Eclipse 4: New Science Fiction and Fantasy

by Jonathan Strahan

  “Moldy.” She batted at her nose. “Like an old couch.” She was laughing too now. “That somebody spilled milk on.”

  “Like your last ship?”

  “Sure.” Her laugh turned bitter. “My last ship.” All the joy she had been getting from their banter died. “Is that why you brought me here? To get me to tell you all about it?”

  “No.” He considered. “But if you ever want to, I’m interested.”

  “Oh, everybody’s interested, from what I hear. I’m some famous freak now. I better get used to it, huh? So what is it that you wanted to hear?” She felt her hand curl into a fist. “What it was like to watch them die? Sorry, but I don’t know. I was hibernating, you see. Snoozed right through the good part. But I’m sure you could check out the vids if you’re interested.”

  “You’re upset.” Gasp.

  “You sound like my mother. Why shouldn’t I be upset?

  “Forget it.”

  “No, that’s the problem. I can’t forget it. I tried to save them and I couldn’t.” Her eyes were stinging. “Everybody died but me.” She squirmed around on the chair, showing him her back. “Isn’t the power on yet?”

  He snapped his fingers and an airscreen opened in front of them. “No,” he said. “Fixed in about twenty minutes.”

  “I don’t want to be a celebrity. Not that kind.” She brushed the corner of one eye and was relieved that it was dry. “Not any kind.”

  “Buzz is more about your mother than you.” Gasp. “And our mission.” Gasp. “And the rescue. Everyone watched.” Was she making him nervous? That was the last thing she wanted. “Cost a fortune.”

  “Too bad they didn’t get their money’s worth.” She fell silent, tugging at the cuff of her pajamas. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go.”

  “What kind of name is Elan of Mars?”

  He laughed again, probably in relief that she wasn’t going to shatter into a hundred jagged pieces. “A Martian name.”

  “Elan.” She rolled over and poked his shoulder.

  “Okay.” He rubbed the spot, although she knew she hadn’t hurt him. “Two names. One public, one private.” He paused. “Secret, actually.”

  “What good is a name if it’s secret?”

  “Not secret to people I love.”

  “So your parents know,” she said. “And your girlfriend.”

  “Parents,” he said. “Yes.” What he hadn’t said filled the silence between them. “But spacers like two names to say,” he continued. “So, Elan.” Gasp. “Of Mars.”

  “Call yourself whatever, I don’t care. But it is kind of confusing. What if two people have the same name?”

  “Only 20,000 Martians. No problem.” When he shook his head, the ribbons on his neck shivered. Mariska found it hard not to stare. “How many Linda Smiths on Earth? Sergey Ivanovs?”

  “Point.” She drew a line in the air. “How old are you anyway, that you don’t have a girlfriend?’

  “Twelve.” He crossed his legs and then uncrossed them immediately.

  She knew that couldn’t be right. “What’s that in standard years?”

  “Tourist years? Twenty-two.”

  “Tourists? Is what you call us?”

  “And you?” he said. “How old?”

  “Eighteen.” She lied without hesitation. “Tourist years.” Actually she had only been conscious for fifteen. But she had hibernated for three years before she had signed on to the Shining Legend. And it was almost her birthday.

  “Mariska Volochkova.” He held up two fingers. “Just two names. You’re missing the patronymic.” He stumbled over the syllables as if he wasn’t sure he was saying a real word. “Need a father name. I looked it up.”

  “No, my mother has the three names. Her father’s name was Nikolai, so her name is Natalya Nikolaevna Volochkova. But I don’t have a father.”

  “Why? Where is he?”

  “I don’t have one.” She wasn’t counting Daddy Al, who had brought her up under term adoption. Elan looked puzzled, so she explained. “I’m her clone. Well, she had some modifications made.”

  Elan didn’t say anything. He just gasped.

  Mariska had been having trouble reading his reactions to her but this was particularly inscrutable. Even though she liked talking to him, the conversation had got way too personal. What was she thinking? This boy was a Martian who looked like a flower with fleshy petals. And how could she be interested in someone who was leaving soon for a planet forty-five light years away? She swung off the chair and made it to the command cluster. “You never told me about the nav rack,” she called to him, pleased at how steady she felt. “This screen.” She pointed. “Can’t figure it out.” It showed what she took to be a graphic of the surface of Mars. Above it, a looping line was rotating slowly around a point at its midsection. One end of the line was approaching the planet, the opposite end seemed to be swinging away into space.

