«Tumultuous Apathy»

11-20-2309

From a distance the cosmos stands still. Days and weeks pass at a time while little or nothing appears to change. But the Solar system rages on, and underneath a seemingly static surface, it thrashes and spasms violently. Economic turmoil and inconvenient plagues. Wildfire and meteor showers. Death and regeneration.

When I woke up, I immediately flipped open my antiquated  workstation from where I lay in bed. It sprang to life with renewed vigor, a needlessly complex reformatting was still treating the Z-140x as well as one would expect within the first week. All that mattered was that I could access a network again, and within seconds I was connecting to the Magnate family’s portal. Though Allan and Rikka’s terminals were silent, and Ploki was still asleep, his porti was downloading a large file, so there was a little latency in the sphere.

After sliding through the various social webs I keep a profile in, checking my multiple inboxes and even the dashboard control panel for this tlog, finding no new messages in each, I hovered purposelessly in the internet for a few moments, idly rapping my fingertips on the case of the computer. I’d hoped by then I would have at least received word back from Olympus Coast College about my application or student financial aid. Not knowing what else to do, I brought up a window from an interplanetary newsource, probably based on Earth. The stark headlines it launched at me in grim menacing boldface startled me at first.

– [FLU DEATH TOLLS IN THE UNITED TERRITORIES ESTIMATED AT 3,900] –

– [NEPTUNIAN PIRATES FAIL TO CAPTURE IONIAN CARGOSHIP SECOND TIME] –

– [TIPS TO SURVIVE BLACK FRIDAY AND SHOPPING BATTLEGROUNDS THIS HOLIDAY SEASON] –

Suddenly concerned for my health, and worried that all those months of not worrying weren’t going to pay off, I thumbed over the article. I truly detest the tricks these fear mongering, ad-savvy newsources use to optimize search results to generate some more hits each day. The report is contrary to the one just a couple of days ago which calculated deaths to be closer to 130, so I just figured they wanted to claim that all of the regular annual flu deaths had been attributed to the H1N1 virus. I closed the window before I could see how many of those confirmed deaths were on Mars, lest I become a victim of the pharmaceutical industry’s scare tactics.

The next window informed me pirates had been thwarted in their attempt to gain control of a ship leaving the orbit of Galatea. Either by coincidence or the attractiveness of the damn thing, it was the same ship hijacked last spring near those same waters. These marauders from the sixth moon of Neptune have reportedly captured over 50 vessels, and seemed to have a pretty good reputation until the Euxine Carolina was rescued by UT marines earlier this year. This time, the enhanced security placed onboard the hundred-ton spacefreighter was able to resolve any issue before it even developed into one.

I didn’t care about holiday bloodbaths or a house with a bunch of dead people in it. I couldn’t be compelled to look too deep into the stories reported by the Ganymedean newsource or an associated feed I’d brought up in the background while I digested these either. I really didn’t care about Earth’s prison camp or the election being gorked up on Ceres, or any of the other news they don‘t often openly address in Earth media. I’m usually enthralled with that sort of stuff.

I brought SpaceBook, my main social network, back into focus and updated my status to something disparaging to human nature for letting the media get so commercial, and closed my clunky old porti.

As if stirred by a ripple in a pond, Ploki Magnate rolled over in his bed. As he rested, he’d probably been able to sense so many similar, relatively tiny waves just and slept right through it. But a rock being thrown into the pond from so close may have felt like a surge against the barriers of his constant digital stream. He sat up, rubbing the side of is head.

“Oh, good morning, Ploki,” I said, realizing I hadn’t actually spoken a word to anyone when my voice cracked. The name already sounded a little strange to the tongue since it was a throwback to old hacker slang from days when a keyboard similar mine would still have been used. It was the handle that he chose to go by in all of his social avenues, virtual or not.

“Morning,” he said, not looking up from the glow of the button already alight in his hands. It illuminated his sharp face and the accentuated Ganymedean features. If he had antennae or pointy ears I would have seen them in the wash of blue light, but his head was framed only by a short haircut and a little scruff of beard.  “What’s this about the news?” he asked me, responding to the notification that woke him.

“Huh? Oh, well ther-” I began before he cut me off, he’d obviously brought up the headlines.

“Pirates…prison camp…experiment demonstrates possibility of life in Centauri?” he read aloud, a questioning tone as he wondered if he’d already heard that somewhere.

I was rising off my futon bed and walking as I replied. “I think that whole thing’s a ruse to get more scientific funding for exploration,” I grumbled as I stepped into the kitchen to scrounge up something.

“So it’s better we don’t find life outside the Solar system? You’re so cynical, Klay.” He was beginning to wake and warm up, getting out of bed only to settle into his computer chair.

I spoke to him over the kitchen counter, his workstation setup just on the other side. Anyone who used this kitchen couldn’t help but feel watched if he was seated there, though his eyes hardly rose from his screen. “No, I just think it’s going to be a huge bust if it turns out we went all the way there again and didn’t find anything … again,” there was little I came across in the fridge that screamed edible to me.

“Well it won’t be any bigger of a waste than if that money went to the defense budget,” his sleek porti connected to the portal the second he touched it, and in moments he was tangled in his various webs. “They got something like 700 bil for the military, just for a single year. That calculates to almost 2 billion a day.”

“Gork,” I exclaimed, slamming an unyielding cupboard. “Nothing’s looking appealing to me in here, wanna start the vaporizer?”

He glanced at the time and yelled “Fire it up!”

«←→»

Hunger was of the few things that could involuntarily force someone out into the big, scary world; and even then there are the options of fast food, take-out and delivery services to minimize a given human’s exposure to the outside as much as possible.

Ploki and I trod along the broad walkways of Newport’s Style Isle. Fashioned by The Caspian Company after a cookie-cutter Ionian Mission, it was a way to disguise their corporate headquarters as an outdoor shopping mall and gain a little extra revenue. It’s not actually an island, just a small mesa overlooking the Amazonian Ocean, and was used by natives in the past for their jamborees. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see it twinkling like a thousand diamonds in the midday light, beyond the rows of fancy crawlers, oily parking spaces and pristine, artificial palm trees.

I used to work here. Tucked away in the digital media section of Style Isle’s outdated bookstore, I toiled the first year I lived on Mars. The commute to Newport from Fender was treacherous at the least, a whole 30 minutes. It was enough to make the job feel not worth it to me, spending the entirety of my only raise on the fuel it took just to get to work late every day.

We wove amongst the flow of shoppers, consisting mostly of wealthy women who didn’t need to be making any more money. It always felt a little strange, walking amongst the same people I used to serve, calmly passing them decked out in their most splendid weekday attire. From the hottest trends off the runways in Mihr Patera to soft velour sweat suits encrusted in rhinestones. Large embellished sunglasses, gaudy jewelry and any number of insanely eye-catching accessories glinted and dangled in the red sun.

Anything they could afford to distract or cover up the seams between cosmetic surgery and plastic treatments. Neck-tucks and antenna-removal scars can still be tricky to hide, and that’s where expensive bronze and ivory make-up assisted. They perfectly mimicked the exemplary mannequins, stiff in the windows beside them but so posh. I cringed to think what these reptiles would look like without any mods.

Just a few minutes there and I’d already seen  too many aged women showing off their new breasts and arms, many of which still needed some tightening and laser treatments to erase the damage of decades of sun exposure. Gray roots hid under platinum blonde, deep crows feet under cakes of eye shadow, and I’m sure I would have noticed the stench of death if it weren’t for the aroma of nail polish and hair products. I just wanted to find the cheapest place to grab a bite, then get the hell out of this commercial trap.

“I’m so excited for my appointment next week!” Ploki said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m going to get my license, and then my new toy will be completely legitimate,” there was so much glee behind his eyes as he said this.

“I just hopes it work’s out for you, it would suck if you were denied cause you didn’t qualify,” I pointed out, though that would be just as upsetting to all of us.

“Seriously,” he replied and winced with his blue eyes, tryinag not to imagine that possibility.

I turned to my Martian friend as we rounded a corner near the geyser fountain. “Hey, Ploki, can you look something up for me real quick?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, slid his button out of his pocket and unlocked the palm-held device. The flat, blue screen lit up in broad daylight, appearing a few inches above his hand.  It rested on a faint laser cone, projected from the solitary LED eye; simplicity was the only identifying feature of an AM-3Gi button. He called up a search application, and looked at me, asking “What do you need?”

“Gork, that was fast. Don’t you still have to connect to a network with that thing?”

“No, I canceled that basic service that came with it.” He pointed to his temple with his free hand, saying “I’ve been auged.”

“Ahh, now it makes sense, you are your own sphere,” I looked at him again as if I’d be able to see it’s sheen around him now. “That’s astro, I’d love to get a chip one day,” I said quietly.

