by Maggie Allen
“As if it’s ever just one,” Papa said, shaking his head. “Well, we’re due for a full sealant inspection anyway.”
Nara closed the equine anatomy charts, her eyes already taking in the nearest scrap pile and a stout piece of pipe ideal for a femur. Mama and Papa’s chatter faded. She tapped her fingers along the tablet, already picturing a horse of her own, programmed to nuzzle her shoulder and nicker in greeting.
Papa was wrong. Balancing the mass would be easy. The artificial intelligence could be adapted from existing programs. Realism was the issue. A glossy hair coat, a trailing mane and tail, the musty smell described in the old books she’d read.
Her biggest problem was… she might never know if she got it right.
Nara’s boots thudded along the elevated boardwalk, her breaths rasping through her mask. She couldn’t be late for her one day of physical attendance in school for the week. Papa had already threatened to dismantle the horse if her grades dropped again. A fiend beetle crunched underfoot in a muddle of juices and grit.
So far, beetles were one of the few things that could survive unaided on the Martian surface. Scientists hailed it as a landmark of the terraforming process. Nara crushed the bugs as a hobby.
Six months of work and the skeleton was complete. Most of the nerve structure as well. She had stayed up late working on the wiring in the neck and reins, connecting them to the processors in the makeshift brain. The skin was next on the agenda. Papa had suggested she use a thin alloy, the sort used for biometric floors. That way it could be programmed to respond to heel touches and shifts in weight.
She shoved through several sets of doors to enter the dome. A dozen beetles tried to follow, the floor vents sending them rolling like tumbleweeds in an old movie. The next two doors repeated the process and secured behind her. Nara disengaged the breathing apparatus from her mask and took in a deep breath of recycled air. For all the inconvenience of living beyond the dome, she preferred it to the tight confines of the city with its block-stacks of buildings and stale stink.
She slid into her cubicle just as the bell rang. Her friend, Chu, nodded from the adjoining side. Nara set her tablet in its cradle and grimaced. Another day wasted in school when she could be working on her horse instead.
Throughout mathematics and mineral sciences, she let her fingers busy themselves while she pondered the wiring system for her horse. It’s not as though the school work was difficult. Quiz results came back instantly; she missed two equations. Nara grunted. Perhaps she should focus more.
“As Heritage Month comes to a close, all sixth year students study the contributions of the head financier of the Corcoran Colony, the late Mrs. Florence Corcoran,” said the professor from the head of the room. A hologram of Mrs. Corcoran flickered overhead, her face smiling as she posed with an old-fashioned pick-axe over her shoulder.
“As you all know, Mrs. Corcoran believed that Earth’s cultural heritage deserved a place on Mars. Your tablets have just received a list of the artifacts of the Corcoran household.” The file appeared on Nara’s small screen. “During next year’s Pioneer Heritage Month, the Corcoran Museum will open. Your task is to choose an object from her archive and write a thousand-word essay on the object’s history both on Mars and Earth.”
A low groan filled the room.
Nara pursed her lips. She could throw together a thousand-word essay in fifteen minutes. It wouldn’t eat up too much of her project time. She opened the file, skimming the list. It dragged on, page after page. The fanciest objects were listed first — the paintings, the jewelry, the clothing. Florence Corcoran had been an obsessive collector of old Earth, especially items pertaining to Texas. All of it dull. Well, the leather belt collection might work as a report subject, especially if Nara could touch or smell the stuff. Importing genuine leather for a saddle and bridle would cost more than all the metal parts of her horse combined. She was going to make do with synthetics.
She scrolled down for an eternity. Early space shuttle detritus, bull horns, an oil derrick, a preserved horse skin. Nara stopped cold. A horse? She clicked for more information.
Trigger, a rearing palomino horse dating from the mid-20th century, his skin preserved and mounted on a plaster body. Nara’s heart threatened to escape her chest. Trigger, her Trigger, was here on Mars? Not only a horse, but one of the most beautiful horses of all time.
