First permanent Martians? Hogan gritted her teeth. How soon they forget.
She relaxed her jaw and her shoulders, noticing how they’d started to bunch up inside her suit. These new residents would discover soon enough how tenuous survival could be on this planet.
Melissa lifted her chin in defiance inside her helmet, though her voice quavered. “I don’t even know you. We’re not UNSC, and you’re not in charge of the colony. You can go on back now and let us handle ourselves! You’re not the boss of me.”
Hogan flat out laughed. She took in a deep breath, ready to unleash a good, old-fashioned can of whoop-ass. But as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, she had another colonist in her face.
“I appreciate your concern, but I think we can manage this ourselves.” Mark Lauren stood nearly a head taller than Hogan, because of course he did. He exuded cool authority, but Hogan picked out the uncertainty in his voice. The colonists were making a bad first impression, and he was trying to manage the chaos.
“Now, if we could just get everyone to calm down . . .” Mark looked pointedly at Melissa, and her arms slumped at her sides. But Guillermo turned in a slow circle and started moving away from the group again.
“Ah, I just need a minute. Is that okay?” Guillermo’s voice sounded tight as he staggered across the dry ground. Miranda immediately hooked his arm and tried to pull him back, but Guillermo—probably thinking he’d been snagged by Melissa—swung blindly and knocked her to the ground.
“All right!” Hogan announced to everyone assembled. “This has gone on quite long enough. We’re here to make sure no one gets hurt.”
“I think we’re on the same page there,” Mark responded tersely. “But we’re fully capable of handling ourselves without interference. Thank you very much.”
“Are you?” Hogan replied before she could stop herself. Somewhere along the way, she and Mark had advanced on each other like two kids spoiling for a schoolyard fight. She grimaced. Things were going from bad to worse, and quickly.
Another colonist jogged forward, faster than he should have across alien ground, and Hogan sucked in her breath. The last thing she needed was an all-out brawl on the dusty slopes of Tharsis Montes between the only groups of humans on the entire planet, and she winced at the thought of the video that Earth-based officials of the UNSC and the Mars Colony Program might see if someone didn’t scrub the feeds first.
But the newcomer stopped when he reached Miranda, then knelt and helped her to her feet.
“There.” Trevor Azam clapped Miranda on the back and then stepped between Hogan and Mark.
“Hey, there!” Trevor extended his gloved hand to Hogan. “I’m Trevor Azam, newly of Ares City.”
Hogan stared at his open hand, then met it with her own. She’d never shaken hands inside a pressure suit. It felt weird and probably looked ridiculous. Grigori wouldn’t waste any time teasing her about it once she was back inside Progress Base, but the optics would be good for her superiors back home.
“And you’re Commander Hogan?” Trevor smiled at her from inside his helmet. He looked tired but earnest, and there was something about his dark eyes that stopped her brain for a second. An electric spark shot along her spine and she chalked it up to a glitch in her suit’s life support. She’d have to check it out when they were back at Progress Base.
Trevor gave her fingers a friendly squeeze, and she felt another spark. She made a mental note to have Grigori run a full diagnostic check on all the suits, just to be safe.
Trevor released her hand and turned to Mark. “The commander here is just doing her job. They’re just making sure we’re okay—”
Hogan shook herself back into focus. “Kay. Commander Kay.”
Trevor frowned at her. “Pardon?”
“Hogan is my first name.” Hogan felt her cheeks flush red. She hated that she had to make this same correction so often, but why was she blushing about it? She avoided getting lost in Azam’s warm eyes again and attributed her discomfort to the long, ambivalent months preparing for the colonists’ arrival.
Trevor smiled. “Commander Kay, then. We thank you for your concern. And we apologize for giving you any cause for it.” He patted Mark Lauren on the chest. “Don’t we, Mark.”
Mark’s mouth was hard beneath his visor. “Yeah, sure. Didn’t mean to cause any alarm.” He took a breath and visibly relaxed. He offered his own hand to Hogan, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. “Mark Lauren. Sorry about all the, well, whatever this is.”
