by Brenda Hiatt
"Hey, M!" He beckoned me to his side and the press of cheerleaders reluctantly parted to let me through. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I replied, though truthfully I couldn't be all that nervous when I was close to him. A very nice side-effect of that enhancement thing, if that's what it was.
He ushered me onto the bus ahead of him, barely nodding in response to the chorus of goodbyes and "see you tonights" from the girls. We sat together in the first empty seat, and though a few people looked at me curiously, no one spoke to me. Like at lunch, several people—guys and girls—talked to Rigel about tonight's game, again making private conversation impossible.
By the time the bus turned onto the farm road south of town, I was starting to get nervous again, in spite of Rigel's calming effect. Then the bus stopped and he stood.
"Our stop," he said. "C'mon."
I followed him off, then paused, swallowing. "You're sure—?" I began.
"I'm sure." He took my hand, giving me instant courage, and led me up a long, winding drive shadowed by towering oak trees toward a yellow three-story farmhouse with a deep, wrap-around porch. A soybean field stretched into the distance behind it with a cornfield behind that. There was a grain silo visible in the distance, but no other houses within sight. A typical Indiana farmhouse, in other words.
Only not, I realized as we got close enough for me to see the three satellite dishes on the roof, along with what looked like a couple of solar panels. There was also a ham radio tower off to the side, though that wasn't too unusual out in the country. The tiny video screen next to the front door was, though. Rigel ignored it and turned the knob.
"Mom? Dad? We're home," he called as we entered the long front hallway.
We're home. What a lovely phrase. I heard light footsteps approaching and mentally shook myself.
"Marsha! Welcome!" Rigel's mother exclaimed, coming out of a doorway down the hall.
She was even prettier than I remembered, her rich, reddish hair piled loosely on top of her head, her hazel eyes—so much like Rigel's—twinkling within their thick-fringed lashes.
"Come into the kitchen," she continued. "I’m just about to take a batch of cookies out of the oven." Even as she spoke, I caught a delicious whiff and my stomach rumbled embarrassingly.
"Thanks," I managed, grateful that both she and Rigel pretended not to hear. "It's very nice of you to invite . . . I mean, to offer to drive me to the game and all." I was nearly as tongue-tied as I'd been when I first met her.
"Nonsense." She waved my words away with a smile and led the way back to the cozy, old-fashioned kitchen. "We were delighted when Rigel suggested it. Especially now that he's told you—"
"Mom," Rigel broke in. "Let's have some of those cookies before we launch into explanations, okay?" He looked a little worried, which surprised me.
She gave him a curious look. "—about us," she finished, and Rigel relaxed.
"Where's Dad?" he asked.
"Right here." His father entered the kitchen from the other end. "Welcome, Marsha, it's great to see you again."
"Um, thanks. Same here." I was startled again by their effusiveness. I didn't feel this welcome in my own house.
Dr. Stuart poured four glasses of milk as Rigel and I sat down at the huge, knotted-pine kitchen table. Despite the rustic setting, things felt strangely official. Rigel had said they were going to explain about the Martian stuff, but I couldn't bring up the subject. Not when the Stuarts were being so nice. So . . . normal. Instead, I took a big sip of milk, hoping I wouldn't have to be the first one to say anything.
I wasn't.
"So, where to start?" Mr. Stuart said, sitting down and smiling at me with his movie-star smile. "I assume Rigel has given you all of the basics by now?"
"Um . . ." I sent a panicky glance Rigel's way and after just the briefest hesitation, he put his hand over mine on the table—right in front of his parents. Remembering what he'd said about keeping our bond-thing secret, I tried not to let my reaction to his touch show. But, as he'd undoubtedly intended, it did calm me. A little.
"Actually, there's a lot I haven't had time to tell her yet," Rigel said, again with an uncomfortable edge in his voice. "Maybe we should take it slowly."
"No, it's okay, really," I said. "I mean, I do want to know everything. Everything you're willing to tell me, anyway."
