Alluvium

by Nolan Oreno

  Hollis fell to the stones with the leaves.

  "I have nothing left," he moaned aloud, mimicking an earlier cry. His shouts beat against the glass of the garden and could not break free.

  Hollis was not as effective in containing things that grew as the greenhouse was, and his emotions at last burst beyond his barriers. He was exhausted in pretending that everything was fine. He knew that the vessel was out of control and the ground was quickly approaching and there was no stopping the collision. Death was inevitable, and it was the very time to start screaming. Not but an hour before had he seen the crest of the approaching void with Janya's brutal self-mutilation, and she was only the first to fall. More deaths would follow in the days to come until there were no more things to die and the planet was as bare and lifeless as it was when they first arrived. Mars was indifferent to the events that transpired on its surface and to his own species survival. No matter the amount of chaos that happens on its crust, the Martian core would still burn for a millennium in total ignorance.

  And yet, in the face of this utter hopelessness, Hollis asked himself why he sought the garden as a refuge in the first place, and why its death was the biggest catastrophe of all. Perhaps, deep down, he believed its resurrection could bring light to the dark. Perhaps Saul and the Computer were right about EDN, his research, and that's why he felt compelled to come back after so many months lost: to finish what he started and save his species.

  To be forgiven.

  Hollis rose from the ground, and his trembling body composed itself once more. He swept off the spoiled vegetation that grasped the fibers of his suit. The tree sprout logo above his heart flared red, a warning sign of his current state of health and psychology.

  “Cálmate," he whispered reassuringly.

  Hollis patrolled through the vast rows of browning brush, evading all the fallen life with precisely set steps. He passed a large glass room and reached a collection of formula tanks bolted alongside industrial-piping that was stationed beside an elevated workstation. Swimming aimlessly in violet liquid tubes were hundreds of tiny white seeds that looked like whole planets of their own backlit by a sparkling purple nebula.

  Each seed in the tank was constructed entirely different than the next, with years of care and precision, and yet each one was entirely useless in its own right. If the botanist was to pluck any one of the seeds from the amethyst sea and bury it into Martian soil it would burst apart, or sprout a crippled stem, or petrify in the frost, or turn to odd colors like a chameleon, or root itself around a rock and choke. Any one of the hundreds of seeds would do nothing that Hollis wished and instead follow its organic blueprint all the way to its death. Hollis was their creator, each one of them, and they were his failed children. It was his hand that destined the fate of hundreds of seedlings to death until one was shaped to perfection. Trial and error, trial and error, trial and error until a single seed birthed a future without a desert.

  This seed, appropriately named EDN, if assembled without fault, would build a tree on the surface of Mars. This tree would sprout within days, and after a week of maturation it would cast a shadow nearly thirty feet in length. Pulsing through the cracks of its sturdy white-trunk would be a life-force so compelling that it could hold against anything the atmosphere of Mars had to offer. Every day the tree would pollinate the skies with hundreds of more seeds of its kind, sprouting even more trees in the same fashion, and these new trees would repeat the cycle, as would the next grouping. This delivery process would ensue until the whole planet was hidden under an oxygen and nitrogen-rich forest and the desert was drowned below grass and green. The roots of the tree would dig deep into the crust of Mars, past the dry surface layer, and extract the water-enriched soil deep below. The water would then be pulled into the leaves of the tree and moisturize the surrounding air, shaping the dead atmosphere into something more, forming clouds, varying weather patterns, and perhaps even a water cycle. This new atmosphere would act like a shield around the planet protecting its inhabitants against solar radiation.

  It was in Hollis’ hopes that at the moment the last seed was planted Mars would have taken the form of a new Earth, a much more wild Earth, and they could stop hiding behind walls and helmets and step out into their new world. A true planet-wide terraformation in the process of a few years. If Hollis wanted this reality, there would be many tireless nights of research ahead before EDN was ready.

  The botanist flooded the tanks and released the old useless seeds into the drainage duct on the floor. He watched as they spiraled into the black hole, one by one into the gargling abyss, until there were none. His past failures would not be missed. It was the future he cared about.