  “Our skyhook.” Elan joined her but kept a more than polite distance. “In orbit around Mars.”

  “Skyhook.” She nodded. “Okay, we have those on the Moon. They snag cargo and pull it out of our gravity well to orbit.”

  “And bring gear down from orbit.”

  “Right.”

  “This one is going to Scorpii.”

  Mariska tried to remember what she had learned about skyhooks in physics. The technical term was rotovator. It was like an enormous spinning wheel, with the hub orbiting around a planet. Only it wasn’t; you had to lose the rim and all of the spokes but two, each pointing in opposite directions from the hub. And the spokes were actually tethers, composite carbon nanotubes with enormous tensile strength. Synchronize the speed of the rotation and the forward orbital momentum just right and one end of the tether would pass close enough and slowly enough to the surface to hook a load. Then a half rotation later, you could place the load in orbit or hurl it to space. Meanwhile the other end of the tether would be down in the atmosphere hooking the next load.

  As he stepped past her, she noticed that his photoreceptors had shrunk back into bumps, since they couldn’t lock on to a light source if he was moving around. “Alpha hook pass-over is in three hours.” He zoomed the screen, showing the magnetic hook descending slowly toward Padre. “Beta in eight.”

  “And this is what you do?”

  “Lander jock.” He nodded. “Junior pilot. Padre lifts, we steer him to the hook as it passes. In space, we cut free, cruise to Natividad.” He refreshed the screen to a distance view that displayed the starship in its following orbit behind the tether’s hub. “At Scorpii, Padre delivers colony goods.”

  “You like it, don’t you?” There was an excitement in his voice that Mariska hadn’t heard before. “Your job?”

  “Best of the best.” He beamed. “Swing up to orbit with me someday?

  “Maybe,” she said, although she thought probably not. “So they gave you something important to do. You should be proud, Elan.”

  “Proud.” He sagged and turned away from the command cluster. Once again she was surprised at his mood change. “But it won’t last.” Gasp. “I do the job and then what?”

  “I don’t know. What?”

  Gasp. “Start a new life.” He touched her shoulder lightly, as to wake her from sleep. “Power’s back on,” he said. “You can go.”

  As if it wasn’t bad enough that Natalya was late for Mariska’s therapy, now Shengyi was counting under her breath. “One, two, three, one, two, three.” The nurse was doing her best but she was a terrible dancer. She couldn’t decide if she was leading or following. And she didn’t seem to realize that she was stepping on Mariska’s toes. It wasn’t as if they were adding any complications to the waltz. They were just doing boxes, no quarter turns or hesitations or whisks.

  “Maybe something slower?” said Mariska.

  “Yes.” Shengyi looked relieved as she released Mariska from her death grip. “Good idea.” Mariska was sure that the nurse had left a permanent handprint on her
back.

  Shengyi hurried to the wall screen and cut “What’ll I Do” off in mid-measure. Then she paused the countdown timer. Mariska stifled a groan. According to the clock, they had another seventeen minutes, twenty-three seconds of dance therapy to go. She had been hoping that the nurse would let the time run while she chose a new waltz.

  They had folded the chairs and bed into the wall and pushed the instrument trolley into the hall to make enough space in Mariska’s room for the dancing. There was no better place in the infirmary for her therapy and, after the unauthorized jaunt with Elan, Natalya and Shengyi weren’t about to let her loose on the base.

  Dancing with Natalya wasn’t as much a chore as dancing with Shengyi, although it was painful in its own special way. At least her mother knew the steps, but she kept asking Mariska questions and expecting to hear answers. Mariska suspected that Natalya had plans for her that she didn’t want any part of. Where was her mother? It wasn’t like Natalya to miss a chance to pester her.

  “Cake and Matches,” said Shengyi, reading from the screen. “Cairo Waltz, Chopin’s Glove, Clever Gretel….”

  “What’s that?”