Dr. Stuart put the milk back in the fridge, turned and nodded, her expression warm and reassuring. "Of course we'll tell you everything, Marsha, now that Rigel has let you in on our, ah, secret."
"That you're . . ." I swallowed. "Martians?" I felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden, terrible fear that I'd somehow imagined everything Rigel had told me.
I hadn't.
"In a manner of speaking," she said. "Not that we really think of ourselves that way any longer. We came to Earth intending to stay, and this is our home now."
I thought I'd been ready for this, eager for this, but I really hadn't been. I'd still half expected this to be some elaborate joke, or for Rigel's parents to somehow explain away everything he'd told me. It couldn't really be true. But looking at their serious faces, I was finally, totally, convinced that it was. No matter how impossible it seemed.
"How—" My voice cracked slightly and I started over. "How long have you and Mr. Stuart been here? On Earth, I mean?"
She glanced at her husband and Mr. Stuart gave her a little nod. Rigel gripped my hand more firmly and I noticed a tiny, worried crease between his mother's brows as she replied.
"About . . . seventy-five years."
I felt shock all over again. "Seventy-five—? But how—? I mean, you can't possibly be more than forty years old!" In fact, they both looked much younger than that, not that I was a great judge of parents' ages.
"We age more slowly than most humans," Mr. Stuart explained. "Did Rigel tell you about some of the ways we're different?"
"He . . . he said there were, ah, enhancements." Except he'd implied that was just when I was near him. "He didn't say anything about immortality!"
Dr. Stuart's frown deepened. "No, Marsha, we're certainly not immortal. Our lifespan is a bit more than double what's typical on Earth, that's all."
"All?" I echoed faintly. Then another thought hit me and I rounded on Rigel. "So how old are you, really?"
"Fifteen," he answered promptly. He was smiling again, which for a moment made me want to smack him. It must have shown in my face, because he put up a defensive hand and hurriedly added, "No, really. I'll be sixteen in November. It's not until full adulthood that the aging process slows."
"That's right," his father said. "Rigel is the same age you are, Marsha. Ariel and I arrived here on Earth some sixty years before he was born."
I digested that for a minute while they stayed silent, letting me think. One thing I'd wondered about—meant to ask about—was how ships from Mars had reached Earth undetected. But seventy-five years ago, it probably wouldn't have been difficult.
"Have others come here since? I mean, are people still coming here from Mars, or was it like a one-time thing?"
Again they exchanged a speaking glance before Mr. Stuart answered. "The first ship from Mars came to Earth about five hundred years ago. Those pioneers brought back information and artifacts that proved to even the most skeptical that we had in fact originated here. After that, every few decades, small groups emigrated here, some to study the culture, others to settle and raise families. The pace has picked up over the past century."
"Why?" I hoped if I kept asking questions I wouldn't freak out.
"That's a long and rather complicated story, involving the political climate back on Mars as well as practical concerns. For now, I'll just say that increasing numbers of people have felt motivated to return to our original—well, our ancestors' original—home."
"Then people are still coming here?" That brought me back to my earlier question. "How? I mean, why isn't that all over the news? Wouldn't your ships be picked up on radar or something?"
/>
"It is becoming a concern," he said. "It was much easier before Earth's technology became as advanced as it is now. That's one reason for the increase in immigration, a fear that soon we may not be able to land ships undetected. Fortunately, we use an anti-gravity drive that has been successful in avoiding discovery so far, since it causes little atmospheric disruption."
I wasn't a huge science geek apart from astronomy, but I was pretty sure anti-gravity wasn't something our scientists had figured out. "So . . . just how technologically advanced is Mars?"
Rigel's parents both chuckled a little, but not in a mean way. "That's a big question," his mom answered. "And of course the answer keeps changing as Earth science advances—and so does the science on Mars." The oven timer buzzed. "Oops, the cookies."
She opened the oven and took out a cookie sheet filled with chocolate chip cookies . . . with her bare hands!
"Careful!" I cried without thinking, then, "How did you do that?"