  It was in this action that the botanist knew where he must go next.

  Pushing back through the withering thicket, Hollis plucked a variety of strange herbs for his collection back in his box in his personal cabin. He sealed them away safely in a suit pocket. He took one last gulp of clean air before firmly locking the exo-helmet back on his head and exited the compound. If he were to even considered restarting his research and one day growing his fabled tree, he would need to make one last check at another distant location. Hollis climbed back into the Crawler, making sure the gas levels were adequate, and made off to the great Valles Marineris on the far side of the territory, feeling a little spark of purpose for the first time in many months.

  The arid pastures passed by in great speeds as the Crawler moved through them. It was the spaces between the colony’s stations that disturbed Hollis the most, and he escalated the rover’s speed to break the gaps. He did not like the way in which each patch of the open desert looked the same as the next. Everything was identical and indistinguishable in the wastelands. It created the illusion that he was going nowhere. After an hour of driving, it began to feel like a bad dream where no matter how fast he went, he remained in the same place. This sensation disturbed Hollis so much that he unlatched his exosuit pocket and retracted one of the strange plants he had taken from the garden. The plant was tinted a light green color and shaped like a globe, marked with dozens of pointed protrusions that made it difficult to hold. It looked like a tiny throned-apple sitting in the palm of his hand. He peeled the spiky husk open revealing a white bundle of seeds inside and tore the seeds from the plants cavity, tossing them into his mouth without a second's thought. This specific plant did not put him to sleep as the other one did during his many sleepless nights. It did quite the opposite. Quickly it took hold of his mind. Hollis’ eyes widened on the sliding sands outside the rover as they began changing in color from white to blue to black to orange, like a frightened chameleon warding away a predator, and the dunes began to rise and fall like a stormy sea. Clouds flew by overhead and took foreign designs and geometrical shapes and appeared to chase after the Crawler as it crossed the oscillating ocean of sand. In most realities, these visuals would have frightened Hollis, but not in this one. He smiled upon the forming mirages and continued his crossing over the pulsing and dynamic desert. The barren land was now more appealing to his senses. He was not on Mars anymore, and this was exactly where he wanted to be.

  He was freed from the sands of time.

  The Sun circled the planet at unfathomable speeds, dipping below the horizon to his left and rising rapidly to his right. Four times it rounded, leaving a trail of spiraling flames as it shot across the sky. It ricocheted back and forth like a heated match of tennis and with every return bounce night came, and then day, and then night, and then day once more. Under each new sun, the desert waves grew steeper, pulling the Crawler high into the spinning sky. The vehicle leaped over a dunes peak and came back down again with such immense force that Hollis’ stomach and mind were stirred. The sandy waves burst apart at the rovers side spraying dust against its armor and rocking it back and forth. Just when the storm became too strong night fell instantly, and all was calm again. The stars hummed a soothing song in their soft vibrations and swirled and spun about with their own life. Then,
just as quickly as it went, the day dawned again and with it the sands became alive once more. The colors turned, the dune seas churned, and Hollis thought the cycles would last forever.

  But then it was gone. The visions quickly faded along with the animated flat-lands, and the Crawler thrust back into old and familiar terrain. The recognizable landmarks of the deserts desolation returned as the sands settled back into their normal motions and color. The high’s end seemed to come sooner with each and every use of the flower’s seeds, and Hollis always wished dearly that the trip would last forever, but it never did. All things were destined to end, and Hollis accepted this truth as the desert flattened and the Valles Marineris came before him. He had reached his destination.

  In the dead language of Latin, the Valles Marineris meant Mariner Valleys, named after the Mariner 9 Mars Orbiter of the nineteen-seventies. Wrinkled into the rocks east of the Tharsis region of Mars, the valley expand to nearly the length of the United States in size and was understood to be the third largest canyon system in the solar system, the first being found on the planet Earth, and the second on Venus.

