«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 Rika’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.

thenewmartiandream

«The Road Trip – Day 6»

06-10-2309

“Don’t tell me we’re lost.”

“I’m not saying that at all, I simply said I don’t know where we are.”

“Brick, we’ve hardly known where we were this entire trip.”

“Yeah, but I’ve made most of this journey before. Everything until the past few days was the same exact route, and after then it’s at least been somewhat familiar. Today it’s entirely foreign,” he spoke as I looked around outside at trees that would have grown up where I did.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry; these directions aren’t telling me anything useful, either. How far do you think we are?” I asked trying to gauge the distance out of the time until we had to be there.

“I can’t begin to say. Either the mileage is wrong on the application, or the sign numbers are wrong on the freeway. It could be both, I don’t know,” he punctuated.

“Guesstimate?”

“Ugh…30 minutes or 13 minutes….or 17 minutes..the other way” he figured, all the while trying to decide if he should just turn around or not.

I beat the side of his PDA against my palm and said “I really wish I could get a signal with this thing. If it could just get on I could load a new map for us.”

“I guess we’ll just have to survive on our instincts…and hope there’s a sign for the spaceport,” he said spying into the distance ahead for flying rockets or contrail streaks.

“You’re right, and hope it comes up soon, or Leona won’t be too happy,” I put the PDA away as I dug in the console for a cigarette. I lifted the pack to offer one to him, but without a word he pulled one out and lit it, handing me his lighter, still silent. “I’m glad we’ve got that down to a science,” I admired as I lit my own cig and pocketed the lighter.

“Yeah, I’d say we’ve been trapped with each other long enough. We get to look back comically on parts of the trip that seem so far away now, but really happened earlier this week.”

I laughed out loud a moment before composing, “It certainly has felt like a long time.” I almost lost myself to a nostalgic mental tour.

“Remember when we were in Copernicus?”

“Hahaha……barely..” we both burst into laughter so hard that 75 miles an hour became dangerous to maintain. I almost missed the obvious sign, but shouted “Appalachia Spaceport, next right!”

“I see it. Wow, we may just be too high today.”

We got a late start this morning after sleeping in at his aunt’s house in Troutman. She had left early in the morning with her daughter, Brick’s cousin (no confusing family lines this time), so the house was ours all of the morning. We fucked off for a while, probably watching more TV than I had yet the entire trip. Although, we had been tuning into sports coverage each night, but I can hardly say that I was paying that much attention during any of those.

Ahh, well even this morning too, I guess. My attention was focused on dismantling two days worth of roaches on the coffee table. Until this last half of the journey, before we‘d stayed with two different sides of Brick‘s family, we’d been doing pretty well to reuse the day’s leftovers to create nice suppers for ourselves, sometimes mixing it with a little bit of tobacco for filler. Either way, it guaranteed a good bit of nightcap for each of us without having to dip into our daily rations. Plus, it’s already coated with resin by the time you recycle, people.

The Fire of Jove crackled along with the sizzling shreds of tobacco leaves out on the back porch. It probably didn’t need them, I know we had enough to smoke without it, but I wanted to start the day off large, so I rolled a good amount in along with the precious, sticky scraps. It took a good while to burn, during which we inspected each of the insects flying about for cautionary markings. Nothing as hazardous as a bee even bumbled by.

After removing the last of the laundry we‘d put into the dryer while smoking, we finished collecting everything we‘d need for the festival. The Martian, just packing enough for the weekend, left the possessions he brought for the rest of the summer in the room he’d be spending it in. I’d have left Eon’s stuff there too if I were catching a ride back through after it was over.

At this point though, we had traveled 15 minutes after discarding all previously established directions, trusting that the brown signs would just line up like bread crumbs.

“It’s been a minute since we saw the last sign.. You don’t think we missed one already, do you?” Brick had a familiar, unsure tone in the back of his throat.

“No, not unless it..” I saw a corner of brown and white peeking out of the trees. “It was just covered by an untrimmed branch,” I said, crestfallen.

“Huh?”