The cyborg’s eyes locked on me in disbelief. “What? You haven’t been auged?” the question rang loud here, even outside. Any sort of alterations, whether internal or external, are regarded highly by those of status, and I’m sure any of the women who could afford a boost in confidence could pay an extra few thousand to have a little silicon implanted in their heads, too.

I looked around at no scowling faces or judging eyes, surprisingly. “No, what makes you think I have?”

“I totally thought you were. You don’t have extra memory in there?” he asked, genuinely amazed I hadn’t undergone any sort of capacity upgrade.

“No, not at all,” I said with as little pride as I could show these technophilic Newpsies.

“Huh, I could have sworn. Hmm…well I guess you just have a good memory then,” he said, adjusting to the idea of my head being emptier than his.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment…especially coming from a machine,” I said facetiously.

He protested “Hey, I’m still mostly human!”

“Whatevs, Robot. Find me the cheapest food around,” I commanded.

He grumbled, and returned his gaze to the screen, manipulating the flattened beam that the browser was illustrated upon with the swish of his fingertips. He looked up, over to the other side of the food court we had just meandered into. “There. The pizza place has the lowest cost here,” he said at once.

“Wow, you found it that quick?” I said, astounded by his technology again.

“No, I just remembered,” he said with a grin, adding “Gorker.”

After we finished our two-dollar slices of pizza pie, and made our way back through the mess of grotesque human facsimiles, we found ourselves at his little, cerulean crawler. The two-door hatchback always reminded me of my elusive vehicle, though his wasn’t built on Ganymede.

His Saturnian-made Polaris was probably of a finer construction than my rodent. The interior had been optimized for comfort and visibility, so much so that even the HUD cowling had been displaced to the center of the dashboard, creating more storage areas.

At the press of the ignition switch, the engine whined and instruments illuminated with bright blue light, similar to the glow of the Ploki’s button, which now rested in a crèche on the center console. It supplied music from it’s harddrive to the entertainment system, and the driver or passenger could easily control media with the interface on either end.

We hurried home, where Allan waited for our return. He’d sequestered himself into his room, determined to make full use of his burgeoning class-load by doing everything he could to pass them all. Little had been seen of him, except when he needed transit to and from campus, or when there was a bi-weekly jam, or if Nymh had come over to lure him out, though she just as often did nothing to make him want to leave the room.

Similar could be said of the youngest of the Magnate siblings. Rikka was often out of the house since she was usually working one of her two jobs, and only appeared in sharp, semi-formal outfits when she was home from either, or on her way to an interview for a third. Attention seeking and a hypochondriac, she was currently fighting a bout with the deadly flu upstairs in her quarters, and no one could tell if she were actually sick or not.

I’d become good friends with Ploki over the previous weeks, finding similar interests was easy for us; or something like that. It could have been something to do with being the same age as me, or that he was easier to tolerate for an entire day than his often boisterous older brother. Perhaps it was because we had planned to move to that ski resort in Cyane this winter and had begun pre-roommate rituals of bonding. But it’s probably just because we both share the ground level of the house, he and I sleeping in the living room and family room, respectively.

We arrived back at his house in the mid-afternoon and immediately return to our positions in front of our workstations. Using some sort of control on his terminal, he remotely activated his brand new vaporizer, allowing it to warm up the 600 seconds so it will work properly. He then sent a message through the sphere to let Allan know he’d have about ten minutes to find a stopping point.

By force of habit, I brought up the newsources again with my renewed net connection, feeling warm with this novelty: the privilege of fresh information afforded only to those who have the technological means. By the look of the new banners, it seems healthcare reforms were stagnated by both sides of UT government, Earth’s new president visited Titan, and strife continued between warring factions on little Davidia.

A terrorist plot on another Earth skyscraper was foiled, a fusion plant in New Ganymede almost meltdown again and AM would probably release a new model of the button over the holidays. Students protested an increase in tuition rates at University of Mars campuses, a ferry crash in The Rings left 26 dead and the sequel to that stupid teenage-heartthrob-vampire movie broke box office records this weekend.

I closed all the windows at once and brought up one of my bookmarked links: a streaming, real-time image of the star Sol. I zoomed in partway, only until I spotted the well recognizable shapes of the gas giants, the thin haze of asteroid belts and the glint off the terrestrial worlds orbiting close the yellow main-sequence star. If it weren’t for a ticker running the time at the bottom you would have sworn it was just a still image, captured by a traveler from some rocket’s window.

I attempted to imagine for a moment that I was peering out of that porthole at the static but majestic view. I tried to picture myself away from any apprehensions of holidays, pirates, finances or vaccinations. It wasn’t working.

I collapsed the screen of the outdated porti. “Hey Ploki,” I called as I stood up, “I’m getting Allan whether that machine of yours is ready or not.”

«The New Martian Dream»

09-15-2309

The night’s air was crisp, the breeze warm and dry, breathing through my clothes instead of humidly pasting them to my skin. I struck the lighter I’d slipped past security and lit a cigarette. I puffed it happily into the crystal clear evening as I stood on the arrival curb of the spaceport with my possessions.

I had just been anxiously awaiting them at the baggage claim, worried they’d never make it to the luggage carousel intact. I was afraid of losing the few belongings I could be sure I still owned, and even more nervous about checking the guitar, whether it was in a spaceworthy titanium case or not. Fortunately my luggage arrived without a scratch, the only marks were the one’s I’d made to personalize them; matching the symbol tattooed to my left wrist. Satisfied, I turned to wait for my ride.

Shayne Lynoir pulled up a few minutes later in the silver 2-door she’d just driven to Mars in last week. In the few day’s she’d been here, I could tell that she’d began to adapt well, but still wasn’t used to all the little differences yet. She cautiously pulled out onto the closest freeway and headed us towards Olympus county, following directions from the navi fixed to her windshield.

“How are you liking living here so far?” I asked as I stared up at a sky filled with so much light, purely endemic to the Martian atmosphere.

“Oh it’s great. I’ve been smoking the best since I was in Omstel, way better than anything we found on Earth,” which I knew she’d say. “I’ve had a date with that girl I was looking forward to seeing. Uhm…I went to a strip club last night, Klay!”

“Wow, one week and Mars is already treating you right. You’re perfectly aware it’s all a trap, right?” I wouldn’t want her thinking the place was always this awesome.

“Yeah, I know. It does seem too good to be true, so I won’t be surprised when the bottom falls out. But I’m not worried, I’ve got two fellowships to pay for school. And in half a year I’ll have my Martian residence…and you know what that means,” she said with a devilish grin.

“Of course, Shayne, it’s the reason that at least half the people that come here still haven’t left yet. It’s why I came back. This is the land of opportunity, the gorkin’ Martian Dream was made real again. Now it’s the New Martian Dream: come to Mars, become a resident, and get a license to possess and grow,” being back had obviously inspired me already.

“Uhm. Kinda sounds like the old one…just without the whole movie business and stardom thing,” she pointed out, facetiously.

“Ok, fine. And this one’s a lot more like the first dream..you know, that whole gold rush thing,” I admitted.

“I thought you once said the first dream was that the planet was inhabited by Amazons,” she would remember me mentioning a thing like Amazons.

“Haha, it was the Ionians who thought that before they ever made landfall. I don’t think the Martian Dream existed until after Earthlings settled here, it’s sort of an evolution on their dream…or bastardization if you would,” I was starting to spill my rhetoric on the subject. “Their dream—our dream; whatever. We’re still Earthlings, after all.”

“And we can never really be Martians, anyway,” she reminded. “But I am looking forward to being called a Marsling,” she said with a wide grin, her imagination reeling on all the possibilities the future held for her. She snapped back into attention when the navi spout out the next direction in that robotic female voice.

We pulled into Allan’s complex, a cookie cutter community created by the Caspian Company. The large, bold letters and stylized directory maps at each of the entrances usually give it away, but if you were as familiar as I am to the area, you’d know to just assume they built it unless it wasn’t identical to everything else in a 20 mile radius.

Inside his mass produced housing unit, Allan sat downstairs with Nymh and Rei, watching a movie on his brother’s wide screen workstation.

“Ahoy, hoy!”

“Klayed!” the half-Martian, half-Saturnian toddler shouted as I slipped in the front door, leaving my suitcase, guitarcase and carry-on in the entrance way to give hugs.

“Hey, Rei. How have you been?” I asked, addressing her more as a peer than a 3-year-old. She turned away shyly, dumbstruck and speechless though she’d asked for me every single day of summer.

“Aww, Rei. Your boyfriend’s back,” Nymh joked, which made her daughter even more bashful, burying her face in my shoulder.

“What’s up, guys?” I asked as I set her back down and received hugs from my long lost friends.