“We have passes available so you can all visit the Corcoran household and see the items in person,” her teacher continued.
“This is it,” Nara murmured.
“What?” Chu whispered.
She ignored him, her mind already analyzing the possibilities. Her prototype horse would take another six months at least. If there was some way to get this skin, maybe she could use it. Mount it on top of the metal frame—well, no, it probably couldn’t withstand the sand. But if she could study the texture, it would be easier to mimic. Would the museum sell such an old artifact? Nara fidgeted with the edge of her tablet. Could she steal it?
Maybe a way could be found. Adrenaline zinged through her fingertips. She could see and touch a real horse, and not just any horse — Trigger. Hot tears burned her eyes and pattered against her desk.
This was meant to be.
As Nara entered the grounds of the Corcoran Mansion, she was keenly aware of every security measure scrutinizing her. The cameras on high, glassy lenses glaring, capturing her every move. The slight give of the cushioned tile underfoot, implying a biometric measure to contrast her weight coming and going. The slits in the walls that memorized her irises.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course there would be excellent security here. She was day-dreaming to think otherwise. Still, maybe there was a loophole in the system. Trigger’s skin had been a low-priority item stuck far back on the list. Centuries old, an archaic artifact that meant nothing to anyone else. It wasn’t even scheduled for a berth in the museum.
“Ah. You. Chu’s little friend.” Her friend’s grandfather edged close, his small body straight as a support pillar.
“I didn’t know you were working inside the mansion now, Grandfather,” Nara said, handing over her tablet with her student pass loaded.
He grunted, the sound a husky echo of Chu. “I have been since the museum was announced, taking inventory of her treasure trove. You’re the first student to take advantage of the pass, you know? No one else seems interested in seeing the works in person. Probably will be the same when the place opens, I’m afraid.” He pressed the tablet back into her hands.
“Well, I care.” Nara stood a bit straighter.
She spent the past week rewatching every available movie showing Trigger. Nara knew the sway of his mane, how his hindquarters bunched as he reared, how his muscles flexed beneath shimmering gold skin. He could kiss girls with his lips flared, rear on command, walk on his hind legs, and perform dozens of other tricks. Even if Nara heightened the resolution on the picture, it was difficult to detect Roy Rogers’s cues. Trigger wasn’t a mere horse — he had to be the smartest horse that ever was.
Trigger’s presence on Mars had to be destiny. She was meant to know him in real life, centuries after the fact, long after civilization had forgotten him. Trigger would teach her how to make her horse even more real.
“What artifact do you want to see? Most of the good stuff is here in the house.” Chu’s grandfather motioned behind him. Down the hall, a large painting of two naked people in a jungle filled the wall, the woman holding an apple outstretched in a pudgy hand.
She tried not to look too disgusted. “No. I want artifact 3046.”
“Three-thousand range?” His eyes narrowed. “That will be in the old warehouse. It all came in the second colony drop. You sure you want to go there?”
“Absolutely.”
She couldn’t help but notice his sour expression on their long walk out behind the mansion. The warehouse stretched along the back wall of the dome, the clay brick walls red-tinted and pecked by sandblasts. It had to be a mech-bu
ilt storage house, dating from before the completion of the dome and human arrival.
Grandfather stood as the iris security scanned him in, grunting for Nara to follow. The floor beneath her feet seemed shiny and new, each step sinking in by millimeters. More security, but not as much as the household.
“Forty-six, forty-six,” he muttered as he walked. Metal scaffolding stretched to the high ceiling, the rafters filled with wooden boxes. Nara stroked a box in passing, not even gasping when a splinter snagged her flesh. Mrs. Corcoran had been very wealthy indeed to have so much wood, and for it to be used for mere storage.
“Here.” Grandfather stopped. A pink tarp filled the bin space ahead. A device at his waistband beeped. “Damn it all. Another guest and Rorie’s not in. Can you behave yourself for a few minutes?”
Her heartbeat raced, filling with hope. He was leaving her here… alone? “Yes.”