“Turn around, they just tried to hide it from us. Heavens, they must really not want us to find their spaceport. Who knows what madness must transit through there.”

“That’s a stupid thing to do, why wouldn’t they want to make that the slightest bit obvious? By the way, you’re definitely too high,” he deduced.

“Shut up, there’s a turn-off up here,” I pointed ahead.

It seemed it was a small enough spaceport from the entrance we drove in through. Before rolling under the structure of one of the concourses, I caught glimpse of just one ship taking off, some type of passenger ship; bright, polished silver with four nacelles, maybe a Perseus or a Theseus, but I couldn‘t make out anything that would tell me which. This port didn’t seem to have much incoming traffic either, but I may have only had a limited view. I probably just wasn’t paying attention.

I was distracted from my usual of pastime of staring up at all the ships departing and arriving, trying to lose the horizon so I’d be staring at an open sky filled only with flying craft. Instead I was peering as far as I could ahead to catch a glimpse of Leona, classmate and roommate of Brick.

I had looked her up online the morning before we had left Saline, back in the beginning of the journey. It had been quite a long week since I’d seen the pictures, but I was sure I’d be able to spot her from far off. Her profile only teased at how interesting she could be, and I couldn’t wait to meet her to find out.

Standing on the yellow striped curb with a full heap of luggage laid at her feet, the Earthling girl’s blonde hair caught wind in a gust from a nearby bus lifting off. Robotic skycaps hovered about in the background, some assisting people with their bags, others just floating idly by. Leona Crown waved when she and Brick recognized each other, smiling at us underneath her acrylic framed glasses.

Soon after helping her situate her things in the trunk, we were all seated again in the cabin, comfortable and on our way down the exit ramp already. Brick was still in the driver’s seat, and though I offered the front seat to Leona she opted not interrupt my navigation. We sparked the third to last joint shortly after getting back on the freeway, I handed it back to her.

“Sorry, no thanks,” she said, turning it down. I gave a look of disbelief until she reassured me, saying “Oh, no I’m just getting over a cold. Don’t worry, I’ll be smoking tons this weekend.”

“Alright, I understand,” I said as I redirected it to Brick, who took it as he peeked into his monitors. “That would of course never stop me from smoking, but I get it.” Things become blurry after he handed it back to me, I had saved a large one for the three of us. For some reason or another, I can’t remember the conversation very well until we were entering a Ionian-themed chain restaurant.

“M’Kay, Three. Smoking or Non?” asked the hostess behind the counter that took a good minute or two to assist. Baffled, Brick and I looked at each other and then to Leona.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that on the whole trip,” I stated to Brick as I turned back to the inattentive Neptunian-Earthling girl. “Smoking, please.”

We were seated in a rather open end of the restaurant for this time of day. When the salad was brought out by the unattractive waitress, who I still called ‘Hon’, I served it to my two companions first.

“Well, such a gentleman,” Leona remarked.

“Don’t get to excited, he’s been calling every waitress ‘Hon’ this entire trip,” Brick revealed. “He’ll clean up after we’re done too to make it easier on them.”

“Yeah, he’s right. It’s all part of my evil ploy; all just to give less of a tip,” I admitted. “More croutons, Dear?”

“Uhm..Yes, please,” she answered. “How do you and Brick know each other again?” she asked, either because I seemed so different from him, or from everyone she knew that he made friends with.

“Heh, well.. I moved to Mars to be closer to a girl who I met over a summer when she came to do this theater thing here on Earth. After a year of having a long distance relationship, I packed up and headed to Mars to awkwardly restart my life. And Brick had gone to high school with her and been friends a long time,” I paused to breathe. “When Linda and I broke up, you could say that I attained custody of Brick,” I said, pinching his cheek and making baby noises before he swatted me away.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he admitted. It really did seem like a permanent enough thing to warrant calling them ‘mommy and daddy’.”

“Especially towards the end,” I glared at him for a second.

“Why did you guys break up?” Leona asked innocently enough. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask for your whole life story.”