"Reactive ceramic," she explained, setting the pan in the middle of the table. "It only heats where the cookies touch it."
I touched the pan and, sure enough, it was perfectly cool to the touch. "Wow," was all I could think to say.
"Did Rigel tell you about the advanced race that originally took humans to Mars?" Dr. Stuart asked, distracting me from the high-tech cookie sheet.
"Only that they did," I said. "Two thousand years ago? But not anything else about them. Are they still there?"
She shook her head. "They disappeared a long time ago—more than a thousand years ago, from what our records show. No one knows why. But they left much of their equipment behind, as well as the entire infrastructure of our underground habitat. That means we've had a millennium to figure out their technology and adapt it to our needs. And wants."
So . . . pretty technologically advanced, I was guessing. "Rigel said something about them doing experiments?" I glanced at him and he nodded. "What kind?"
"It was so long ago no one knows exactly, but we believe mostly genetic. Which would explain why we're so long-lived, as well as having other . . . advantages over the Duchas—that is, the humans of Earth. In recent centuries, our own geneticists have continued to improve on what those aliens began."
I bit my lip, trying to choose my words carefully and trying even harder not to blush. "So, um, just how far apart are you from regular humans—Earth humans? Genetically, I mean?"
"We don't know, exactly," she replied, "though we have a few scientists here—Rigel's grandfather, for one—trying to figure that out. Discreetly and ethically, of course. Having developed separately for almost three millennia, there are some significant differences."
"Like being faster and stronger and better at football?" I asked, glancing at Rigel. He'd made it sound like that was because of me, but—
"We do tend to be physically superior, yes," his mother answered before he could. "Most genetic weaknesses were eliminated generations ago, while adaptive traits were emphasized, giving us sharper senses, quicker reactions, and yes, more physical strength." She seemed about to say more, but then didn't, which made me wonder if they had other abilities she didn't want to mention.
Not that I could exactly blame her. If I wasn't the reason for Rigel's awesomeness, then it made less sense than ever that they'd tell me any of this stuff.
"All this—Martians on Earth, or even Martians existing at all—is like a huge secret, right? Our government doesn't know anything about it?"
"Certainly not officially," Mr. Stuart said. "We do have a few, ah, highly placed people at NASA and elsewhere, who have helped prevent discovery on a few occasions. Rigel says you study astronomy?"
Mystified, I nodded.
"Then perhaps you're aware of how many Mars missions have had, shall we say, difficulties?"
I gasped. "You mean—"
"Yes. It wasn't exactly an accident that some NASA scientists 'forgot' to convert their figures to metric. And it took quite a bit of spin to play down the discovery of methane plumes recently—exhaust vents from the colony. Keeping our secret is becoming more and more difficult."
Which brought me to the question I really wanted to ask. "So . . . why is it okay for me to know it, since I'm just a regular Earthling—a, uh, Duchas?"
Dr. and Mr. Stuart looked from me to Rigel and back with a mixture of surprise and concern. At the same time Rigel's hand tightened almost painfully on mine.
Then his mom said, "So, you didn't even give her a hint?" which confused me more.
I looked at Rigel, who was shaking his head and looking embarrassed. "I was going to, but . . . I thought it might be better for her to hear it all from you." Then, to me, "I didn't want to upset you again, especially at school." His eyes pleaded with me to understand, even though I had no idea what I was supposed to understand yet.
"A hint about what?" What could be more upsetting than finding out Rigel was practically an alien?
His mother reached out and took my other hand, the one Rigel wasn't holding, and I felt calm flowing from her almost as strongly as I felt it from Rigel. Her eyes—so like Rigel's—held mine, her expression both kind and cautious. Despite their combined calming effect, I felt my heart starting to pound, though I didn't know why.
"We know you're adopted, Marsha, and that you don't know anything about your birth parents. The truth is," she said gently, "they were also from Mars. In fact, you were born there."
I looked wildly at Rigel for confirmation and he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.
"That's right, M," he said. "You're even more Martian than I am."