“Not much, brutha! How are you doin?” Allan inquired, excited to see his buddy again.

“Oh, it feel so good to be back,” I said patting his shoulder. “Well, actually…there’s one thing…” I said, turning my eyes to the front door as if to initiate a crawler party.

“Back porch,” Allan said, understanding my request, though his answer confused me.

“Really?” I couldn’t believe they’d ever think a spot was more comfortable than the cabin of Allan’s vehicle.

“Yeah, go ahead, Lane, it’s already outside. I’ll be there to S-M-O-K-E with you in a second,” Nymh spelled out so her daughter wouldn’t be able to understand.

“You sure you don’t want me to watch her for a little while,” Allan asked his lovi in a saccharin voice.

“No, no. Go on, baby,” the Tethean said, giving him a kiss before he joined me on the back porch.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, wasting no time to get to business as I packed the glass full of fire.

“I have no idea yet, actually. It was such a struggle for me just to get back here…I really didn’t think any further ahead than this part,” I admitted, indicating to the pipe in my hand. He nodded, seeming to expect as much but shrugging cause he knew he’d have done no better. “Would it be alright if I crashed here for a little while?”

“Well it’s a little packed now. My sister never moved out, and my brother, Ploki, came back from Eris and doesn’t even have a room anymore. Also, with Nymh and Rei spending the nights here often, and Rikka’s lovi sleeping over all the time, it’s a full house,” he explained.

“I understand, well that’s ok. Shanye did say I could stay with her a little while if I wanted,” I didn’t want to mention it wasn’t too big of a deal because I’d probably be moving back to Earth before spring anyway.

“I’ll see what I can do though. If I find some room I’m sure my parent’s won’t mind you being here a few days, they did miss you too,” he said, lighting a cigarette impatiently while I took my time to finish packing the bowl.

“Thanks, bro, I appreciate it,” I was genuinely relieved someone on this planet had a heart. Though it wasn’t even my weed, I offered him greens out of gratitude. He shook his head to turn it down.

“Go ahead,” he waved, though I was reluctant to take it. “Welcome back to Mars, Mr. Lane,” he announced, handing me a lighter.

I nodded in appreciation and struck the lighter, focusing it’s flame on the leafy green and purple material packed into the chamber as I inhaled it’s milky goodness deep into my lungs. I felt a tingle emerge instantly, fluttering through my chest and head and easing everything it touched before I exhaled a plume of smoke into the open Martian night, the divine flavor I’d longed for most of the summer lingering on my tongue and lips. I smiled and closed my eyes, relishing the moment.

This is it: The New Martian Dream. How sweet it tastes.

«Still Stuck on Earth»

08-16-2309

Why am I here?

Still just waiting to go back to Mars at this point, it seems. It’s almost the end of August and I’m still exactly where I was a month ago. At the very latest, I was supposed to go back at the beginning of this month, that way if I couldn’t get the money to Witt for rent, I could at least get my stuff out of that apartment before she had a new tenant move in.

That didn’t work out, and now I’m trapped here it seems. I get to say goodbye to all my friends that have kept me happy here on Earth in my plight. Everyone getting on with their responsibilities, taking no longer than a month or two to get the jitters out and back to school or off to work again. All the guys I got to hang out with and all the girls I was hooking up with all summer have retreated back to their lives.

It’s been getting awfully lonely without anyone to play with. There was one girl I had hopes of working things out with, but she disappeared as suddenly as I met her. She’d come to one of my brother’s friend’s parties, knowing fewer people there than I did, and stood out immediately. The beauty from Mars struck me dead in my tracks, her petite frame wrapped in a tight, leggy dress–all the way up to her big, doey eyes.

She complained about feeling like the oldest person at the party, a notion I was well familiar with. I realized quickly that we were actually the oldest people present, or at least I was. She and Shayne were both tied for 21, and together we formed the elders of this shindig, and made our own little clique away from the racket. Actually, I would have never hit it off with the vixen if Shayne hadn’t been trying to hit on her.

Though Shayne thought she had this one wrapped up in the bag, I still managed to get her number, and prove that she was straight. I had hoped that if I was going to be stuck on Earth, I might be able to spend that time with an attractive girl I could vibe with. Unfortunately, it looked like no such look for me, as she never responded to any messages or calls. With Shayne taking off to move to Mars in the next week or two, it looked like I was going to be on Earth without any friends.

Also, it definitely looks like I’ve lost the what I have to return to there. My roommate seems to have gotten my replacement lined up, as Allan’s had to do me the favor of getting my possessions from my old place in the small increments she’s let him take without seeing any money from me yet. I don’t really know what I’ll be going back to when I free myself from my Earthly bonds.

I need to go back to Mars, but I’m getting more nervous about it each day that I’m away. The anxiety is near palpable, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m not better off here. I guess the only way to find out is to go back, but who knows when that will ever happen.

«Back Home»

07-06-2309

I’m home, I’m home!

After two long weeks, I’m finally home. Well, I’ve been home for a little while now, but there was plenty of recovery necessary. It’s actually been over a month now since I left my quiet home on Mars. I’ll just sum up the past few weeks quickly for you, none of the verbose detail of the past entries.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, spare a wet fiasco with part of the large aft hatch that wouldn’t stay closed during some rain we drove through, nothing that important, though. Ok, so the interior lights won’t turn of now, big deal, at least it doesn’t drain the beast’s battery every time we turn her on.

I spent the first week in Mink’s basement getting high, or out at the bar drinking with him; anything we could do to stave off sobriety another moment. Any form of altered state would suffice, this was our homeostasis for now. We asked ourselves why we couldn’t just go back to that paradise, or at least bring it’s irregular traditions back to the real world. There were no wake and bakes or early evening doses here.

I got a chance to go sailing that weekend, just my brother and I with my dad, out riding in the solar wind on his 38-footer. I had to reveal my tattoo to my father rather quickly, lest he notice it then I took the gloves off in between course adjustments. He didn’t seem too surprised by it, which is just as well since I assumed he’d seen it online beforehand. He just gave me the “You’re a free, white, Earthling over 21–you can do whatever you want,” speech, which was a relief when learned I smoked cigarettes sometime after that.

It was nice to be in my old house again, even though my brother acquired my room a long time ago, and the cats had acquired his. He had had to drop off all three at a shelter not too long ago, being unable to find a single person who could take care of any one of them. It was certainly upsetting, and something I still haven’t gotten used to; I still hear small thuds and mews when the house is empty, and any dark object on the ground–from a backpack to a watering can or a pair of boots–takes on feline qualities in the corners of my eyes.

Before they departed, my orange cat had left a present for my brother one day, rendering his mattress unusable if he couldn’t adapt to the smell of ammonia and saline. So he took my old bed in my absence, leaving me to rest on an unheavenly uncomfortable, inflatable mattress. More of a slip-and-slide, or plain old death trap if you ask me. The second weekend when Leona came to visit me, it proved near fatal.

She had driven down from New Tros with a co-worker named Ann to stay with me the weekend. We’d been keeping a strong correspondence since we had left the festival, and on such good terms, I had been looking forward to seeing my Earthling buddy this summer.

Sparks certainly flew when we saw each other, the friction of two like minds coming together with a similar goal. And every single tiny movement was amplified with the warping and squeaking of the terrible latex bedding, especially dangerous with Ann, sleeping on the floor of the same room. It was going to be an unfortunate evening for someone.

The next day we took the metro hoverrail into the capitol, apparently to join in the protest of a clean energy bill that wasn’t good enough for our needs. It was fun getting to carry around signs and wear green hardhats, but we weren’t entirely dedicated to the peaceful protest, or all the rules placed against it by the multitude of police and security surrounding the legislative buildings. We broke off when it was most convenient for us and wandered to the mall and the museums.

We visited two of the major ones, particularly both of my favorites. First, the Air and Space museum, where all manner of rocket and ship were on display, from the beginning of astronautics to modern day prototypes. I guided them through my most nostalgic spots, interesting to see how much smaller it all seemed to me now that I wasn’t holding onto my father’s hand.

The Natural History museum was our next stop, the giant mammoth that greets you in the main atrium definitely not appearing so gargantuan anymore. We explored a few areas of this museum I’d never remembered wandering before, particularly the mammals and the ancient sea exhibits, comparing the evolution of different types of similar animals on different worlds of our solar system.

We also spent a long time wandering through the gem and mineral showcase, until which I’d never placed much credence in crystal power. I never remember feeling that exhausted before, as if each cluster of amethyst and calcite, or the rainbow array of quartz each tapped a bit of energy as we passed them by. We called it a night soon afterwords, heading back to my little suburb and bidding farewell to Ann, who left to stay with a friend we’d met in the city rather than come home with us.