“No it’s ok.. Well, she..” I started, then shot a glance to my legal counsel. My attorney’s face was stern and turned down; a definite ‘No’ seemed to slip out of his lips. “We were too close all the time, so much that we grew apart and needed our own space,” I said, relieved I didn’t have to go into the grimy details. “And that was over a year and a half ago, so I’m pretty sure the distance between that space will never get any smaller.” Brick nodded with approval, so I added “Especially after all that’s happened.”

“So–” the question started on her lips before she caught a glimpse of Brick’s expression, advising against it. She stopped mid-sentence.

“My attorney is right. We’re about to get our food and it’s hardly appropriate dinner table conversation. Maybe if you’re unlucky, I’ll regale you with the horror story one day. Until then, look what’s here,” I indicated to the food, which couldn’t have arrived at a better time.

After finishing the entire meal without even a glimpse of delicious breadsticks, our party and its newest member returned to our vehicle. Walking across the blacktop parking lot, I pulled the pack of menthols out of my pocket and offered one to each of the others before taking mine. Brick snatched one quickly, a firm believer that every good meal deserves a cigarette. Leona, to my surprise, turned them down. I blinked a moment, but I didn’t insist she take one any longer.

“Nah, I don’t smoke. There’s been a lot of people in my family who have died of lung cancer,” she said, eyes dropping the the pavement as she finished her sentence.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, pulling the cigarette from my lips and getting ready to put it away.

“No, it’s fine. You can smoke around me, I really don’t mind,” she said, looking up and waving her hands to stop me from not having it. “I just don’t.”

“Oh, well…thanks?” I said, lighting it finally, as we got to the silver doors of Brick’s crawler. After burning an ember shaped hole somewhere in the interior, we were back on our way.

A short while later, my attention was grabbed as something flicked at the windshield. Before I could look up at it from the screen, a few dozen other pounds, like impatient fingertips, fell upon us. A dark cloud tumbled over momentarily and the downpour released. Brick cut his speed, flipped his hazards, turned up the wipers and squinted desperately ahead at the other beacons of red light.

“Guys, this is terrible,” he cautioned us. Nervously he reduced his speed even further, unable to make out anything beyond his nosecone. “I’ve never driven in anything as bad as this before!”

Leona and I simply looked at each other and smiled, resisting the urge to break out in laughter. “Really?” she asked after taking a breath.

“Yeah, I can’t get it off the windshield fast enough. Zero visibility and traction, I almost just want to pull over,” he confessed, obviously scared.

“Oh, silly Martian. It’s just a little rain,” I said, unable to contain my laughter.

“Yeah, Brick, this is nasty but it isn’t the worst it could do here,” the other Earthling explained.

“Are you sure?” he asked, still not convinced.

“Yeah, man. This will all blow over in a couple of minutes,” I assured him.

Precisely four minutes and thirty-eight seconds later the storm let up. It seemed to disappear from right over our heads, as if we’d only just passed under a limb or finger of a greater, mysterious being. It wouldn’t be the last time we’d have to deal with this beast today, though.

Leona received a message from her aunt a short while later, informing us that tonight’s spectacle will most likely be rained out. We were supposed to culminate our trip by sitting back to the synchronous fireflies, one of the rarest spectacles on the planet and something the likes of which I’ve never seen, and it looked like I wouldn’t for a while still. Instead we adjusted our course, cutting out the next attraction and settling on this evening’s stopping point.

“Hey, we probably want to be coming down by the time we meet your aunt, right?” I asked Leona.

“Yeah, you probably should…although she’s going to know something’s up with you, Klay,” she pointed out.

“Hehe, you shoulda heard what my family thought about him. Any of them, any time they’ve seen him,” the Martian said, giggling.

“What, that I was high? High out of my mind?” I asked, not very amused.

“No, just that you’re weird,” he said.

“Yep, weird as hell,” confirmed the voice from the backseat.

“Oh.. Well, I can live with that I guess,” I shrugged. “Either way, that means we spark this now, right?”

“Right,” said the driver, handing me a lighter.

