Trevor tried to laugh, but it tasted sour. He hadn’t gotten around to comprehensive, long-term meal planning yet. There was an ExecuChef app on his tablet to help him make sure each colonist got their required daily calories while making efficient use of the colony’s supplies. He hoped the app would allow enough wiggle room for accommodating taste buds, too.
“I almost forgot!” Trent put down the cans of tomato paste and set up his tablet on a corner of the table, propping it up against an empty mixing bowl. “Video, for the show.”
“Right!” Lori finished making her coffee and sat down on the stool, out of range of the tablet’s camera. She seemed fascinated by the heavy plastic mug—instead of a zero-g-friendly bulb. She smiled at Trent. “Make sure you do everything he tells you to. Gotta keep the talent happy.”
Trevor responded with a half-hearted growl. Lori laughed, and he felt a bittersweet flutter in his chest. She was strong and confident without a need to prove herself—not since the competition ended. She was also easy to talk to, and Trevor enjoyed her company.
But she had paired off, just like everyone else had coupled up—everyone except Trevor and April. Once Red Wing 1 was underway toward Mars, April made it painfully clear that she had no interest in partnering with anyone. She’d encouraged him to look to future groups of colonists, that he might find a romantic partner among their number. But with the Mars Colony Program scrambling to get back on track after the scandalous unraveling of the production company, DayLite Syndicate, there was no telling when the next group might arrive.
It hadn’t been a personal rejection, but the whole thing left a bad taste in Trevor’s mouth. He mostly avoided April, even as he tried to temper and rationalize away his bad thoughts about her.
So it was Mark and Lori. Melissa and Guillermo. Trent and Leah. And April. And Trevor.
April wasn’t really his type anyway. So maybe her rebuff was a relief, in the end. She was okay, but she wasn’t the woman Trevor imagined for himself. As Mark’s second in charge of the colony, April wasn’t as easy and natural in her leadership as Hogan Kay.
Trevor paused his kneading. Where had that thought come from? He added a sprinkle of water and some cornstarch to the mixing bowl and went back to work on the burgers.
“I’m glad you remembered,” Trevor muttered to Trent as he wondered about texture and hoped Leah and Guillermo didn’t expect hamburger buns, too.
In the sudden programming gap where Mars Ho had been, Trevor had become an unexpected hit back on Earth. Trent started uploading Cooking for Martians videos as a joke—short segments recorded here and there as Trevor tried new recipes in zero-g, failed spectacularly, and tried again. The scattered, unplanned episodes were a way to pass the time, and maybe to maintain a little relevance as they wandered farther away from home.
And Earth-based audiences were hungry for more Mars colonists. Jack Street Media—having bought the rights to Mars Ho and its colonist contracts in a bankruptcy auction—was quick to capitalize on Trevor’s new-found stardom.
Plus, it was surprisingly fun.
“And we’re live!” Trent announced with a faux radio announcer voice. “Well, not live so much, but we’re recording.”
Trevor looked up and smiled at the camera. “Welcome to the Ares City kitchen! This episode of Cooking for Martians is coming to you from the surface of Mars. We made it, as you can plainly see, and now we’re putting together our first meal inside our new Red Planet home . . .”
Trevor took his place along one long side of the colony’s dining table. There was enough room to seat about twenty people, which would future-proof the habitat dining room only so much. With the arrival of a third round of colonists, they’d have to go to shifts for their meals unless future module additions included more dining and kitchen space.
Would there be competing kitchens by that time? Maybe even actual commerce starting to take hold? Trevor again felt the parallel to settling the American Old West. As soon as the MCP was back up and running, the new colony would grow exponentially—in both population and hectarage, and coming in scheduled spurts at least for the next decade or so.
He dropped his napkin into his lap and closed his eyes. He said a silent prayer out of reflex. If the others had noticed this habit during transit, no one said anything to him about it.
“There are no steaks on Mars,” Trent announced from the other side of the table. “But at least we’re not doomed to nutraloaf.”