The next day we took a bit of a walking tour through my hometown, Vine, where I learned more about it than I’d ever previously known. On top of being founded on one of the most important routes to and from Menesopolis, it also acted as an important point for supplying the military effort in Earth’s civil war and both the solar wars. Also, it apparently used to be named Ayrhill, which would explain why every street in the old part of town are named after it.

One of the few landmarks Vine holds dear is the old red booster. A relic from the spaceport that used to pump life into the heart of this town, which is now a square of concrete and tarmac with rusted equipment and metal towers crumbling under the creepers that have weighed them down for decades. The industrial district contains no other remains besides this discarded first-stage booster, dolled up a little bit with a new shiny paint job. They still let you take a climb through it, the ancient wrought iron construction still reeking of oil and fuel.

That next week, after Leona had returned to New Tros,  someone else randomly came into town. Shayne Lynoir, the lesbian chemical biologist, was one of the nicer friends I had in high school. We’d begun to rehash things when she came out to visit Mars earlier this spring, seeing if she wanted to go to school at University Mars: Caspian. She had been on Adrastea for the summer, working some well paying chemistry job while she got to enjoy the sights of the canalous capital of Omstel.

She’d come home to Earth for a week to attend a funeral, so she was much relieved she could hang out with someone with whom she could share her new passion for the Fire of Jove. She went into detail about all the hi-grade cultivars she’d been privilege to, some of which I’d known from my new home, others of which I’d never even heard of. She had decided she would definitely choose UMC and a life on Mars over the peace corps or a Jovian school, excited to take advantage of the legality of the green medicine and become a rockstar chemist.

The third weekend I was back was the weekend of independence day. Leona came down from New Tros again, and this time Brick also came up from Carolina the day before, when we had a few drinks to celebrate his 21st birthday that I‘d missed since I last saw him. It was great seeing how my companions from the road trip were faring, and it would be fun to celebrate our world’s independence from Ganymede with friends from both my worlds.

I took them sailing the morning of the 4th. Along with my brother and a slew of his friends, we set out from a small port up in Chesapeake where my dad keeps his black-trimmed ship harbored. My brother and I manned the sails mostly while our friends got to enjoy the ride, taking a short tour out and around.

We had been maintaining a good clip for a short while when Zech got a mischievous idea. He had already felt the rush of invincibility when we hoisted him 40 feet upwards to repair one of the headsail lines that busted on our last jaunt. He got started putting a light suit on and finding a strong enough line, making for the aft.

“I’m gonna tie off and dive in,” he said with more confidence than I felt it was safe to have in space.

“Wait, what? I don’t think you…well…ok, I’ll get the camera,” I said, agreeing to the idea, but not sure if it was because I trusted him or if I liked the idea of something going wrong.

“To take pictures? That’s a good idea,” he said, securing his gauntlet like gloves to his sleeves.

“No, I’m gonna take a video, post you on the nets,” I snickered, turning on Leona’s clicki. “If this doesn’t get me a few hits on uScreen, I don’t know what will.”

“As long as you’re sure you’ll be fine,” our father said, making sure there was nothing ahead for a few thousand feet before locking the heading with the autopilot. “Just make sure you’ve got a life preserver ready on a line to give him, Klay,” he requested.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it,” I said patting blindly at it as I looked through the viewfinder. “Brick, Lazze, I want you guys on aft, ready to pull his rope in if he needs out.”

“Aye, aye,” Brick said, tightening a pair of gloves for grip.

I began filming. Zech secured the last lock on his helm and ran his thumb over a wristat built into the left gauntlet. He looked up, waved at the camera, and turned to wave at the rest of the people on board, I followed with my lens to get a shot of the audience before returning to my brother, leaning over to make sure his line was secure to a hard point on the ship, then snug it around his waist and looked to my dad for approval, who must have signaled him off camera. He dived off the back platform immediately.

At first he looked perfectly euphoric, simply tumbling weightless for a moment of bliss, I could see the glint of his smile through the visor. It disappeared suddenly as the rope pulled taught, jerking him violently towards us. He awkwardly struggled, flailing his arms as he tried to grab hold and swim back in.

“Get him out of there, now, start pulling, guys! Now!” my father barked. The other men began heaving him in while Zech crawled hand over hand up his end. I caught it all on camera, until he was back on board, threw his helmet off and was in my face.

“Why didn’t you throw the life preserver? I could have stayed out there if you did,” he was livid, and reasonably, I would be if I was just dangled off the back of a ship in outer space.

“Well somebody had to film it,” I said facetiously, still holding the clicki to my eye. When I saw he wasn’t amused, I switched it off and handed it off. “Dad wanted you back onboard and you already had a line secured to you. You think it would have been any easier to do it holding on to two ropes?”

“It might have made it easier to fight against the ship’s wake, I almost choked to death out there with the pressure,” he was still ready to hurt me.

“Or it might have made it harder to get you back in with even more resistance,” I tried to placate him, but he was upset. He calmed down eventually, but I could tell he was ready to push me off as soon as I wasn’t looking.

When we’d made it back to port we all split our separate ways. My brother had cooled down now, but he wouldn’t let me forget this for a while. Brick, Leona and I headed to their friends house nearby in Chesapeake, a part of the territory we referred to only as Fredneck.

We hadn’t arrived soon enough to get a good spot, or even find the park where everyone was set up to watch the large firework display, so we ended up watching it from the parking lot a nearby shopping center. The ecstatic incendiary devices tickled our senses for an extensive ceremony, filled with many new varieties I’d never seen blown up before.

The party afterwords was a lot of fun. I usually worry a bit about kickbacks I’m not familiar with more than a couple of people at, but I had a really good time with Brick’s friends from his Earth school. We drank, played pong and I played my music late into the night.

I bid farewell to each of them the next day, so glad we could get together again, and satisfied to finally have a sort of epilogue to the summer’s journey. I’ll glance back at this as the closing chapter of the road trip, and look forward to my next great adventure.

«The Road Trip – Day 1»

I woke up a lot earlier than I usually do, got out of bed and showered. Then I clipped my nails, shaved what I can call a beard, and actually brushed my teeth. It was even morning still by the time I finished.

My bags were already packed, as they have been for a couple weeks, but finally prepared the night before with a few last minute items. I had laid the days clothes out for myself, which I, of course, had already fit into my suitcase; I know I’ll have room for extra things if I need another shirt or two back home. Unfortunately I have to drag Eon’s bag back with me, so I won’t really be able to bring all the things I’d want for a summer. Like the stuff stored on my external hard drive, but I figure it will be safer at home, and I can always buy a new one with the money I’ll be making if I do stay all summer, otherwise I’d be back in a month. Either way, it will be a short while before I’m reunited with all of my precious data.

I tried to kill time all day, anxious about the trip, ever so ready to get it underway. Brick was picking me up from the jam, but I’d needed a ride there. Allan grudgingly gave me a lift, making a big deal about not being able to go; though he had arranged a trip for his summer before I had, along the coast to Cydonia, and never really made provisions for me to go with him, so whatever. It was one of the reasons I wanted to go on this trip in the first place.

The guys were sad to see me go, they liked the variety I added by singing along with Allan. They were finally willing to play all the songs I’d been trying to get them to try for months. It was a short lived experience though, Brick came before the jam was through and I loaded all the bags (one case, mine; an even larger one, Eon’s) in his trunk, where they would stay for a few days.

The small pack I prepared has all the provisions I’d need to survive a couple days without everything else, spare food and water. I have my toiletries, electronics and chargers. I have a spare change of clothes with flip flops, and an extra pair of socks on top of that. I have my towel. I have the 21 pre-rolled joints we’ll be rationing out along the way. I have the Flowers of Taurus. I’ll carry this thing back and forth from the vehicle to the hotel, just change and restock the pack when it gets smelly, and hopefully be able to wash everything before the festival starts, just in case it rains and I need something dry by the end of it.

We got to his house and finished packing up all the stuff he would need for a year on Earth. When we’d completed our short task, aided by Brick‘s lovi, we made a ceremonial journey to the top-of-the-world, in Fender. Well, every town seems to have a top-of-the-world, and I’m sure well see many greater things along our way that would just flatten this meager mountain.

It was the very spot I left the bunnies to their fate. From now on it would be the spot we smoked two joints to commemorate our trip. We walked far down a path, far enough that out in the distance, between the other ridges that get in the way, you could perfectly see the ever illuminated skyline of Novus Angelicas.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could actually get such a clear view of it from here. I never saw it like this from Linda’s house…or anywhere along here,” I remembered being frustrated any day I’d tried to take pictures on walks here.

“Well not many people see this cause its closed during the night. And it just, kinda looks like a horse trail. It’s actually part of golf course right below us.” Brick informed me.

“I’ve never seen it like this.”