Before we’d gotten halfway through smoking it, he’d passed the joint back to me and asked me to hold onto it cause traffic was slowing down. Another minute and we were bumper to bumper with big rigs and smart cars alike. The two lane highway through the mountain pass was at a standstill as far as the eye could see, though that was only until the first bend–we couldn’t tell how far this blockage stretched.

When Brick had to throw it in park, we all sighed and looked at each other in forlorn. We already knew this was going to be lengthy and tedious. The Martian decided it was snack time, passing around peanut butter-filled pretzels and trail mix. Earthgirl opened up the giant polymer cooler that kept her company in the backseat, dispensing red and blue drinks. I, Earthboy, picked up the tuni plugged into the entertainment system and turned up the music.

Start. Stop. Start. Stop another hundred feet from the last place. Start in 2 minutes after watching anxiously ahead for the red eyes to fade. Stop and wait again another 3. Repeat for another hour or so until it lets up just a little bit, accelerating to a slow crawl. Start to drive fast enough where you have to give all your attention to the road ahead and giant trucks slowing suddenly in front of you. Stop being able to see the scenery. Start to get annoyed at all the waterfalls and cascades the two Earthlings riding in the car are pointing out to each other. Stop trying to imagine the drivers thoughts.

The mountain pass was beat at last, and your heroes excitedly exited into a much wider valley, filled with trees, and rivers, and many off-ramps to thin the traffic out. The next destination was Morris and the second time through it so far. To Leona’s aunt’s house in the hills above town, right next to another national park named after an extinct animal; it sounded nicer then the part we’d caught a glimpse of just the day before.

We arrived earlier than we did to any of our other destinations, pulling into the long, freshly paved driveway before the sun even went down. A minute later and Aunt Devvie was out to greet us herself, giving us the grand tour.

A giant walnut tree, old as the boundary lines around it, grew in the middle of the front yard, by a younger magnolia tree in full bloom.

“You know, in all the time we had this place, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this tree in bloom; and they’re so damn huge!” Devvie shared with us.

She walked us around the front of the house, a space as large as my entire backyard before bringing us to the west side of the yard, the sun already escaped behind the mountains. Down the hill from where we stood was a hole in the Earth, named the gully. Dev warned us that all manner of scrap could be found in that pit.

“He used it as his own landfill…more like a little dump I think,” she stood for a while to explain. “He hauled anything he didn’t need over here; trees he’d uproot or rocks he’d unearth, equipment he couldn’t use anymore, and anything else he found dead,” she snorted, turning away at last.

She continued on her circle and brought us counter scroll-wise around the back of the house, where there was a manmade water feature. A long fountain, stretched out into a rocky stream that ran from far uphill. We walked along it to the top and looked back down at the house.

“He built this one bit by bit. One day we were down there on the porch, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the hill, and he got this idea. The next day he had a hose and a bunch of black rubber tarps set up from about halfway to the bottom. And see there where that sticks out? For a while that became a pool with a waterfall that drained to the bottom one,” she paused to take a sip of her drink.

“Then one day he decided to make it longer, got a bunch of instant concrete from the store, and tore up everything he had before,” she then kicked at the spout below her foot. “He laid these heavy duty cables attached to a massive filter pump he installed down there, and started pouring.”

She brought us around to the final stop on the 6 acre estate, a view east of the town of Morris. From here it was the same quaint setting you could imagine on Earth colonies hundreds of years ago. Little bits of flickering yellow light in each window low in the hills, fit in between with spires and steeples that all glowed too. My opinion of it changed a little bit as we stared on.

After the others had all gone to bed, Brick and I crept back outside to the patio. One joint was left, the grand daddy of them all. Rolled in a clear piece of cellulose paper like a tornado, the finest keif and choice pieces of bud went into this monstrosity, easily putting each of the other 20 I made to shame.

We smoked it ceremoniously and were privy to an other-worldly high, it felt like we’d never gotten stoned the entire week of this trip. This majestic piece of smoking history treated us well–so well it didn’t seem right to just snuff it out and flick it away. We had to dispose of it respectfully.