Hogan looked past him and saw that Martin was sticking close to Guillermo as the two walked side-by-side toward the modules of Ares City. Melissa tagged along behind them and offered unsolicited opinions on Guillermo’s condition, the particulars of the landing on Mars, and the first things on her to-do list as soon as they were all safely inside the colony habitat.
Guillermo glanced over his shoulder and asked her, so very politely, to be quiet.
“We hadn’t intended to interfere with your landing, or homecoming.” Hogan’s words were for Mark, though she found her eyes wandering to Trevor’s face instead. “As I said, we’d planned to hang back and let you get settled, then call over to say hello and welcome you to Mars properly.”
Trevor smiled at her again. Hogan smiled back, and was immediately irritated by an inconvenient tingling in her stomach. That had to be the reconstituted eggs she’d had for breakfast, compounded by having to ration the coffee so late in the mission. But this Trevor character was calm and strong and adept at diffusing tensions. She hadn’t gotten much of a sense of him from Mars Ho. But he was here now and for the moment, she was grateful to him.
“That sounds like an excellent plan,” he said.
Hogan had to assume the colonists were bone-weary and disoriented by the new gravity and their new surroundings, especially after arriving more than a month behind schedule. That extra time and uncertainty aboard a spacecraft would rattle anyone. But Trevor seemed to have his wits about him.
“Why don’t we all go back to our respective corners and try this again when we’re feeling a bit more grounded? So to speak,” Trevor continued. It might have been the glint of the far-away sun on his visor, but Hogan thought he might have winked at her.
Hogan turned to Mark. “We’ll see you into your habitat. Make sure everything’s functioning properly. Set everyone’s minds at ease.” She nodded toward Martin, who was nearing the Ares habitat with Guillermo. The other colonists had followed like a herd of stray cats.
Mark took a half-second to consider, then gestured toward the colony and ushered Hogan and Miranda forward.
“Commander?” Miranda asked.
“Let’s escort these people to their new home.” Hogan strode forward. Miranda caught up to walk beside her, and Trevor and Mark fell in behind them. Hogan glanced over her shoulder at the men. Trevor’s answering nod was friendly and confident, and Hogan felt an unfamiliar spring in her step that had little to do with the one-third gravity.
3
Trevor opened the Ares City pantry and took a deep breath.
One pantry for an entire city. He tried not to laugh.
The UNSC astronauts had finally gone back to their own base. Trevor didn’t want to dwell on what they must think of the new arrivals after Guillermo’s near freakout in reaction to Melissa’s constant . . . well, her constant everything. It was no real surprise the UNSC doctor had insisted on checking everyone’s vitals once they were inside, to ensure no one in the colony was about to drop dead, or something.
They’d meant well, but Trevor wasn’t sorry to see them go—the doctor and the medic, at least. He wouldn’t have minded if their commander had stuck around a while longer.
Hogan Kay. He enjoyed letting her name float through his thoughts. She was strong and had a feel for diplomacy, and Trevor was privately glad to see someone challenge Mark’s authority. She was also striking in her appearance, with sand-colored hair that brushed her shoulders and a fierce intelligence blazing behind he
r cool eyes. Trevor also liked that she was nearly as tall as he was.
If she weren’t an astronaut . . .
But Commander Kay had seemed as anxious to depart as the colonists were to be left alone. The residents of Ares City needed to acclimate to their new home, without surprise guests tagging along.
Four modules made up the fledgling habitat. Each had two levels, which was an appreciated nod to privacy. The place was downright spacious compared to Red Wing 1. Two modules were dedicated to living quarters, one module for the exclusive use of growing food, and the fourth contained pretty much everything else—including the colony’s small fitness center and Trevor’s domain, the kitchen.
Everything was state-of-the-art—or had been, when the first pre-supply ships launched a few years earlier. Yet the little outpost felt like a shanty town in western Wyoming, awaiting the arrival of the Union Pacific Railroad.