“Well get a good look, cause it will be the last time you will for a long, long while, good sir.” He the handed the second one back to me, almost finished.

I took one last large drag, and an equally  large view of the glowing towers of white and gold in the background. How long will it be before I come back down?

*****

The first day started early. 8 am is never been an acceptable hour to wake up–unless it’s Eridian time–and 7:45 even less appropriate.

“Wakey, wakey, sir. Our journey begins,” Brick said excitedly, sticking his head into the room where I slept.

“Alright, alright,” I muttered, rolling over. I yawned and sat up as I tried to remember what chords I was playing in my dream, though it was futile. I gave up trying when I realized they probably wouldn’t sound as good in real life anyway; if those notes even existed. I stretched and began to move my blood around, finding I was better rested than I expected to be, I surely thought my anticipation would cut into my sleep. I felt fortunate for the weeks of preparation that went into this day. My bags were ready, the crawler was packed, the drugs were waiting. All that was left was for us to pile in and take off.

We weren’t taking the Fondgrid company vehicle, instead wed just be taking nicks crawler, which he would then drive back to school to have there, and then bring back home when he graduated next summer. We could take the same route we planned from Mars to Luna: drive a few hours to get to the UA Ferry, which departs just north of Valles Marineris–the middle of the gorking desert–and land on what Earthlings commonly refer to as the far side of the moon.

Then tomorrow, after a 12 hour haul that will be hard to sleep through while still sitting in the crawler, we’ll drive east, through the mountains and valleys and more gorking mountains, until it starts to flatten out, much like a wave function, into the smooth flat plains on the near side of the moon. Then we could take a more direct route to the southern hemisphere of Earth, since we wouldn’t be restricted to a ferry large enough to carry a broadside. We could use the Old Gammatheon ferry, which follows as close to ancient Rte. 66 as you can get these days. It would make our overall trip less lengthy and a lot more historic all at once.

“Hey, looks like we get to go through Dominia on this route,” I realized, inspecting the new route. “The complete other side of the territory from where I was born, but that’s cool none the less.”

“Bring it back to today’s map,” he requested, looking over at the PDA in my hand while we were stopped at a light. “I just want to see which freeway it says to take out of here.”

“Looks like…the 60 to Berdu, and the 15 on,” I responded, finding the information quickly, “we’re heading the right way.”

“Excellent, excellent. When do we want to start?” Brick asked, motioning to the closed ashtray resting between us.

“Let’s get out of this sprawl first, I’ll feel much safer about it if we just reach the desert first. And we’ve only got one for today, anyway.”

“You’ve got a point, how long do we have?”

“As your navigator, I advise you to drive at top speed…”

“Yeah, yeah, that shtick is gonna get old real quick,” he shot me a preemptive glare.

I giggled to myself as soon as he turned back to the road, merging onto the freeway. I could see it stretch out impossibly far before me, disappearing into the far mountains. I had no idea what lay on the other side, but couldn’t wait to find out.

06-05-2309

I woke up a lot earlier than I usually do, got out of bed and showered. Then I clipped my nails, shaved what I can call a beard, and actually brushed my teeth. It was even morning still by the time I finished.

My bags were already packed, as they have been for a couple weeks, but finally prepared the night before with a few last minute items. I had laid the days clothes out for myself, which I, of course, had already fit into my suitcase; I know I’ll have room for extra things if I need another shirt or two back home. Unfortunately I have to drag Eon’s bag back with me, so I won’t really be able to bring all the things I’d want for a summer. Like the stuff stored on my external hard drive, but I figure it will be safer at home, and I can always buy a new one with the money I’ll be making if I do stay all summer, otherwise I’d be back in a month. Either way, it will be a short while before I’m reunited with all of my precious data.

I tried to kill time all day, anxious about the trip, ever so ready to get it underway. Brick was picking me up from the jam, but I’d needed a ride there. Allan grudgingly gave me a lift, making a big deal about not being able to go; though he had arranged a trip for his summer before I had, along the coast to Cydonia, and never really made provisions for me to go with him, so whatever. It was one of the reasons I wanted to go on this trip in the first place.

The guys were sad to see me go, they liked the variety I added by singing along with Allan. They were finally willing to play all the songs I’d been trying to get them to try for months. It was a short lived experience though, Brick came before the jam was through and I loaded all the bags (one case, mine; an even larger one, Eon’s) in his trunk, where they would stay for a few days.

The small pack I prepared has all the provisions I’d need to survive a couple days without everything else, spare food and water. I have my toiletries, electronics and chargers. I have a spare change of clothes with flip flops, and an extra pair of socks on top of that. I have my towel. I have the 21 pre-rolled joints we’ll be rationing out along the way. I have the Flowers of Taurus. I’ll carry this thing back and forth from the vehicle to the hotel, just change and restock the pack when it gets smelly, and hopefully be able to wash everything before the festival starts, just in case it rains and I need something dry by the end of it.

We got to his house and finished packing up all the stuff he would need for a year on Earth. When we’d completed our short task, aided by Brick‘s lovi, we made a ceremonial journey to the top-of-the-world, in Fender. Well, every town seems to have a top-of-the-world, and I’m sure well see many greater things along our way that would just flatten this meager mountain.

It was the very spot I left the bunnies to their fate. From now on it would be the spot we smoked two joints to commemorate our trip. We walked far down a path, far enough that out in the distance, between the other ridges that get in the way, you could perfectly see the ever illuminated skyline of Novus Angelicas.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could actually get such a clear view of it from here. I never saw it like this from Linda’s house…or anywhere along here,” I remembered being frustrated any day I’d tried to take pictures on walks here.

“Well not many people see this cause its closed during the night. And it just, kinda looks like a horse trail. It’s actually part of golf course right below us.” Brick informed me.

“I’ve never seen it like this.”

“Well get a good look, cause it will be the last time you will for a long, long while, good sir.” He the handed the second one back to me, almost finished.

I took one last large drag, and an equally large view of the glowing towers of white and gold in the background. How long will it be before I come back down?

«←→»

The first day started early. 8 am is never been an acceptable hour to wake up–unless it’s Eridian time–and 7:45 even less appropriate.

“Wakey, wakey, sir. Our journey begins,” Brick said excitedly, sticking his head into the room where I slept.

“Alright, alright,” I muttered, rolling over. I yawned and sat up as I tried to remember what chords I was playing in my dream, though it was futile. I gave up trying when I realized they probably wouldn’t sound as good in real life anyway; if those notes even existed. I stretched and began to move my blood around, finding I was better rested than I expected to be, I surely thought my anticipation would cut into my sleep. I felt fortunate for the weeks of preparation that went into this day. My bags were ready, the crawler was packed, the drugs were waiting. All that was left was for us to pile in and take off.

We weren’t taking the Fondgrid company vehicle, instead wed just be taking nicks crawler, which he would then drive back to school to have there, and then bring back home when he graduated next summer. We could take the same route we planned from Mars to Luna: drive a few hours to get to the UA Ferry, which departs just north of Valles Marineris–the middle of the gorking desert–and land on what Earthlings commonly refer to as the far side of the moon.

Then tomorrow, after a 12 hour haul that will be hard to sleep through while still sitting in the crawler, we’ll drive east, through the mountains and valleys and more gorking mountains, until it starts to flatten out, much like a wave function, into the smooth flat plains on the near side of the moon. Then we could take a more direct route to the southern hemisphere of Earth, since we wouldn’t be restricted to a ferry large enough to carry a broadside. We could use the Old Gammatheon ferry, which follows as close to ancient Rte. 66 as you can get these days. It would make our overall trip less lengthy and a lot more historic all at once.

“Hey, looks like we get to go through Dominia on this route,” I realized, inspecting the new course. “The complete other side of the territory from where I was born, but that’s cool none the less.”

“Bring it back to today’s map,” he requested, looking over at the PDA in my hand while we were stopped at a light. “I just want to see which freeway it says to take out of here.”

“Looks like…the 60 to Berdu, and the 15 on,” I responded, finding the information quickly, “we’re heading the right way.”

“Excellent, excellent. When do we want to start?” Brick asked, motioning to the closed ashtray resting between us.

“Let’s get out of this sprawl first, I’ll feel much safer about it if we just reach the desert first. And we’ve only got one for today, anyway.”

“You’ve got a point, how long do we have?”

“As your navigator, I advise you to drive at top speed…”

“Yeah, yeah, that shtick is gonna get old real quick,” he shot me a preemptive glare.

I giggled to myself as soon as he turned back to the road, merging onto the freeway. I could see it stretch out impossibly far before me, disappearing into the far mountains. I had no idea what lay on the other side, but couldn’t wait to find out.