“Come on, Brick, grab your head lamp. I have an idea,” I said, standing and looking west.

When he’d found his gadget and a pair of Martian sandals, we started walking through the back yard, around the house. Up on the hill beside it, we came to the creepily shadowed gully. I emptied the ashtray into my open left hand, then closed it when I closed my eyes.

“Thank you for all the good fortune so far and please may it continue,” I said to no god in particular. Then I dashed the roaches and blew the rest off my hand into the welcoming gully. We turned about and headed inside, intent to rest before the big day.

day6b

«Where Did I Go Wrong?»

01-25-2309

     I sit on the plastic bench outside my temporary home smoking a cigarette by myself as the question returns to me. Is there a specific moment in my life when everything went array or has it been a slow and gradual decline?  Was it fate that I turn out this way or was it a choice I made, and could I have made it differently?  I’m not even sure if I suddenly feel like I’m at the bottom of the ladder or if I’ve noticed each rung as I’ve descended–I don’t even know if there isn’t another step beneath me.

     If I’m gonna begin by trying to pin down a date, it makes perfect sense to pick a stereotypical fall from grace, say: starting to smoke cigarettes. Now I know that’s a cop out since it obviously leads to destructive behavioral patterns, so maybe I should hone that one better. Starting to hang out with Osker could have done it, the little Europan hooligan sure did get us into some interesting situations. I’d say spending time with him lead me to develop most of the bad habits that are still my favorite to this day. Blaming him may work exceptionally well if you consider the time he introduced me to Eon. I highly doubt she and I hung out often enough then to have any influence on each other, but there was at least one important time I remember.

     It was late in a humid day sometime in the middle of August. During the summer after I graduated, I had recently met someone, a Martian that I didn’t know was about to change things forever. Eon and I were sprawled out on her bed in the afternoon sun, probably exhausting our phone books in search of drugs to fill remainder of the day. Then I brought up the question of mushrooms not expecting an affirmation, though it sent her reeling towards her bookshelf ecstatically. She retrieved a green paperback book entitled Food of The Gods and placed it in my hands, boasting it would change my life. To her honor, it did help to change my life, revolutionizing the way I looked at religion, esotericism and fungus, and sparking my ongoing journey of spiritual discovery–currently simmering on the back burner.

     Maybe I shouldn’t assume that any of them lead me here. Who knows, I’d probably have turned out smoking and drinking by now anyway, I can’t blame Osker or any of our punkish friends, and Eon ended up going to my high school the next year, so I‘d have met her either way. Speaking of school, what if it started when they placed me in accelerated learning back in elementary school. Some bullshit analysis had been taken of my 2nd grade class, and I was one of three students chosen to be uprooted from the only friends we had known and transplanted into an advanced curriculum, with other gifted and talented students taken from across the county.

     I figured out very quickly all that meant was more busywork to do, and learned from a young age how to never turn in a piece of homework and still ace the test. We were deep in the school but always separate from the rest of students, a much nerdier microcosm of the world surrounding us. And at the bottom of the geek’s pecking order was the shortest little Earthling boy in the school. I could have very well developed a napoleon complex from it all. No, that would be too easy, blame a life of debauchery and villainy on an awkward and lonely childhood, I can do much better than that. And, you know, once I was through with a middle school which had the same program, and I was finally given choice over what kinds of classes I would take, I took all regular ones anyway.

     Perhaps my first step on the path of darkness was taking up acting. I know, right, go ahead and blame the devil’s work of magic and theatrics, but it’s seriously lead me down some strange paths. For starters, any girl I’ve ever had a serious relationship with I have gotten to know through theater . For that matter, most of the not serious and downright momentary relations I’ve had were because I was working on some aspect of a show she was part of. Piper was first girl that broke my heart–though we never even really had a relationship at all–but if I had never stepped onto that stage maybe I wouldn’t have walked into her web. I shudder suddenly, dreading for a second to think of how many hearts I’ve since shattered compared to that fracture.