Trevor had quickly dropped his belongings in his quarters before allowing himself a quick shower and shave. If not for the timed cut-off to preserve resources, Trevor could have easily stood in the soothing spray of hot water for an entire sol. It felt downright amazing to shampoo his hair in gravity after months of cleaning up with wet wipes and occasional turns in the weird suction cylinder of Red Wing 1’s space shower.
He pulled on fresh underwear and socks, and a crisp new jumpsuit—more orange, but not as offensive as what they’d worn in the competition. Then he took a moment to set the digital posters on the wall, choosing a dynamic view of Mt. Hood in Oregon for one frame and settling on a live feed of Noctis Labyrinthus for the other. Home past, and home present.
It was a relief to have his own living space again—instead of the shared bunks of the biodome and the close quarters of the ship—even if all the walls, cabinetry, and most other features were variations on the same gray-beige color. But each colonist’s room was designed to accommodate two people, and Trevor wasn’t part of any couple.
He’d gazed longingly at the bed, wanting nothing more than to lie down and rest. But he’d promised everyone a special dinner for their first night in Ares City. Heading for the kitchen, he ducked away from the domestic modules and deliberately avoided the mated pairs as they tried out and “claimed” their own spaces.
He heard echoes of gleeful delight and occasional shouts of frustrated confusion from the rest of the habitat, but it was quiet in the kitchen. He was feeling itchy from the excitement of their arrival and the less than ideal introduction to their UNSC neighbors. He needed to put himself to work, and cooking had always settled him. The space wasn’t what he’d imagined, but it was more than he’d hoped for.
He’d already surveyed the kitchen’s appliances and tools. The food printers were a different make and model than what he’d used in the Mars Ho Colony Habitat, and he’d have to learn their functioning and capabilities from scratch. It would slow him down, but he welcomed the challenge.
The pantry was fully stocked, even if the ingredients weren’t particularly inspiring. It was standard issue rations across the board. There were some semi-fresh foods left over from Red Wing 1 but until the next supply ship arrived and until the grow unit started producing, Trevor wouldn’t have much to work with other than dehydrated this and freeze-dried that. He’d worked culinary magic under restrictive conditions before. Still, he couldn’t help fantasizing about what he might create once he had Mars-grown vegetables at the ready.
He also wondered, briefly, what kind of pantry the astronauts had over at Progress Base, and whether they’d be willing share.
Trevor pulled down two square tubs of tasteless protein paste and made a mental list of the ingredients he’d need for the assortment of dishes his fellow colonists had requested. For this one meal only, Trevor promised himself, would he take individual orders.
There was one request for cashew fried rice, which was probably the simplest item on the menu. Trevor pulled nuts and rice from the pantry stores and collected pouches of freeze-dried minced garlic and diced onions, as well as the powdered ginger and basil he’d synthesized on the journey. Pizza was a taller order, as he’d have to differentiate flavors and texture between the crust and the cheese—all of which would be made with the same base of protein paste. But he’d experimented enough with “space pizza” in transit and he could get creative with some of the freeze-dried vegetables and synthetic herbs to keep the pies from getting boring.
Burgers for Leah and Guillermo were easy enough to pull off, and for Melissa’s single order of lasagna he could repurpose most of the pizza makings.
Then there was the tiramisu he’d attempt for the first time. He’d been setting aside some of his own coffee rations for the past week, with this particular dessert in mind. Without any real liquor available, he’d do what he could with the almond powder and extracts he’d been messing with.
Whether he pulled off this meal or not, it would be one for the history books. Starting tomorrow at breakfast, everyone would be served the same thing, though Trevor would aim to keep things more interesting than instant coffee and quick oatmeal.
“Getting to work already?”
Startled, Trevor nearly spilled a cup of rice across the wide metal table that was his workstation. Lori stood in the doorway, freshly showered and clad in a clean jumpsuit. She looked radiant and relaxed.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.” She stepped into the room and pulled up a stool. “But excellent work ethic.”