«Conversational Change»

04-11-2309

“And so if from every conversation one learns something, and every time one learns something it changes them, it’s simple to see why people don’t want to communicate most of the time,” summarized Allan, edging towards a conclusion, though incomprehensibly distant.

“Yeah, they’re just afraid of change,” I responded , excited to think the conversation that had been continuing for days was finally coming to an end. I hammered in what ironically was not the last nail in the coffin, adding “A well recognized pattern of wanting to stick to one’s own habits.” A spark suddenly shone in his eyes, a spark that I’d come to hate. It meant that he had found a word in the last sentence that would be just enough, if not exactly what he needed, to make a counter statement.

“Ah but doesn’t he say we need to develop habituation in order to achieve and maintain happiness?” the Martian said, motioning to the book on the floor, a rather heavy throwback he carried around in his satchel. This text, for one of his philosophy classes, was renowned enough to be available on eBook–certainly not an obscure relic in any means–but he preferred being able to hold the real dead wood in his fingers as he read. He could just upload it to his texti. He had never complained that reading it off a screen hurt his eyes or anything, he’s always messaging with the phone constantly. I guess he liked feeling the weight of the pages in his hands or something, I imagine he thinks it gives the work a real body with mass and makes the words impact with more force. Or, he could just like books.

“I guess, yeah,” I took a drag of my cig and sighed out a cloud of smoke. I was reminded momentarily of hating teachers I had in the past who decided it was fun to lead their students down one path of reasoning until they just got to the door, only to pull the mat out from underneath when they got there. You know, make you agree with something then tell you it’s wrong–though easy to believe–just to drive a point. I looked around and didn’t see the rest of the class sitting in the crawler to watch the example demonstrated, and turned back to Allan. “But I don’t remember when we were even talking about that,” I stated suddenly acting aspirated, as if that would actually stop him from going there.

“Well, one of the things I’m learning in all my classes is that a philosophy is no good if it can’t be applied to anything at anytime,” a triumphant return to the floor must have been echoed with a cheering crowd in his mind.  I thought of a way to silence them quickly.

“Didn’t you say that any and all theories break down at some point?” I tried to hide the smirk creeping across my lips as I, again, thought I had struck a vital blow with one of his own weapons. All of his theories break down when I’m around, anyway.

“Yes, but existentialism teaches us that we should examine where they crumble and why, so as to better understand the nature of theories, ourselves and the world around us,” he said, artfully dodging my strike with what seemed too well rehearsed a defense.

“Even if we have to be the ones with the hammer, just to see the results more closely,” I said with a quiet sigh of admission. If you can’t beat em, join em. Especially if it’s that tiny bit or resistance that was the only reason you were stuck on that topic. I’ll often find myself agreeing to things just so a conversation moves on more smoothly, which just becomes silly when you remember half of the things that I say I disagree with are actually things I do agree with. It just makes a boring argument if everyone starts on the same side.

Since there was a momentary confusion brought on by agreement, I had bought myself one chance to slip in a seemingly careless observation that could send this whole thing spinning into a different direction. “I guess anything can be examined existentially about a topic to be reapplied existentially to any other topic,” I was a cheap cliché, but I wondered where this one would go as I unleashed it.

“Well, yes,” I watched him agree, then pause to think about it, then return to agreeing. He then looked as if he couldn’t think of anything good to say in addition to my statement, and was about to take up a contrary position just to have something to say before his texti began to buzz. He found it in one of his pockets and,  seeing Nymh’s name and photo displayed, answered it immediately. “Hi baby, what’s up?” he spoke as directly as he could toward the tiny mic hidden somewhere on the phone though he knew not where exactly it was.

As much as I try not to listen to anything he says, at least during phone calls I don’t have to participate or respond so it’s a little easier to. In the periphery of my senses I could tell he was heated up and speaking to her with just as much fervor, but I couldn’t hear it over the wind and smoke billowing out of my cigarette. I sighed and smiled up at a sunbeam before Allan’s shouting finally broke my concentration.

“What?! What do you mean you can’t? How dare they? How are you in any way not deserving?” He was upset, red in the face upset. I can’t hear anything on her end but I’m pretty sure it’s about the trip to see Cydonia this summer. After a serious of unintelligible agreements and motivations, Allan wheeled into the end of his conversation. “Alright honey, you talk to him about watching her that week and then we’ll see how they feel about it then. I love you.” he ended the call and looked about ready to throw the texti at a nearby stucco wall.

“Plenty of good news to share, I suppose,” my sarcasm may have been unnecessary but it’s certainly more sincere than the concern I show for most things. Besides, humor helps any situation…almost.

“Stupid, backwards Tethean parents and their fucking rules,” he used as much venom as he could muster in the articulation of each word. “They won’t let her go because they say that vacations are deserved by people who didn’t fuck up their lives. Then they called Rei a disgrace to the family and mostly a disgrace to her,” he said spitefully, himself not agreeing with a  single word of it.

“Ahh…” I could have expected this coming, Nymh’s parents are just like any other Saturnian parents: stubborn, steeped in their ancient traditions, and sure that they wield absolute power. It’s rude to generalize, but in every family men have all the honor and respect before women, and beyond that more with age. Being the youngest female in her family, she dwindles far down at the bottom of the pecking order. On top of that, about three years ago she became pregnant with a Martian boy named Arturius, which they think brings shame to her and to them all, and still don’t let her live down to this day, though Rei is the brightest and most loving little girl I have ever known.

They refuse to see the merits in her and her 2½ year old daughter because tradition says they are deviants, so Nymh and Rei continue to exist as disgraces to them. Even her sisters gang up on her and berate her when her parents aren’t around to do so. They say she doesn’t contribute enough to the family and is useless to them. They don’t figure that it’s expensive and time consuming to raise a toddler as a working single-mother with no help at home to take care of the child–or if they do they just write it off as her problem since she got herself in that mess in the first place. A Saturnian family runs more like a team or a crew, it’s more about what each member can achieve towards the goals of the whole than what that whole can afford to spare it’s individual.

All I can really do is shake my head in disapproval. There’s nothing in these thoughts that Allan and I haven’t already discussed at great lengths, and a nod from him confirms we are just thinking the same thing. I reach for the cigarettes and light another, hanging my arm out of the window of his crawler in the red afternoon.

“I’ve gotta talk to my mom real quick and then make a few calls,” he said, not sounding too existentially excited or even pleased with his day anymore.  “I’ll be inside,” and the door closed behind him. I sat a moment longer and sighed, perplexed by the strange new road block.

I don’t think it will be that hard to get around it though, Nymh’s a grown-up and I think she can take off for a week if she wants, so I’m not too worried about her not being able to make it to Cydonia. But that would suck if she couldn’t. Well, at least maybe Allan and I might actually have enough time to finish a conversation.

No, wait. He didn’t even make it inside, he’s coming back. Worse, it really looks like he’s got something to say.

«Status Update»

02-26-2308

I really don’t know how to feel about virtual social networks anymore. At first it was nice to create an avatar to help define your online persona, and thus affect how your real identity is perceived by other members. But the programs have degenerated to shoutboxes or personal forums, digital walls for people to leave messages on, and I think extreme egotism might be to blame. See, once you’re given unlimited digital influence you must inevitably fall into an egocentric mindset. It’s only a matter of time before an empowered individual begins to believe that their simple existence is significant.

These social applications allow you to keep your friends, or anyone else stuck in your network, involuntarily abreast of your routine and daily experiences. It’s not uncommon for a person to manage profiles on multiple networks, as each will serve a different function. For instance, one general network may be great for keeping in touch with old friends and classmates, while another very similar one may help you meet new friends. You could have an account for artwork and or another for video, an even different writing or a music profile to show off your playlist, too. There are even systems that let you see which sites other members view and enjoy most, or browse someone else’s collection of bookmarks. But most importantly, they exist for you to whore yourself about for personal gain.

No matter what it is you‘re doing, whether you’re using a site to fish for positive feedback on poorly doctored pics or showing off feeble attempts at creating a piece of art or something worth reading, you’re undeniably using the internet as a self-esteem booster. You’re trying to turn nothing into something that validates your being, trolling for others who will feed your ego, others somehow even more irrelevant than you. A page of txt or script, or a handful of jpegs that you shit out because you didn’t have anything better to do with your time, raping the eye sockets of everyone you could force them upon. Maybe you just leave notes and cute animations on other people’s walls, even ones you don’t know, and encourage them to respond, just to see a new comment alert the next time you log in.

Well now it gets even worse. They’ve just made these social super-applications, ones that extend their tendrils to phone and pda systems, and have the ability of controlling your profiles on other networks. From your handset, button, touchi or even texti you can receive notice from or transmit updates to the nets from anywhere you can get signal out. You can begin to complain about your day, or make entertainment and cooking suggestions, or unleash a senseless onslaught of spam, or whatever it is that you do when you get home to your computer — before you even get home to your computer. A collection of blinks from the ephemeral present, already passing. Not only will it update your mood on this profile, but on each and every profile to which you grant it access. It will sicken you when you realize what a useful tool this could be.