Trevor looked up to find Trent eyeing Guillermo’s burger. Those had turned out pretty well, and they almost smelled like the real thing, too. The pizza had come out better than Trevor had hoped, and April and Lori were already digging in with relish. Mark’s smile as he took a bite of fried rice let Trevor know that it was at least better than the freeze-dried noodles Mark had been subsisting on for most of the last two weeks.
Melissa picked at her lasagna, using her fork to lift each layer as she inspected her dinner. After months of space-age sporks, they had actual forks. And knives. Just before they’d sat down, Trent and Leah put on a silverware puppet show in celebration of spoons. But Melissa frowned, her eyes narrowed, and Trevor couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or curious or maybe getting ready to write up Trevor’s Kitchen in the as yet nonexistent Ares City newspaper.
But then she looked across the table at him and smiled. “Looks good, Trev. I don’t know how you did this, but I’m impressed.”
Trevor breathed a quiet sigh and tried to mask his relief with a small nod. He waited until everyone had sampled their food and offered tastes to others before he took a bite from his own plate. Everyone was smiling and happy and bantering easily, and that’s when Trevor found his appetite.
“So, now that we’re here,” Leah mumbled around a mouthful of fake burger. She paused to wipe her mouth with a polycloth napkin. Trevor was glad to see it. That meant the burger wasn’t too dry. “Should we talk about, well, everything?”
There was a brief, stilted silence before everyone laughed and started talking at once.
“You mean the next round of colonists?” Lori asked, but her thoughts on who might be coming next, and when, were drowned out by April’s musings on the fallout from the Behind the DayLite exposé Hannah Cutherbertson and Gary Nelson had released from aboard a space salvage ship, and by Melissa’s speculation on where in the world—or off of it—Rufus Day might have fled.
Trent laughed. “Yeah. Rufus is hauling assets.”
The mirth was short-lived. As the dining room fell into anxious quiet, Trevor chewed on his pizza while his brain worked out how to make the crust crispier and what bold flavors might best override the protein paste’s chalky aftertaste—he’d nearly masked it, but not quite. But those were problems for another time, when he was back in the kitchen. Leah’s initial proposal, about talking about everything, was an important one.
Because they were here now. They were inside the colony modules and beginning to make the habitat their home. It was no longer a matter of speculation. They were on Mars, far from home, outside the range of rescue. And the one thing the media reports emphasized without fail was how ill-equipped this particular batch of colonists was to handle the life-and-death realities of a hostile and alien world.
April broke the silence. “I just wish, you know, that there was going to be more for us to actually do.” She reached for a plastic tumbler of water—which, Trevor knew, didn’t taste much different than the plastic itself; he’d have to do something about that—and took a long, deep swig.
“I mean, sure, we’ve got to do the planting and preparing the soil and everything in the grow unit,” she continued. “And there are the bioreactors to monitor and maintain. But all the exploring and stuff, all the geology and cartography and the experimental water extraction and searching for microbacteria or whatever and all the other fun stuff you’d expect to do when you settle a new planet? We don’t get to do any of that.”
She rested her elbows on the table, brushed her springy cur
ls out of her face, and took another, less enthusiastic bite of Martian pizza.
“We’ll call over to Progress Base first thing in the morning.” Mark waved his fork in the air. “Maybe there’s some work the UNSC is behind on or some other way we can help out. And there’s still plenty to do in Ares City.”
“Just for the time being, though.” Leah wiped her mouth again. “We’re going to need constructive ways to keep ourselves busy so boredom doesn’t become a real problem.”
April glanced quickly at Trevor and then looked away. The colonists might get bored, sure, but it wouldn’t last long. Within the next few years, once the colony proved stable, there would be a push for children. When that time came, April would likely throw herself into designing new electrical systems and improving the efficiency of the solar grids. And Trevor would spend even more time in the kitchen.