“It’s all junk here anyway. Just wait and I’ll be back to escort you out.” He marched away, his steps brisk.
Nara stood there for a moment, taking in the fading echo of his footsteps. That pink tarp… she bit her lip and lifted up the sheet.
Trigger’s pale orange coat looked soft to the touch, his ears back. His entire body seemed coiled, ready to strike. An ornate bridle dangled from his face. Oh, his white blaze! Even tinted pink, it was beautiful to behold.
Despite the glare of security, Nara couldn’t resist reaching up on tiptoe to stroke his muzzle. The prickliness surprised her. It was like she had imagined, and so much more. But Trigger, beautiful, graceful Trigger…
A sob choked in her throat as she stepped back, reality a harsh truth to face. Trigger had succumbed to death at last.
The pink dust on the tarp had been the first hint. The lower half of his body had been chewed away clear to the blackened plaster below. The old building hadn’t sealed out fiend beetles. His saddle had slipped sideways, the girth almost eaten clear through. Only a nub remained of the flared plume of tail. Tatters of skin dangled against the plaster, fragments littering the floor like a poor haircut. Of his powerful dancing legs, nothing remained at all.
Nara lowered herself to the floor, the grey stone chilled beneath her. Trigger was dead. Dead. His skin would crumble if it moved at all. His legs would never waltz again, never leap over cars, never lower into a handsome curtsy.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Nara whispered. “You were so beautiful. You still are.” She stood, standing close enough to breathe him in. He stank of Martian dust and degradation. The creamy mane shifted between her fingertips, a tuft coming away in her hand. She curled her fingers into a fist.
Horses didn’t belong on Mars. She knew it, but she hadn’t wanted to accept the truth. This horse had survived centuries on Earth: wars, fires, owner after owner, the long journey here, only to be eaten away by ever-hungry bugs brought along for the ride. Trigger deserved better. He deserved to be timeless.
“I still love you, Trigger,” she whispered. In her mind, she could see the intelligent gleam in his eyes; hear the rhythmic clatter of his hooves.
Footsteps thudded behind her. Nara swiped an arm against her cheeks and took a steadying breath.
“Oh. You found our half-eaten creature.” Chu’s grandfather stepped alongside her. Nara clutched her fists tighter. “It’s a shame. Some of these crates hold old masters – Rodan, Picasso. The fiend beetles had a feast. As it is now, the leather around this thing’s belly is the only thing worth keeping, and that’s just scrap. If someone broke in here, they’d want to steal the security system.”
Chu’s grandfather didn’t even know the proper name for a saddle. Nara swallowed, choking as if on a handful of sand. “Is he really going to be thrown out?”
He scratched at his smooth chin. “Eventually. They plan on tearing this structure down before the museum opens. Things like that won’t survive the move.” He motioned to the floor and the scattered bits of hair and skin and degrading plaster.
“If that happens… can you let me know? I mean…”
Grandfather shook his head, chuckling. “Ah yes. Chu told me you have a thing for horses. That’s what this is, right? Smaller than I expected. But yes, I can tell you when this row comes up for disposal. I hate to think what your mother would say.”
Nara looked away. “I know what she’ll say.”
Trigger was only a thing to him. No one here knew about horses. No one cared. Trigger had been more than a horse. He’d been loved in his lifetime, adored by thousands and thousands. Maybe he could be loved again, and not just by her.
They headed out of the warehouse. Nara released her breath before she stepped across the biometric steps, expelling every bit of air in her lungs. No alarms rang. The presence of a few useless hairs hadn’t even registered. She sucked in a breath of refreshing stale air, the strands of mane a moist web in her palm.
Papa had guided her work on the forge. Nara pounded and shaped her own horseshoes and nailed them to her horse’s hooves. The first hoof prints marring Martian soil looked as they should on Earth: deep and almost circular crescents, a spray of dirt disturbed with each ambling step.
Trigger’s alloy skin glowed in glossy gold, a version of palomino for a new world. A white blaze filled the length of his face and curved around into wide nostrils. He snorted, the sound tinny. It could be adjusted later. This was a test run, no more.