To be honest, I have no idea what to use it for. Really, the novelty of being able to announce to everyone that I got a cup of coffee before I even swipe fades out fast. No, instead I feel the whole idea of a two-sentence update defeats all progress. Anything worth doing or saying can’t fit into 160 characters. No matter how hard we try, we always need more space to say what we need. And frankly I feel like it’s impossible to present my given current state in a serious manner when everyone else around here is just cheering any trivial victory they can express in a witty third person. So since I have this communicative exchange (if it can even be considered an exchange) I feel obliged to inform you with more than two lines.

I’m ok. I’m not well or great. Not bad or fucking terrible, either. Ok is also known as not so great or fine, and can be used in place of going into a long story filled with a bit of either side before finally explaining why the combination brings me to the middle… but I assure you I’m just doing ok.

Damn it, that’s just retardedly brief. I should do it right and explain from the top.

The  year is 2309, today is the fifth of March and it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It’s mostly sunny and 71 degrees outside, a high for this week but not uncommon this early in the year. Tonight Phobos will be a waxing crescent and Deimos, as full as it ever looks, will actually rise at about the same time as his bigger brother.  They are inconsistent and unreliable, but twice or so every week they’ll ride in together from the western horizon to strike fear and terror, respectively.

I am a young Earthling male of Ganymedean descent; fair skin, dark hair and hazel eyes. I’m not first-gen or anything though. More like fourth or fifth so I don’t have pointy ears like most Jovians and — since my family doesn’t have anything else exotic anywhere along the line — I lack antennae, whiskers and an accent. I’ll turn 22 in less than a month, and have only lived on Mars for two-and-a-half years now. I didn’t have any family out here, spare a cousin near Alba Patera who I haven’t seen since before I even moved out here. Everyone else was on Earth, everyone I knew and loved.

I came to be closer to a girl I was dating, but wonderful as that was, it only lasted about a year after I arrived. It used to mean more to me before I realized I had always wanted to come here on my own, and did so to fulfill some sort of sordid childhood fantasy of paradise, using her as an excuse to get closer to Mars. I grew up in the suburbs of Earth’s capital, so I’m even more accustomed to the Olympus County and Novus Angelicas lifestyle than most other Earthlings. I am more familiar with wealth, narcissism, and decadence in general, than most of us Earthlings who don’t have nice weather year round, palm trees and picturesque sunsets consistently.  I know I’m going to need to move up the coast or to Elysium to really use Mars to its full potential, but here isn’t a bad place to start trying to carry out my dream.

I’m still…uh..getting there though….to that some important thing I’m… trying to achieve, that you would call my ambition or goal. I don’t have a job and the semesters I do go to school I attend very few hours, leaving a lot of free time during which I don’t accomplish much, reading constantly and watching a lot of movies these days. I still don’t have my crawler legalized so I hang out with Allan and his girlfriend Nymh most of the time. I usually have to use his 4Door to chauffer him to and fro, so that I have a vehicle to drive at my leisure. Tight as our money is and busy as Dune and Allan’s schedules have been with their classes, our band hasn’t really had enough opportunity to practice, barely keeping up to our once-a-week routine.

Me and Allan have at least been keeping our voices sharp with his father and uncle’s band. We’ll catch them twice a week and sing as they play covers so they can just focus on their instruments. Old hits from when they were our age, you know, electric guitars and lots of synthesizers; classic rock. His dad records it all and then usually has a semi-mastered rendering on disc for us in the morning. We get to laugh at the mistakes everyone makes, as well as the customary improvisation and ad lib. But mostly we try to improve our voices, usually listening to it in sequential blocks until we’re done with an entire evening.

Any time except Thursday I think. That’s when we carry out the one job we both still have, acting as couriers for his dad. We deliver hard copy and discs of photo shoots they do for a children’s talent agency half an hour south, but still in OC. For some reason that day we always try to find something different to listen to, since when I think about looking for something new in the folder I always picture the red desert passing outside the window.

Hmm, I seem to have deviated drastically from any important information I could have imparted with this…or maybe I was just too basic. Nah, that was just pointless, I should just use one of the million tricks you use when you can’t think of something to say in your headline. Like, I could talk about the video game I’m playing, or the book I’m reading, or the show I’m watching, but I just don’t feel right name-dropping. So I can’t really list what albums I’m listening to, or what movies I’m downloading at the moment. I could write a deeply cryptic message based off a corny inside joke that no one who actually checks my status would understand, but that’s about the lamest thing to do on one of these things. Almost as lame as spiteful messages to a loved or hated one in your banner that instigate an immature flame war.

The only thing left is to describe exactly what I’m doing. Which is currently passing around a pipe in a shopping center parking lot on Allan’s campus, smoking in his car before he has to return to class. Our friend Mistri is playing on the radio, a popular local channel operated by this university’s station. Her band recently assembled after she had been playing solo under its moniker for years, and it’s so encouraging to see someone we know making it, even if it just points out what we still need to accomplish. This bowl will be through before the song ends and I’ll be getting Allan back in time for the last two thirds of his class.

I will probably spend that time waiting for him, this glowing touch-screen keeping me occupied in another parking lot somewhere between here and his home. Then we’ll meet up with Nymh and embark upon a requisite stony adventure. That will end when she has to return home to be a mother again, and since it’s not a jam night, Allan and I will retire to his home to smoke more and watch old 2D sci-fi’s on the plasma screen downstairs.

Instead of going on about all of this for a few pages, I think I may just come back and post my favorite cheesy line from one of the movies instead.

«…One Year Ago…»

«Sleeping on the Floor»

02-10-2309

     I can’t tell you how much it thrills me to be able to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight. For the past 7 weeks I’ve been making nests of various piles of blankets and sleeping bags, ever since I got kicked out of my last apartment. In almost two months I’ve jumped at every chance I’ve gotten just to lay down on someone’s bed and prayed I could get a couch wherever I crashed. Even when I went home to Earth, I had to sleep on the floor of my old room cause my brother commandeered my bed after my cat pissed on his. I was too amused by the situation to care at the time.

     All that time tossing on unsporting floorboards and thin carpet just reminded me of when I first moved to Mars and had no where to stay but Linda’s house. Hell, even after I moved into my first apartment with Pashan, where I just had that broken futon, I still spent almost every night sleeping on the ground in my girlfriend’s bedroom. Even this past summer I spent a lot of time on Allan‘s floor because I still lived half an hour away from my life. But now that’s all over.

     Yes, now I am coming to you from my new apartment on the other side of Costa Mensa. I may have mentioned a complex I looked up, last year while I was first trying to move, called Villa Venusia. If not, it’s a beautifully spacious gated community with an artificial lake that runs through the entire complex. Even in between the rows of buildings where walkways and driveways would belong, deceptively shallow streams and tributaries meander about, trickling over boulders or spewing with fountains. The fortunate residents that live within the inner units even have balconies that rest on the water where one could sit on the edge and dangle your toes if you so chose.

     I may not be that fortunate, but I’m still lucky I got the place I did. It’s a small 2-Bedroom on the second story of one of the units in the back, but far from a shabby residence. I found the room online through one of those sketchy classified services, so I was expecting the worst when it came to the roommate I picked. It turned out for the best, thankfully.

     Witt is a nice Ganymedean woman and we share a few things in common, including a birth sign and roots in Keret, where she grew up and where my father‘s family is from. Although, there is definitely a generation gap pervading our conversations, though deep and insightful, what with her being my own mother’s age. She does like to drag me into these long talks as I’m trying to get back to my room or out the front door, but I don’t mind cause sometimes I do actually want to respond, and any other time her busy schedule keeps her out of the house.

     It only took me a couple days to get all my stuff from Manna and Justene’s garage up to my room and unpacked, and now I’m surrounded by the familiar knickknacks and images from parts of the Solar system I’ve never even been. My portable workstation seems relieved to be unpacked and has been successfully integrated into it’s new homesphere–no need to buccaneer my way into a random unsecured network. I remain seated at it most of the day and night since I don’t have a teli to keep me inebriated, but sometimes when my back is hurting from being hunched over a keyboard and computer screen, I take a few minutes to thumb through one of my books or pluck a few chords on my guitar.

     Actually, now that I mention it, I’ve been on the nets all day researching tourism on Jupiter and Saturn, instead of looking for a job to pay for such a holiday. My back is murdering me and I feel like I’m starting to get sick, so I’m gonna go turn in for the night and lay down on a fluffy, inviting mattress.