  Before Earth was lost and his research to create EDN was in full effort, Hollis had utilized the Valles Marineris as the testing site for prototype seedlings. The United Nations, NASA, and the Extraterrestrial Colonial Society saw it as the perfect environment for Hollis’ flora to flourish, and thus instructed him to make it his outdoor laboratory for his research. The valleys deep depression into the ground unearthed richer and wetter soil for cultivation and also shielded any possible growth from the sandstorms on the higher plains. Hollis could find no place more perfect to grow the tree, but after his many years of failure, he was convinced otherwise. The valley, in its fertility and abundant resources, had become a mass burial ground for Hollis’ failed experiments. An elephant graveyard. A place where things came to die. But perhaps this time would be different.

  Hollis parked the Crawler at a small outlook station at the edge of the canyon system. He moved across the sands in a daze, still plagued by the sting of sea sickness from his short journey across the desert. He staggered up a series of crumbling steps to the small circular station at the valley’s overlook and keyed open the dusty door.

  Welcome to Outlook Station Seven, Colonist Reyes. It has been 42 days since your last visit, the speaker system stated.

  Hollis wandered into the halls of the station, dragging trails of sand into the metallic structure. As Hollis knew he would not be staying long, he remained in his bulky exosuit. It was hard for him to move in the heavy armor, but he managed well enough, and it was always an extra safety precaution. He entered the stations workshop and inspected the hundreds of folders and papers that were spread chaotically on the tables. Each folder held statistics and test data of a specific batch of seeds. Hollis opened one, reliving his past disappointments:

  EDN TEST 132 March 13, 2078 ID: B-132

  • March 09 (Morning): B-132 is planted in valley region A. Showing signs of initial weakness to Martian rock in top-soil. Will also plant B-132 in valley regions D and G as the loam is softer and more accepting.

  • March 09 (Afternoon): B-132 is planted in valley regions D and G and showing good promise of survival.

  • March 09 (Late-Afternoon): B-132 of valley region A has suffered from intense stress from rock pressure. All seedlings burst before initial sprouting stage- as expected, batch was a failure.

  • March 09 (Night): B-132 of valley region D have also suffered same results. B-132 of valley region G however have begun the first stages of birth. 10 seedlings have breached the surface, 2 others have died below ground.

  • March 10 (Early Morning): Unfortunate results. 9 seedling sprouts have withered and died from over-consumption of carbon-dioxide before bark development. Only 1 sprout remains.

  • March 10 (Afternoon): Tree has passed bark developmental phase and has a sturdy trunk of about 2 feet in diameter, standing 5 feet in height. Promising. Very very promising.

  • March 10 (Late-Afternoon): Tree has budded chromatic white leaves, however fragile, still produces oxygen from the carbon dioxide at 3x the rate of regular North American Populous tree. Trunk diameter is at 4 feet, standing height is 11 feet. Although B-132 is weaker than the desired EDN this may be enough to populate the planet. Have I done it? Need to wait until night to be sure.

  • March 10 (Nightfall): Fragile leaves of B-132 have been torn apart by the passing winds before full development. Trunk has lost moisture and begun peeling. The tree is dying. This is over.

  • March 11 (Morning): Tree has withered and shows no signs of oxygen production. It was unable to disperse its seedlings let alone acquire 10% of full development. B-132 is inefficient for Martian terraformation. Cancel batch. Start over.

  Hollis Reyes, Colonial Botanist

  Hollis tossed the pages across the room. There were countless documents, written on different days with different seedling batches, but each one of them ended with the same words: Cancel batch. Start over. The words burned into his brain like a brand that would never go away. Two-hundred and fourteen trials. Thousands of hours of research. Two years on another world away from his old life. All of it, only so that those words would be printed at the end of a single sheet of paper. Start over. He could not create the world for his colony, as he had promised, and now, he had nothing more to show for his dream than a dusty room full of papers- papers made from Earth’s dead trees.

  Welcome to Outlook Station Seven, Unknown Identity. It has been 9 hours since your last visit, declared the station’s speaker system.