“You ready?” Papa asked, the words thick in his mask.
Nara nodded. Papa’s broad, gloved hand gave her a boost up into the makeshift saddle woven of rags and polyvinyl chloride belts. She sat high, taking in the jagged red terrain and marbled sky from a new vantage point. The brim of her hardhat cut the afternoon glare.
Angling her heels down, she tapped Trigger’s ribcage and then engaged the reins. He snorted and moved forward. Gears cranked, soft and whirring, but his gait was lolling and smooth, ears attentive.
Just above his withers, a knot of long, white hairs dangled down and brushed the backs of her gloves. Nara closed her eyes for an instant, imagining an intact mane, a green horizon, the warmth of pumping blood beneath her – not just an engine. Trigger couldn’t come to life again. She knew that. But she could grant him a different sort of immortality.
“The whole colony will learn all about horses, and you,” she whispered within her mask, guiding him towards the nearest ridge. “I’ll start programming your tricks in the next few weeks. Everyone will laugh and cheer when you blow kisses and dance. You’ll be loved again, Trigger. Remembered.” She laid a hand against his chilled neck.
As the sun glowed fierce yellow overhead, Nara glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the deep cut of hoof prints leading back towards her home.
Cool Things That Happen On Venus
Cori Cunningham
Cori Michelle Cunningham is a college student from San Antonio, Texas. She has an affinity and dedication toward storytelling, art, technology and science, and has recently earned a degree in 3D animation, which she felt best combined those interests. However - before storyboards and digital puppeteering - books were her first love. As someone known in elementary school as ‘the girl who got in trouble for reading in reading class’, she wanted her first story written for publishing to be for all those just discovering their passions and still imagining what they might someday do with them.
“Good morning, Young Explorers!”
The cheerful voices of the children’s TV show hosts chimed through the pink and purple headphones of fifth-grader Imani Jones as she made her way down the block to her best friend’s house. The business she had there was too important to put off, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t listen to her favorite show on the way there. Fortunately for her, she had Auto, a tiny robot backpack her mom had built for her. It stood for Automatic Utility and Telecommunications Operator, which, as far as Imani could tell, meant that he was a robot, useful, could connect to the satellite network – and her mom really wanted his name to be Auto. Most importantly, it meant that she didn’
t have to miss her favorite news show.
“All you long-time Explorers should know what day it is!” the report continued, and Imani grinned. Of course she knew what day it was! She felt like she’d been waiting for it her entire life – or at least since she’d heard about it in the second grade.
“It’s First Encounter Day!” She cheered the words in time with the reporters and giggled, twirling her white-and-purple skirt around as she walked. This was going to be a great episode.
“It’s been fifty Earth-years since humankind has been in contact with the T’Raji from the nearby star-system, formerly known as Alpha Centauri,” one of the reporters explained, followed by her partner. “We say ‘nearby’, but that star-system is still 4.2 light years away. That would take our ships nearly one hundred Earth-years to travel. Luckily for us and our interstellar pen-pals, sending digitized messages is much faster.”
Imani sighed as the show delved into trivia. Boring! She’d already learned all this stuff in school. Just last year she got a perfect score on her essay about deep space communication. What she really wanted to know was…
“So then, Charles, what about First Encounter?” The first reporter asked exactly what was on Imani’s mind. When was she going to get to meet an alien?
“Good question, Rei,” the second reporter acknowledged before continuing. “Ten Earth-years ago the T’Raji finished developing the first practical interstellar engine we know of. It’s set to make that journey in one-tenth of the time.”
“And that journey is scheduled to reach its first destination today!” Rei cheered enthusiastically, and it took effort for Imani to keep from cheering along with her. Instead she just added a little bounce to her step as she picked up the pace to her friend’s house.
This was absolutely the coolest thing ever to have happened. She just had to see it. She listened carefully as the report continued, hoping for some new information about when and where the landing was supposed to occur.