«Everyone Comes Here»

11-25-2308

     I wished goodbye to my three Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and light a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the night’s brisk coastal wind as I pondered.

     In the two years I’ve lived here, I don’t believe I’ve ever been drawn to any group of people as much as those not from this place. Whether my friends were Venusian, Saturnian or Jovian, it never mattered as long as they were not a native born Martian. Within the past few months, though, I’ve noticed a startling empathy for the people of my world, Earth.

     They say birds of a feather flock together, and I could never have denied my attraction to like-minded individuals, especially ones who’ve felt just as lonely and alien on this planet as I. Somehow we could tell, there was just a raw magnetism between our kind, and I found it more than coincidence that every time I’d end up vibing off someone I had a conversation with, they turned out to be from home or Luna almost every time.

     My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a weekend dancer instead. Duke, a friend I still had from my last job, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Allan may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

     What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago. Manna even knew little Lou, having been a friend of her poor brother. 

     A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

     Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

     I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cig out and went back inside to discuss travel with Tohm and Eon.

     I wished goodbye to my three Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and light a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the night’s brisk coastal wind as I pondered.

     In the two years I’ve lived here, I don’t believe I’ve ever been drawn to any group of people as much as those not from this place. Whether my friends were Venusian, Saturnian or Jovian, it never mattered as long as they were not a native born Martian. Within the past few months, though, I’ve noticed a startling empathy for the people of my world, Earth.

     They say birds of a feather flock together, and I could never have denied my attraction to like-minded individuals, especially ones who’ve felt just as lonely and alien on this planet as I. Somehow we could tell, there was just a raw magnetism between our kind, and I found it more than coincidence that every time I’d end up vibing off someone I had a conversation with, they turned out to be from home or Luna almost every time.

     My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a weekend dancer instead. Duke, a friend I still had from my last job, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Allan may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

     What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago. Manna even knew little Lou, having been a friend of her poor brother. 

     A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

     Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

     I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cig out and went back inside to discuss travel with Tohm and Eon.

«Caravans to Cuffed Hands»

09-19-2308

     It was supposed to be our last hurrah. It was supposed to be the last great adventure before the summer came crashing to an end. It was supposed to be a memorable experience for all.

«←→»

     When I regain consciousness I’m handcuffed to a chair in a foreign concrete corridor. I’m halfway through reciting my address to a grizzled uniform disinterestedly taking my words down on his requisite paperwork.

     “It was pretty sly of you trying to sneak by me wearing a different top,” the hardened old officer snarls sarcastically, “but you didn’t fool me for a second. You should thank your friends for bringing you back in so you could go to jail,” he finished with palpable scorn before looking back to his clipboard. At the mention of this I realize I wasn’t wearing half of my clothes anymore. Suddenly I’m wearing a collared shirt under a read Europan sweater. I begin to feel the gravity of the situation, my hands bound behind my back by a plastic band, seated in an unfamiliar place with the contents of my pockets strewn across a folding table. It’s only now that I start to wonder what happened to the past few hours, so I try to piece it together as I casually dispense personal information to the badge with a slur.

     We were going down to Sanctus Da Vinci for a two day festival-style concert so we could celebrate the end of summer. Next week my best Martian friend, Allan, would begin school at his new university. He somehow convinced our Saturnian friend and fellow bandmate, Dune, and myself to spend what little money we had left on tickets. At the time, we thought that was an awful price to pay.

     The night before we would set out, Matt and I made ourselves a part of a different adventure in the name of rock and roll. After visiting a bar, named after an Earth city renowned for its music scene, we tagged along with the friends whom we came to see, and the other two bands they just played with, to an after party. The caravan left Costa Mensa heading for the City of Olympus. A bustling suburb between NA and Fender that unwitingly awaited the trail of crawlers we joined.

     Led by our friends’ tour van, the party arrived at 2 AM and didn’t die until 4. It wasn’t your typical party; the loud music and alcohol is requisite. But this crowd seemed to be more concerned with having a good conversation than see how many beers they could chug. At some point, after the Uranian comedy duo was done playing on the wall-mounted  teli, Ganymedean techno began blasting and everyone began to dance. Whatever dismay I had suffered earlier in the eve had dissolved completely from my memory, maybe taken by the sweat now soaking my hair and clothes. Through some irony, the cops would put an end to the fun this evening, prompting our departure back to my home to catch what little rest we could before the real trip began.

     As to be expected, we woke up late. With no time to shower and properly prepare ourselves for the coming day, we rushed down 4 freeways to meet Dune where he was waiting at Allan’s house by himself. The Saturnian obviously had enough forethought the night before to know this was going to be a grueling journey, otherwise he would have answered our calls when we begged him come to the show.  Originally wanting to be parking in Sanctus Da Vinci at 2 PM, our show didn’t get on the road until 4. I kept reassuring them we’d be there in time for the first band, that it only took two hours to get there. I was wrong, but of course I was, I’d never been to Da Vinci before. Once I’d been to Oceanside with my only other Martian friend, Brick, the halfway point from OC to SDV, and was foolishly miscalculating our ETA by thinking it was much closer.

     An hour into the first set we were only checking into the hotel. It was at this exact moment that Allan realized he left his ID and his charge cards at the bar the night before. I slapped my forehead, Dune sighed and swiped his card, warning knee-breakings if he has to pay for damages to the room. After quickly dropping off our bags in a dinky hotel room, which looks like every dinky hotel room, we began running to find a bus.

     The first night of the show we didn’t even worry about chemical enhancement, we were just stoked to finally be there and listening to so much great music. The second day gave us some time to prepare before the music began to play. Since Allan didn’t have his ID he couldn’t gain access to the beer gardens to drink during the concert, we had to come up with a creative way to get fucked up. We never did come up with a better way, and didn’t want to risk entering the premises with substances illegal to carry, so we just drank in the car instead. A six pack and half a bottle of rum passed before we felt ready to let the event commence. The day’s motto was ‘We gotta get drunk, right?’, after all.

     The plan worked flawlessly at first, as most do. And as most plans involving alcohol do, it would slowly begin to unravel. Things really began to fall apart when Dune found a twenty dollar bill on the ground. This twenty would have to be spent, on booze and quickly, god damn it! The forgetful Martian waited outside impatiently as the two people who didn’t leave their ID’s at home got to enter the magical land of beer. It actually wasn’t that enchanted on the inside, discarded plastic cups in pools of strange colored liquids carpeted the way to the ticket stand. For 10 bucks you get seven 2oz samples and make you finish each before you can receive another, making it impossible to sneak any back out. This wasn’t arguable though, it just meant more beer for the two of us. More beer we’d have to finish quicker since we couldn’t it enjoy it slowly while watching the next band play, so we chugged and left the gardens a little more difficultly than we’d entered.

     At an indiscernible period of time before I left the beer garden a second time, I blacked out. Not to be confused with passing out, no I was still active as ever, the lights were definitely on but no one was home. My body continued to stumble aimlessly long enough to leave me with plenty of bruises when I woke up, but that the only part of the story I could decipher when ownership was returned to me. Everything else had to be supplied by the first hand accounts of my friends.

     I was told that on the way out to the car, the last time we needed to refuel, I was into my badass habits of jumping off or almost breaking everything between me and my destination–a typical sight when I’m not behind my own wheel. At least my body knew it was too drunk, it didn’t even take a sip of that last round of rum as it went around the back seat. The runaway train even knew well enough to insist it stay in the car, it couldn’t manage to chew what I had already bit off. But the powers of coercion work well when I’m not quite up to bat, and it would be dragged back in through the gates.

     Or at least they tried to. Some moments later Dune and Allan would realize they were a person short, walk out and find my body laying on my back somewhere down the street from the entrance. If I had been there I would have told them I had been given a warning and wasn’t allowed back in at all. If I had been there I wouldn’t have let them make me throw up and change my clothes. If I hadn’t checked out early I would’ve helped my body beg them to let both of us (me and my body, that is) stay behind.

     The next time Allan would lose sight of me, he wouldn’t find me until my hands were already bound in rings of some sort of silver-plated steel. I wouldn’t actually meet the officer until later in the evening, but in the meantime he was busy trying to get my body out of the concert and away from my friends in the most efficient manner possible.

     “Just tell us where you’re taking him,” the Martian pleaded in desperation, failing to reach any human emotion in the cop.

     “Don’t worry about him, go watch your band,” he would reply with a scorn I’d later learn is just his natural tone.

     Which brings me back to my present restrained self. I’m in complete control of my body now, though limited to the range of motion of a bobble-head doll at the moment. I’m sure if I tried to form a sentence the words would be there before the body could catch up, but instead I’m giving the officer my telephone number and former addresses so he can check my background, requiring more accuracy than I can muster.

     Last time that I come to Sanctus Da Vinci.