  She drilled down the menu. “It’s Klug Gretelein in German, Opus 462 of Johann Strauss the Younger….”

  “No Strauss. What else.”

  “Climbing Tharsis,” she read. “Come My Prince Someday.”

  “Just what I need,” said Mariska. “A prince.” She knew one wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon, although she did wonder why Elan hadn’t come to rescue her again. “Play it. I’ll lead this time.”

  She and the nurse grappled. At first Mariska’s head filled with the steps. Left foot forward, right foot forward-slide, left foot slide. One, two, three…

  She dragged Shengyi around the room. It felt as if she was dancing with a chair.

  Back, two three. Right foot back, left foot back-slide, right foot slide.

  “Light on your feet,” said Shengyi. “Light on your feet.”

  Mariska stumbled, then gritted her teeth. Light on your feet was something Natalya said, but then Natalya always led. Light on your feet was four syllables and it threw Mariska’s three count off.

  When Mariska stopped counting, the dancing got easier. She just let her feet do whatever they wanted. As long as she didn’t fall over, the nurse didn’t seem to mind. After a while she got so bored that she opened her head to datafeed she’d been skimming. Natalya would have noticed if she was multi-tasking. Shengyi was clueless.

  =…their quest for a better life on Mars, some immigrants thrived while others did not. Before the depression of the Bloody Nineties, refugees from failed colonies were absorbed into more successful ones. However the Great Crunch led to a three-year hiatus in trade with Earth which caused the collapse of the weak Martian Authority and the subsequent deaths of an estimated seventy percent of the population. Almost all of those who died were so-called “standards,” those who had not been genetically modified to live on Mars. The survivors, now commonly referred to as Martians, had undergone Transgenetic Somatic Gene Therapy (TSGT) to adapt to their new home world. Controversy still rages over the role of the survivors during the Abandonment. What could the Martians have done to save the standards? To ask the question is to start an argument, with Martian sympathizers claiming that the governments of Earth…=

  Shengyi pulled Mariska to a stop; the song ended. “Something different?” she said. “We could try a hurry-scurry?”

  “No thanks.” Mariska hated that step. “I’d just get all tangled up.” The therapy session had eleven minutes and twenty-seven seconds left. Still no Natalya. “Play that waltz again,” she said. “In fact, just put it on a loop.”

  They returned to shuffling around the room again. The nurse’s hands were sweaty and she was counting again. One, two, three. Mariska wondered why Natalya never counted one, two, three. She said quick, quick, quick instead. Or quick, quick, slow, slow for the Two Step. She wondered where her mother had learned to dance. Who she might have danced with. She wondered if Martians danced.

  =…bodies were then redesigned to withstand the extremes of the Martian environment. Enhanced keratins in their skin retain heat and lose very little water. Their eyes are protected by nictitating membranes. Using the energy from photoreceptors to break down atmospheric CO2, they can survive on the surface with very little protection and no breathing apparatus, typically for as long as two hours, even during the Martian winter. In the summer of 2151, Chen set an outdoor record of four hours, sixteen minutes and….=

  “Though he’s far, far away,” the nurse sang under her breath, “I know he’ll come someday.” Her head was tilted up and she was smiling, eyes closed.

  Shengyi must have sensed that Mariska was staring at her. Her eyes popped open and the song died on her lips. She nodded three times in embarrassment then fixed her gaze at her feet. They waltzed on as if nothing had happened. As far as Mariska knew, Shengyi hadn’t yet partnered with anyone in the crew. She had wondered about this. Why volunteer for a forty-seven-light-year one-way trip unless someone you wanted to be with was going?

  =…which is why the male sex organs are normally retracted into the body cavity and are thus not readily available for sexual activity. Some say this is where the stereotype comes from: Martian men feel more comfortable in the role of the pursued while Martian women are skilled pursuers.=

  When she stumbled, Shengyi caught her. “Sorry,” Mariska said and gave the nurse’s hand a squeeze to show that she was all right.

  The door slid open. Natalya wheeled the instrument cart into the room.

  “We’re almost done,” said Shengyi. “Three minutes left.”