  Hollis stopped everything. He did not move or make a sound. Someone had activated the entrance scanner of the compound. Whoever had entered was unknown by the computer system, which recognized all the logged identities of the colonists of Mars. There could be no ‘unknown identities’ on a planet with only twenty-two people.

  Cold blood seeped through Hollis’ veins as he spoke aloud. “Hello?" he called. “Who’s there?"

  Nothing but the fluttering of paper in the desert breeze. The door had most certainly been opened and the station was decompressed, but thankfully Hollis kept his helmet secured so that the contaminated air would not harm him. He coiled around the curling passageway as all his senses began to heighten to the coming threat.

  “Hello?" he called again.

  A disembodied voice echoed back down the hall in response.

  Because the rain is warm, it said.

  “What did you say?" Hollis shuddered, rounding his way towards the entrance. “Who

  are you? How do you know about that?!"

  As Hollis neared the origin of the voice, the halls began to hum with the pounding of a rainstorm outside its walls. The sound became deafening, so much so that Hollis had to grab hold of his head to fight back the piercing pattering of rain that penetrated his mind.

  “That’s impossible," Hollis gasped as the sound of rain grew heavier in his mind and booming thunderclaps shook the station.

  Hollis propelled himself off a wall and sprinted towards the entrance of the station. He could not believe it. Was this actually rain on Mars? Had his research worked after all? Perhaps one of the seedlings survived, unknown to him, and matured on its own, building a forest without his knowledge, deep in the valley. Plums of sand sprayed into Hollis’ visor as he burst through the open doorway and into the sunlight. He was lost for a moment, unknowing of which way was up and which was down. When the dust settled Hollis was in the barren desert again, and he waited in expectation for the raindrops to shower over him. But there was no rain, only the dry and clear skies of before.

  Because the rain is warm

  There was the voice again. Hollis’ sudden excitement overpowered his disappointment of the lost storm. He spun around to catch a shadow curl around the corner of the station carrying the mysterious voice with it. As fast as he could, Hollis hurled himself after the elusive specter.

  “Wait!" he yelled.

  He stumbled over
the rising plateau beyond the outlook station. The rock cracked beneath his boots and cascaded down the cliff face. He tried to keep up with the ghost, but the exosuit was cumbersome and ill-fitting. Still, he persisted. He scrambled like a dog after a bone, bounding over the complex terrain, nearing the valley’s precipice.

  And then he saw it, standing there at the edge, unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked like one of the figures in the stain-glass windows of the abandoned church of his childhood. It stood strong, with its back towards him, gazing across the endless canyon system that was the Valles Marineris. From the creature’s back thick luminescent wings protruded and fluttered in the breeze. The creature itself almost resembled a human, but in its presence something was utterly inhuman. Its translucent skin was crystallized, reflecting the Martian sun back in multiplied brightness, and the glare blurred Hollis’ gaping eyes. Hollis lifted his hand above his visor to shield his eyes from the light hoping get a better look, but before doing so the apparition leaped into the deep ravine and out of sight.

  “No!" he screamed. “Wait!"

  Hollis approached the canyons precipice in slow and steadfast strides. At its edge, he peered overboard in both fear and awe as if he were on the deck of a ship watching the strong ocean tides crashing at its bow below.

  The diverging fractals of the valley cracked deep into the planet's surface in ever-extending roots and endlessly spread to the horizon. The Sun struck the rippling rocks in the valley in golden light and cast shadows against the slopes. From this view, Hollis continued his inspection of the descending canyons, hoping to find the animal within. His eager eyes followed along the ruptures of the walls, and the layers of rock and time rolled by until he found the canyon's bottom. But he found only just that. Whatever it was that he saw, it was gone now.

  The sound of upturned gravel from behind urged Hollis to turn around in a quick spin. Another Crawler was parking beside his, next to the outlook station, and another colonist in an exosuit emerged from its cold metal structure. Hollis made out the red hair behind the helmet. It was Autumn Florentine, the colonial meteorologist.