     Hmm, maybe I really should consider placing it all on acting. If I hadn’t have gotten sucked into it I wouldn’t have kept at it so long and gotten so good. If I hadn’t have been so good I wouldn’t have been recognized by award. If I hadn’t have been recognized by award I would have never stuck to the stage for another summer and gone to the national workshop they invited me to. If I hadn’t have gone to that national workshop I would have never met Linda, date her, or fall in love with her, and if I hadn’t have done all that I certainly wouldn’t have packed up and started my life anew on Mars for her.

     I take a puff off my cigarette and decide to shift gears. I squeeze the butt, bursting a capsule hidden deep inside and releasing a blue liquid into the filter. The next drag I take is cool and mentholated, the smoke I exhale now icy fresh, it hurts my teeth a little bit. Maybe I’m not going about this the right way.

     What is it that’s so wrong with my life right now that I could have only come to this point by taking a twisted path? Are things really as bad as I’m making them out to be? Right now I’m in the paradise I’ve always wanted to live in, though I’ve been here so long I can’t remember if I’m not just telling myself that I’ve always wanted to. I don’t have to clean up and clock in for work every day, though a Solar recession threatens an economic depression and I have no real source of income. I’m not worrying my ass off about homework and grades, rushing to get to class in time, even if I can feel my mental acuity and my grips on a career slipping further each day I remain stagnant.

     The transformed cigarette begins to singe the top of my knuckle before I quickly shake my hand and dash it to the curb in a panic. I sigh and kiss my fingers for a second. Of course things are bad, how could I even try to wax positive on this. I should at least be involved in a college community, networking and making friends, enriching my life beyond my small social circle and pushing for a degree that will support me. I could be saving up money to do what makes me feel good, or maybe so I can be able to get off this planet for a while when I need to, or at least see the rest of it before I’m burned out of this red world.

     I shouldn’t be having to worry about all of this catching up in the first place, I should be focusing on enjoying life to the fullest. Instead I’m wallowing in the mess I’ve made for myself and can’t find the shovel, even though I know I was just using it a second ago. Where I am in life and all the problems that surround me are no one’s fault but my own: I create and feed the issues that dominate my field of vision, and it’s within my will to conquer or look past them to get what I need for myself. I can’t blame any specific event or person–though they may have helped in turn along the way–I’m the only one who’s been digging the whole time.

itlom-gowrong2

«Observations on The Earth»

01-03-2309

     The Earth isn’t that shabby a place when you look at it. Or at least, it probably isn’t if you’ve just come from a place even more miserable.

     First, it is uncharacteristically hospitable. A vast array of diverse flora and fauna populate every possible inch of its surface, even the frigid bits. The excessive amount of liquid-water, taking up nearly two thirds of the rocky planet’s surface, is likely to blame for such abundance of life. A dense atmosphere cycling this H2O keeps most of the smooth land lush and vegetated, while lending erosion to geomorphology, drastically changing the surface of the planet over a short period of time. In short: water makes Earth an ever changing place of thriving multitude.

     Once you get used to there being so much grass and many, very large trees everywhere, there are still many wondrous sights to behold. Enormous metropolises like New Tros City and Menesopolis DT, that shape and govern the relatively advanced civilization. Each city on Earth houses their own cache of modern sky-scrappers and culture rich monuments, making them a must for visitors. Giant peaks that dominate the sky for miles around, reaching as high as a third the size of Olympus Mons. Vast oceans of blue crystal water, greater than those that beat on the white sand of Callisto. Majestic rivers valleys that bring life and nutrients together and support many civilizations. Our moon even has a Grand Canyon that stretches 446 km, a tenth of the Valles Marineris on Mars.

     The race of Earthlings are a beautiful sight themselves, if I may insist. Usually pale skinned with blonde or brown soft hair and handsome features. Eye color is vibrant and always varies but, through much contact with the people of Ganymede, tends to be blue. The people are mostly congenial and well mannered and very accommodating–caring so much for friend and kin they’re known for being nosey and protective. Other recognizable traits are charm, tenacity and cleverness; often making them apt for surviving most social climates. They possess neither pointy ears nor antennae, though make up for them by having 5 other keen senses. No gills, wings, or claws but are granted speed, agility and intelligence to facilitate a Darwinian sense of the word ‘fit‘. A meek people, but a resourceful one capable of anything.