11
Magnetic field
I JUST SAT there, all the air rushing out of my lungs. Shock didn't even begin to describe what I was feeling. At the same time, a tiny corner of my brain knew—just knew—it was true. It explained so many things.
The rest of my brain wasn't willing to join in, though, and I found myself shaking my head.
"How . . . how can that be?" I finally choked out, with a pleading glance first at Rigel, then his mother. "I've always been so—I mean, I've never been athletic or pretty, or . . . anything special at all." I thought of all the ways Rigel was superior to the average guy. "At least, not until, well . . ."
Dr. Stuart squeezed my hand. "It's not true that there's nothing special about you, Marsha. You've always been special, even if you didn't realize it. It was obvious to us the moment we met you."
That was nice of her to say, of course, but . . . "Wait. Do you mean you suspected I was a . . . a Martian then? A whole week ago?"
Rigel gave a little shrug, looking embarrassed again. "Actually, I told them once I figured it out."
"So when did you realize it? And why didn't you say anything? You told your parents but not me?" Even if I wasn't quite ready to believe it could be true, that upset me.
"I, uh, figured it out the first day of school. And I had to tell them. We'd sort of been, um, looking for you."
This was yet another shock. "What? For me, specifically? Why?"
Dr. Stuart took her hand off of mine to push the high-tech baking pan toward me. "Have a cookie, dear. This has been a lot for you to take in all at once, I'm afraid."
I automatically took one, but didn't eat it. The whole scene felt surreal to me, like I was dreaming it. Which made a lot more sense than it being true. I blinked several times and bit the inside of my cheek. It hurt. Okay, maybe I wasn't asleep.
To give myself more time to think, I took a big bite of cookie and washed it down with a gulp of milk. They were all watching me warily, like they were afraid I'd suddenly freak out. I didn't think I was going to, but I also wasn't sure I believed them yet. Or that Rigel had believed it all along. Feeling both confused and betrayed, I swallowed the last of my milk and tried to focus on one thing at a time.
"Okay, assuming this is somehow true, why were you looking for me? And why in Jewel, Indiana, of all places?"
Rigel gave me one of his heart-stopping half smiles. "Because this
is where you live, obviously. But we didn't know that until last year—and even then we weren't sure. It's why we moved here over the summer. To find out."
His whole family had moved to the middle of nowhere because of me? Surely not. "But . . . why were you looking for me in the first place?" I asked again. "How did you know I existed at all? And how did you find out I lived in Jewel?"
When Rigel hesitated, his mother spoke. "Rigel's grandfather is very well connected, both back on Mars, and here on Earth as well. A few years ago he discovered that the—ah, a Martian girl your age had been orphaned in North America, probably in the Midwest. He felt it was important she be found. Since we have a son the same age, it made sense that we be the ones to search for you, as Rigel would have the opportunity to interact with his classmates and discover whether any, ah, resonated."
"Oh." I felt a little rush of disappointment. "You mean—" I glanced back at Rigel— "he'd feel a, um, pull toward anyone from Mars?" I'd thought from what he said that what was between us was unique. Special. But maybe not so much.
"You could say that," his father answered. "We all have a sort of built-in radar—we call it brath. It’s a genetic resonance that makes us aware of other Martians in close proximity. And we are somewhat dependent on that proximity, though some are more affected than others. Am I right that you've experienced some changes since we moved to town and Rigel began attending your school? I notice you're not wearing your glasses, for example."
I nodded, still looking at Rigel, watching his expression, wondering how much he'd told his parents about me. I got the impression he didn't completely agree with what his dad was saying, though it certainly seemed to explain things. So much so that I finally started to believe, with the rational part of my brain, that they were right about me.
"So that's why Rigel was already so . . ." I almost said amazing. "Um, athletic and stuff? Because he's always been around you?"
"It helped, certainly," his mother replied. "For some of us, it's necessary to be near other Martians to develop our talents to their full potential. Something we didn't discover until the first colonists emigrated to Earth and dispersed, living apart from other Martians."