“We should acquaint ourselves with the work being done at Progress Base nonetheless.” Trevor added a jovial note to his voice to lift the sullen mood. It was their first night, and they were supposed to be celebrating their successful arrival and their hopes for the future, not lamenting possible ennui. “And, it’ll be nice to get to know some new people, right? Expand our social circle, be good neighbors and all that?”
Trevor caught Mark’s eye. “I can head over there tomorrow, if they’ll have me. I’d like to see how they’re growing their food, and what they’re growing. Lori can come with me.”
Mark nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. Anything to make a better impression.”
Melissa smacked her palm on the table. “It wasn’t his fault! Guillermo is very sensitive and people just need to understand he’s not always going to react in a predictable—”
“That’s not quite what happened,” Guillermo cut her off. The sharp look he gave her didn’t get his message across, and she scooted her chair closer to his and laid her hand on his arm.
“But it’s okay, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Melissa was practically pawing at his shoulder, a gesture that was probably supposed to be soothing. “No one blames you for what happened.”
Guillermo pushed back from the table and stood up. He disentangled himself from Melissa and glanced Trevor’s way. “Thanks for the burger, man. That was really something else.” He reached for his plastic tumbler and held it high. “To Trevor!”
The other colonists—save for Melissa—eagerly grabbed their own drinks to toast the chef.
“Just doing my job.” Trevor dipped his chin, his cheeks flushing and his humility genuine. He gestured for Guillermo to sit, but the powerfully built mechanic started collecting plates around the table. Melissa was right behind him.
“How about we clear the way for dessert?” Guillermo shifted quickly from place to place, keeping a not so subtle distance between himself and his partner. “I hear you’ve got a special surprise in store for us tonight?”
“I do.” Trevor rose and carried his own dishes into the adjoining kitchen. Whoever had laid out the compartments in the Ares City modules had done a decent job. There were no hardwood floors or plaster walls, but the space felt livable and had a good flow from one room to the next. But there wouldn’t be any fresh air in his lifetime, unless someone dropped a domed forest onto the Red Planet.
Melissa gave up her pursuit of Guillermo and dropped her stack of dishes into the kitchen sink and flounced out of the kitchen with a pout. Trevor and Guillermo worked together to fill the dishwasher.
“Man,” Guillermo huffed. “That was a long trip to Mars.”
Trevor tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Guillermo said. “She’s got her good points. She’s got lots of good points.”
He paused, and Trevor wasn’t sure if Guillermo was trying to brag about his mate and wanted his boast to sink in, or if he honestly didn’t know what to say next. Having come to know Guillermo fairly well over the months cooped up in Red Wing 1, Trevor guessed it was the latter.
“Even though I don’t think I’d trade her for anything,” Guillermo said. “Sometimes I wonder if you got the better deal.”
Trevor froze. He’d been sliding the uneaten half of Melissa’s lasagna into a literally space-age storage container.
“You still have your options open.” Guillermo seemed flustered. The man had a habit of talking himself into corners he couldn’t gracefully extricate himself from. “You know, new planet, exciting new life. That kind of thing.”
Trevor resisted the temptation to lay a hand on Guillermo’s shoulder and remind him that open or not, Trevor had exactly no options where partnership was concerned. Not until the next shipment of colonists, and maybe not even then. He sealed up the leftovers and stuck them in the kitchen’s generous refrigerator. Trevor was the new frontier’s trusty cook. He’d keep his charges fed so they could do the work of the colony, growing food and maintaining the systems and, in relatively short order, producing the next generation of Martians to replace them. Like many pioneers before, Trevor would keep his head down and do his job and find a way to be satisfied with his contribution, even if no future Martian was likely to carry his genetic code or inherit his patient smile.
“Anyway. Thanks, man.” Guillermo stretched his brawny arms over his head, then patted his stomach and smiled. “I’m really looking forward to that tiramisu, too.”
4
Hogan ran her fingers through her wet hair and made a pact with herself not to check her reflection in the mirror again. Her dark blond hair would hang in its ponytail just as it had thirty seconds earlier. Her eyes would be the same shape and color. Neither her jawline nor the angle of her nose would have changed.