     Luna is an enchanting moon, a larger satellite than is typical of a rocky planet of this size. The geosynchronous orbit keeps the same familiar side Earthward at all times, allowing the inhabitants below to grow accustomed to her face, and to create extravagant fantasies about the appearance of the other side and the inhabitants over there. The dark side, though, is very rugged and boring, heavy cratering typical of a satellite this size. Some nice side effects are the maria of lava they cause on the bright side, bleeding from decades of meteor strikes that go ‘through-and-through’. In other words, impacts sizeable enough to disturb the core of a planet create tectonic and volcanic activity on the opposite side because of simple physics.

     It’s thought that the catastrophic collision that brought Mars to a halt had punched open the hotspot that later created the Tharsis Bulge and Olympus Mons. The results are smooth, dark, mineral rich floodplains of new terrain that make aesthetic shapes upon the body’s surface, often mistaken as oceans of water by primitive astronomers then misnamed to suit. Luna is plentiful of these since it has acted as a shield for the Earth, intercepting much of the potentially harmful fallout from space.

     The settlers that came from the planet below have adapted to Luna’s harsher climate; a thinner atmosphere and less liquid water means people spend more time indoors or in enclosed crawlers and work vehicles. Tectonic inactivity means many settlements are localized to craters, the largest at Kepler, Copernicus and Tycho–the foremost being the moon’s capital city and governing center. Kepler City hosts the Earth’s Interstellar Spaceport, Selene; almost all lines going through the system make a stop here, and if you’ve ever tried to leave the Inner Worlds, you’ve likely had to transfer flights there. Copernicus is the bustling city of sin, also known as The Entertainment Capital of the World, that might single handedly supplement half of Luna’s fiduciary needs.

     As for the rest, like on most of the green Earth, an important farming industry powers the economy in the flat lands. Tourism to mountain resorts accommodates the life on the rockier, dark side. The Lunarians there lead long healthy lives in the cold weather and high altitudes, making it a popular place to travel to or live for a while. Just make sure to avoid religious zealots and military test sites. The moon is not as densely populated as Earth, but with her help, it’s expanding almost as quickly as Mars.

     I wouldn’t say I’m not proud to be from Earth. I should feel privileged to have been born on such a prosperous and nurturing world, a place that allowed me to be free to do and think as I pleased. Even if it has an ugly past, and perhaps made an enemy or two over the years, I guess I have some lasting respect for my homeland. Enough to at least not call myself a Martian after legally becoming a resident like everyone else. I like to think I try to honor my roots by continually proving I can do anything.

     I’m still an Earthling and I’ll die an Earthling–no matter what planet that may be on.

itlom-observationsofearth

«Gone With the Wind»

12-14-2308

     I wake up to a cold bed. I shiver reaching for something warm, only the find the lump beside me is just a blanket. I sigh and roll, pulling it over my shoulder into a ball I can wrap my arms around and try to go back to sleep. I lay here for an hour tossing back and forth before I finally give up and put on some pants. Sitting at the end of my bed, I look around my hauntingly empty room for a moment. The floor is spotless, free of shoes and clothes and suitcases, the shelves void of beer cans and books. There isn’t even a discarded pile of blankets to the side of the bed, or giant bean bag chair at its foot. A shut closet door and solitary, poorly illuminating, lamp stand facing me as I wake, like the last loyal subjects of a feeble, passing king.

     Any other day, Eon would have been laying beside me. She would look, if you could imagine, as an angel sleeping after a bender; so peaceful and almost appearing thankful to rest at last. Her fingers were always wrung around a dirty old t-shirt covered in salt and mascara, a keepsake she affectionately called her blanky. More often than not, she would remain in bed for another hour or two after me, and dodged every attempt I made to stir her. Looking as serene as she did though, I never wanted to try very hard.

