Martians Abroad

“Amateurish,” he said, shaking his head.

The one thing I couldn’t let happen was to step off the shuttle on Earth and collapse into a puddle of unconditioned muscles while Charles walked off like the king of the world. So I jogged. Ethan made it easier.

“What … are you most … looking forward to? On Earth?” he asked, glancing sideways to my treadmill.

“I … told you,” I answered. “I’m not.”

“I want to see … forests,” he said. “I’ve … seen pictures. Millions of trees … they go on for … kilometers.”

“We have … trees … on Mars,” I said. “In the atrium domes.”

“But millions of them?” he said.

“What’s the difference?”

“That’s just it,” he said, laughing. And how could he laugh without any air in his lungs? “It’s got to be different. I want to see it.”

“Overrated,” I muttered.

“There’s got to be something you want to see,” he said.

Nothing on Earth could possibly be worth this. “Less … less talking … please,” I gasped.

* * *

I wrote a careful message to Captain McCaven, asking for a chance to see the bridge. I tried to sound intelligent and professional, eager but not too eager. I didn’t have a number or address to send it directly to him, so I sent it to the ship’s passenger-liaison office. I could sort of understand why they didn’t publicize the captain’s personal address. But it wasn’t like I was going to be rude and send him a million messages.

All I got was an automatic response: “Thank you for your interest. We appreciate comments from our passengers.” Whatever. I couldn’t be sure anyone had even read my request. So I sent it again. And got the same automated response.

Maybe Charles was right about e-messages. So I tried a different strategy.

I tried to get into Charles’s storage bin in our cabin, but he’d locked it with a thumbprint code. I briefly thought about waiting until he was asleep and trying to ease his hand over to activate the lock. But if I did that, he’d most likely wake up, and I’d have to explain. No way was I getting in there.

I found the note he’d written to me and tore a blank strip off the bottom of it. It didn’t give me a lot of room, and the edges were rough and torn, unlike the nice clean square the page had started out as. For a pencil I had to use a stylus for a handheld terminal, dipping it in a brown sauce from the galley to use as ink. The result was rather horrible and would pretty much rot away in a couple of days. But it didn’t have to look pretty, it just had to get noticed. This would get noticed.

Dear Captain McCaven:

My name is Polly Newton, and I’m traveling from Mars with my brother Charles in cabin C32. I hope someday to be a ship pilot. I got top grades in astronautics in school. I would very much like to see the bridge of the Lilia Litviak during the trip to Earth, and I promise to be quiet and respectful and not get in the way. If such a thing can be managed, I would be very grateful.

Sincerely,

Polly Newton

My writing was very tiny. He probably wouldn’t even be able to read it. As long as he made out “Polly Newton,” which I was sure to make legible, I ought to at least get attention from it. Maybe the kind of attention that would get me confined to quarters, but still.

Back in the observation lounge, I shoved a corner of the note into the NO ADMITTANCE sign that was bolted to the wall. The captain couldn’t possibly miss it.

* * *

I was late to dinner and ended up sitting by myself in the corner. Until Charles brought his tray over and sat across from me. I’d have preferred sitting alone.

“What have you found out about Achebe?” he asked. Before hello, even.

“Who?” I said.

“Ethan Achebe, the Zeus Mining heir.”

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to be finding out about him?”