cecil explains calmly.

  “What, your parents didn’t love you?” The nurse says sarcastically. The hair on Cecil’s neck stands up. He silently lays back down, wishing for the other nurse to there.

  The man continues without skipping a beat. “That IV is just for fluids. You’re dehydrated and your blood sugar is pretty low. I think you’ll make it though.” The nurse’s footsteps come towards him and Cecil’s arm is grabbed up roughly. The nurse ungracefully wraps it in a blood pressure gauge, giving it a few good squeezes. Cecil feels the band tighten and release.

  “Well, your blood pressure is back to normal, if not a bit high.” The nurse speaks, causing Cecil to grind his teeth. The Velcro of the cuff rips open loudly as he removes it from Cecil’s arm. “Once you feel good enough, you can take out the IV yourself and leave. Just clamp it up so it doesn’t drip everywhere. Oh yeah, here’s a change of uniform, the one you came in had vomit all over it.” Cecil feels the set of clothes be plopped down on the foot of his bed. “Be sure to thank those guys who brought you in, they are probably still cleaning up your mess right now.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Cecil says coldly. Sitting there quietly, he thinks about what the letter had said. He thinks back to the words in his own letter, the one he had made the nurse write down for him days before. He wonders if the nurse knew of the death, and was humoring him. Cecil grips tightly onto the blankets tucked under the sides of the mattress. He thinks about crying but doesn’t want to give the nurse any more chances to pick on him. He exhales a long, shuddering breath, mind jumping around to various scenarios.

  How did she die? Who was taking care of her things? How long ago did it happen? Did she learn about the accident? Before more thoughts can jump into his head, he takes a deep breath, attempting to block them out of his mind. Focusing on the rhythm beating away in his chest, he can feel the cold liquid from the IV invading the vein in his arm. The bitter taste in his mouth lingers. He swallows hard, and his ears pop.

  Cecil calmly picks at the corner of the tape from the tubing stuck to his arm. Peeling it off, he carefully slides the needle out of his flesh with a sharp pain. He grits his teeth and applies pressure with his thumb onto the spot to keep it from bleeding. Pushing himself off the bed, he plants his feet on the ground. His knees feel slightly weak and threaten to give way but he stands strong. Sliding off his hospital gown, he exchanged it with the coveralls, stepping into them and stretching them up over his shoulders. The zipper gives a satisfying rip as he pulls it up to his neck. Without another word from the nurse, he walks to the door, opening it, heading down the hallway towards station control, something burning in his heart.

  A large ruckus s
ignals to Cecil that he is close. Even outside the door he hears the Commander on a tirade. With a quick press to the hand sensor, the door slides open and he can hear another voice, faintly familiar. Cassius is in a yelling match with someone over the communications. Cecil ponders how many people out on shift are having their eardrums shattered.

  Considering stepping out, Cecil takes a quick step back but it is too late. “Ruiz, what the fuck are you doing here?!” Cassius screams. “After your show last night, you dare to bring your sorry ass in here again?”

  Still standing in the doorway, Cecil puts his hand in front of the door to keep it from sliding closed, preparing himself to back out. “Did you know about my mother?” He announces boldly.

  “That is a non-issue Ruiz. You would have been debriefed when the time came, now get out!” Cassius seethes.

  “It’s an issue to me. You didn’t even tell me when I was here yesterday.”

  “I can’t dick around trying to remember every little bit of information. I’ve got bigger things to deal with.”

  “Is that Cecil? He’s up now?” The raging voice comes over communications again. “Why has nobody informed me? He’s one of mine after all.” The man sounds faintly familiar to Cecil, and it lacks any tone sounding remotely patient.

  “Keep him out of this. He isn’t to be involved right now.” Cassius growls. “And no, there is nobody else I can send over there right now. The ship needs to be ready to launch before our window of opportunity closes. We’re stretched thin enough.”

  “You don’t think it’s the same here?” The radio complains. “I’m telling you if we don’t get the system up and running soon, we’re going to have to finish it all up on solar. We’re almost through all of our rationed fuel for the generators. You can’t even begin to comprehend how much longer that would take then.” Cassius stomps around upon being belittled.

  Cecil lets go of the door to step inside, finally recognizing the source of the voice. The entrance whooshes closed automatically. “Martin? Is that you? What’s going on?”