Trevor shrugged and poured the dry rice into something called a Culinmate. It was the size of an old-fashioned breadbox and was supposed to represent the next generation of instant pot appliances—from two years earlier. Trevor added nuts and spices along with careful portions of dried peas, carrots, and peppers, then he measured out a cup of water from the kitchen sink.
He turned off the faucet and stood there, looking down at the cup in his hands.
“You okay there?” Lori asked.
“Yeah, it’s just . . .” Trevor exhaled a light laugh. “The things you take for granted.”
“Tell me about it.” Lori patted her damp hair. “No more fresh water. Not the way we’re used to thinking of it. No glacier melt.”
Trevor poured the water into the Culinmate without further comment. Lori had spent most of the four-plus months in transit cozying up to Mark Lauren, the survival skills expert. That’s probably where the glacial melt talk was coming from.
He was glad to have Mark in the colony, and as the leader of the group. But once Red Wing 1 was out of Earth orbit and out of recall range, the colonists had finally gathered to compare notes on their collective skills. They were no longer under the competition’s rules against discussing their backgrounds, and the results were not comforting.
The producers of the Mars Ho reality show had cut too many crucial corners and fudged and forged enough records to hoodwink the UN Mars Colony Program into sending an unskilled and unprepared first group of colonists to Mars. And they’d done it all for the drama—and for the ratings and sponsorship contracts that followed.
By the time DayLite Syndicate was exposed and globally condemned for their reckless, money-grubbing deception, Trevor and the others were already underway.
April had her degree in electrical engineering and college experience as a peer counselor, and Guillermo was a capable mechanic. But Dr. Mark Lauren turned out to have an Ph.D in economics; the man was a junior advisor from Toronto’s Office of the Integrity Commissioner, when what the colony needed was an actual doctor.
The closest thing Ares City had to medical expertise came in the form of Trent Jennings, a part-time comic book artist who funded his Kubal series—the adventures of a pitbull-lab-mix who solves crimes while promoting the adoption of rescue dogs—by working for a 24-hour veterinary hospital. He had real surgical experience, even if the last thing he’d operated on was a ferret with a hernia.
Lori had gardening experience and had worked as a public parks planner for a county in Colorado, so the colony
wasn’t completely bereft of useful skills. But Leah was a marketing specialist and Melissa was a paralegal turned gossip blogger—constructive talents for a much larger and longer established community.
And Trevor was a chef. Practical, but critical to survival? He figured the extant population of Ares City was a far cry from what the UN had in mind when it established its Mars Colony Program and handed over the reins to a reality show.
“Any regrets?” Trevor spooned large glops of protein paste into a mixing bowl, sprinkled in some herbs and spices, and went to work on the dough that would be both pizza crust and lasagna noodle.
Lori laughed. She got up from her stool and started ranging about the kitchen. “I’d need to be more awake to answer that question with any kind of sincerity.” She went through a series of cabinets, opening each door slowly as though she expected the contents to spill out toward her. It was going to take them all a while to get their Mars legs beneath them.
“Coffee’s in the third upper cabinet on the left.” Trent appeared in the doorway and started giving Lori a tour of the kitchen. Trevor thought he’d been the first colonist in this space, but of course Trent would have scoped out the snacks. “Tea’s there, too. Fruit snacks in the cabinet below, plus some granola stuff. No cheese puffs to be found.”
Trevor started rolling out the dough for the pizza crust and the noodles and pointed to one of the food printers. “Could you load two cans of tomato paste, a tablespoon of basil, a half-cup of water, and the contents of that foil packet there into one of those machines?”
Trent paused, then laughed, then looked like he was working on an attempt at humor. Finally, he shrugged and went to the nearest cabinet in search of tomato paste. “You know what? I’m too tired to argue. Anything that helps dinner get done faster, I’m your man.”
Lori grabbed a single-serving pouch of fruit snacks and tossed it onto the table toward Trent. “Better enjoy these now before we figure out what kind of rationing we’ll be on.”
Mars Heat (Mars Adventure Romance Series (MARS) Book 3) Page 3