She had never been a vain woman. Every other day, she barely cared what she looked like, beyond making sure her appearance was tidy and organized and not distracting to herself or anyone around her.
But this morning, two of the colonists were coming to visit. And one of them was Trevor Azam.
Mark Lauren had called over at practically the crack of dawn to wish a cheerful good morning to everyone at Progress Base and offer a few Canadian pleasantries before he apologized too profusely for all the “hubbub” around their arrival the day before. Then he invited the astronauts to Ares City for a neighborly dinner, and finally asked if he might send a couple of his people over to tour the bioreactors.
It was the last point that had gotten Hogan’s attention. It was reassuring that the colonists were showing interest in how things actually worked on Mars, rather than sitting back and watching movies while the automated systems did the work of survival for them. Maybe the experiment at Ares City wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.
Hogan made it her business to be present when Lori Ridgway and Trevor Azam cycled through the airlock and entered Progress Base for the first time. She offered a few words of welcome and then turned the guests over to Grigori and Miranda. After that, Hogan stepped back and busied herself at a nearby workstation, pretending to go over weather reports and messages from the Hermes 5 Flight Director back on Earth. And she listened and watched.
Lori and Trevor expressed open delight at their long walk between the habitats, instead of driving over in one of the colony rovers. Hogan nodded her approval. They wanted to get a sense of their new surroundings, and they wanted some exercise while acclimating to the one-third gravity. That was just fine.
But she frowned at the way Miranda was giggling and how she kept finding excuses to touch Trevor’s arm. Hogan doubted her med tech/geologist was trying to take the man’s vital signs. Miranda had let it slip that the previous day’s check-ups had given her the opportunity to “survey the fresh meat,” and that all four colonist men looked particularly fit considering the journey they’d just made.
Martin had joined in with his own observations about the Ares City women, and then Martin and Miranda had started teasing each other—first verbally and then increasingly physically—and Hogan had ordered them in no uncertain terms to “get a room.”
Hogan went back to pretending to read her email.
“Commander?”
Hogan looked up from her screen. She’d been scanning and re-scanning, without comprehension, a message from Admiral Edward Coville about suggested interaction guidelines between Progress Base and Ares City. She caught the phrase “don’t interfere with their celebrity” before she found Miranda waiting on her.
“Hmm?” Hogan hoped she hadn’t missed an actual question that she was expected to answer. Her thoughts were still on Eddie’s message. Not interfering was what he did best, she thought grimly.
“Mr. Azam here is inquiring about our food-based bioreactors, but Yusuf has his hands full with the water filtration system just now,” Miranda said.
“Trevor, please,” Trevor interjected. “We’re neighbors, after all.”
Hogan’s jaw hardened when she saw the pink-tinged blush rise on Miranda’s cheeks.
“Trevor, yes.” Miranda glanced at Trevor over her shoulder. When she looked back at her commander and found Hogan not entirely amused, she straightened her spine and cleared her throat. “So, I was thinking that I could give him, I mean them, Lori and Trevor, a tour.” She paused. “With your permission.”
Hogan smiled at that. She ran a friendly but tight operation at Progress Base, and it had been a while since any of her crew had asked her permission for anything.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” Trevor looked less weary than he had the day before and he was clean-shaven, too, showing off his strong, angular features to maximum rugged effect.
But even as Hogan admired the tall, dark, and handsome stranger standing in her control room—and pondered why so many of the handsome strangers in literature were also tall and dark—Hogan wondered how long his grooming habits would last. Grigori was proud of the beard he’d grown when he gave up futzing with razors for the duration of the mission, though Martin and Yusuf sneaked in a shave about once every other week.
Hogan didn’t even want to think about her legs. Personal grooming was less of a priority when there was real exploring to do. So then, why had she checked her appearance more times this morning than she had all week? She felt suddenly self-conscious and had to hold her arms firmly at her sides to prevent herself from running her hands over her hair.
Mars Heat (Mars Adventure Romance Series (MARS) Book 3) Page 4