  “That will be all for now, Nurse Wong.” She parked the cart next to the folded bed. “We’re having a visit from Captain Martinez. When she gets here, see if she wants anything. I started coffee. Mariska, how are you? Also, I just put some fizz in the pharmacy fridge. If she asks for it, she’ll want ice.” She snapped the waltz off. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She shooed Shengyi out the door. “Keep her busy as long as you can. My daughter and I have to talk.”

  Mariska pressed herself against a wall. She didn’t really know her mother well, since she had spent most of Mariska’s life away on a star-ship. But she had never seen Natalya so flustered. There was color on her cheeks and her silver hair was mussed.

  “Help me with the bed, will you?” She gestured. “Maybe you should put pajamas on?”

  “What’s happening?” said Mariska as the bed released with a hydraulic sigh. “Is Martinez here to see me?”

  “She needs to ask you something.” Natalya pulled two chairs from the wall. “Probably best if you sit on the bed. The captain can sit there, I’ll sit here. Listen, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Tell me.” Mariska put hands on her mother’s shoulders and turned her. “What is it?” She could see the wrinkles in the pale skin around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth; it struck her that she had no idea how old her mother was.

  “It’s the newsfeeds.” Natalya shook free of her daughter’s grip. “This base, we can’t really keep them out. We need sympathetic coverage for our funding… I’m sorry but you’re going to have to talk to them. Not the damn buzzies. Someone responsible.”

  They settled on the chairs and it all came spilling out. After the accident on the Shining Legend, SinoStar had balked at paying for a rescue, even though two of the crew were clones of Xu Jingchu, their corporate CFO. The chance of success was slim; the costs were enormous. With the clock ticking, Natalya had convinced Martinez to authorize seed money from Natividad’s contingency fund to begin prepping a mission. Then she went public. Natalya Volochkova was one of the celebrity crew of the Gorshkov, the starship that had discovered the earthlike planet Bounty. She and SinoStar’s Jingchu created a Save Our Kids fund and started begging for contributions in front of every camera they could find. The Two Moms—Hero Doc and Renegade VP—were all the buzz on
Earth, the Moon, and the orbitals in the week before the rescue window closed. Although they never raised the necessary money, they embarrassed SinoStar into authorizing the rescue mission.

  “I’m sorry, but making it about me seemed like the only way.” Natalya combed fingers through her hair, mussing it even more. “There was no time. The launch window was so tight.”

  “But why is Captain Martinez here?”

  “Because I mixed our mission with your rescue.” She shook her head. “This isn’t easy, so I’m just going to say it.” She reached for her daughter’s hand but Mariska pulled away. “If everyone had survived, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

  “But they didn’t. I’m the only one.”

  “And you’re my daughter.” She squeezed Mariska’s hand and let go. “It looks like you got special treatment.”

  “No! I took a risk too. It’s on the logs.”

  “Buzzies don’t care about logs. When a feed does big numbers, it doesn’t need to be true.”

  “So everybody thinks….” She was shocked. “Not Didit and Glint’s mom?”

  “No, Xu understands. But the boy’s parents, the FiveFords….”

  “He died saving me!”

  Natalya said nothing.

  “I have to tell them.” She burst from her chair. “It’s a nightmare. I can’t handle this.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  “No! You have no idea.” Mariska backed away from her, arms outstretched as if to fend off an attack. “You weren’t there, you didn’t make the decision.”

  “If you’re not ready….”

  “May I come in?” Captain Pilar Martinez appeared in the doorway.

  Mariska and Natalya started at the interruption, neither able to hide her dismay.

  “I apologize if I’m intruding, Nata.” As Martinez strode into the room, she seemed more impatient than apologetic. “But I’m afraid it can’t be helped.” Behind her, Shengyi held arms up in frustration as the door slid shut. She hadn’t delayed her at all.

  Natalya and Martinez had crewed together on the Gorshkov but the captain looked years younger. She was a hibernator like Mariska, one of the very first to survive having ground squirrel transgenes implanted in her DNA. She’d made three trips through the wormholes and had hibernated for not quite half of her ninety-one years. She was short like most spacers, but thick beneath the smart fabric of her uniform. Her skin was smooth, her black hair pulled into in a sleek bun.