     I step into the bathroom to see a clean countertop, fresh as the day I first moved in. The door opening freely instead of being blocked by a heap of towels and clothes. I must admit I could use a little toner or moisturizer, but find nothing so I just splash water on my face instead. I notice the bathtub only contains a bar of soap, shampoo and conditioner; no fancy loofah or wash cloths, no disposable razors or exfoliating scrubs. Leaving the bathroom I find a streak of hair dye still painted on the door. I would mind more if I didn’t like the blue-black color of her hair.

     She had complained about the bathroom every day for two weeks since she moved in. When I had first arrived with Tohm, our budget was shoestring thin and the only things we owned were usually things I had pilfered from my last apartment. Sure, a dozen bars of soap was a nice thing to find as we unpacked, but impractical for doing dishes, cleaning the counters or scrubbing the toilet. We eventually ordered that giant box of cleaning supplies and essentials at her insistence, which was the only day I ever saw her clean–and that was only cause she wanted the place to be sparkling when she invited that guy over. After that, the only thing cluttering up the bathroom were the 30 or so oils and balms, strange tinctures and elixirs, the array of make up and applicators, and a handful of brushes and curling irons she never bothered to put away.

     The living room is bare. I can’t see any dishes or mugs laying about the room, no wine glasses or cups half full. No array of bottles or cans standing at attention. The instruments are properly stored, not left lying on the couch in a stack of papers and disks. There aren’t several books pulled out and lying after answering a question or being used to write on. No decks of cards lay scattered after slipping off the table, no blankets and pillows fallen to the ground and no red stains on the carpet.

     Every morning, before anyone else would wake, I found myself clearing away the aftermath of the night before. I’d take trash and dirty dishes to the kitchen by the handful, making sure to rinse out any glass and aluminum before it reached the recycling bin and then load the dishwasher carelessly. Somewhere in this process I’d make enough noise to rouse the rest of the house. Tohm would take his station in the armchair and Eon would default to laying down on the couch if I was still seated on the floor at the workstation. Otherwise, she would spend more time locked in a staring contest with this glowing screen than I did, reaching out to the nets like I knew only a homesick Earthling could. I can remember laying on her spot of the couch for hours, just hoping she’d turn to say she was bored, and ask me to amuse her instead.

     The kitchen I enter is spotless as well. No condiments or spices are left on the counter, or food wrappers and disassembled packages left spent. No pile of dishes in the sink with food still stuck to them, and if there is, I can’t see it brimming over the edge of the sink basin from where I stand. There isn’t a frying pan left on the range or a cup of tea unsipped in the microwave. The fridge is closed and the butter put away. Not to mention the trash is gone and the recycling sorted and disposed of already.

     We had so much food last week, before it all got shoveled down the open mouths of three needy garbage disposals. I had always thought I was a bottomless pit, and when I moved in with Tohm, I thought he had a black hole somewhere in his lower abdomen. Eon had a conduit to another, much emptier, dimension somewhere within her core, which led to her insatiable consumption of everything in sight. I guess all three of us were very similar in this regard; I never got enough of anything which probably lead to me wanting more of everything. This was well reflected in my Earthling roommates. I loved Lou for her thirst for life.

     I stand in the living room looking out the sliding glass door, staring at the droplets of rain dancing in a pool on the balcony. Winter comes quickly on Mars, I think to myself, reflecting on the sunny days and that scorching wind we had not even a week ago. It may have driven me insane to go through the same thing every day, to endure what was dished to me by cruel nature with a dumb smile, but I liked it better before the weather turned. It’s been cold and miserable and done nothing but rain since the day she left. I was happier with her, I didn’t feel alone or even like an alien with Eon around,  I felt like I actually had an equal in this unbalanced world. So what if she drove me as crazy as the weather, she made me feel warm and loved in all her oblivious radiance.

     “You’ll do fine with out me,” she said bodaciously, “but I’m gonna miss you.” She was curled up in my arms on the bean bag, her luggage packed and ready. My finger tips scratched at the scalp behind her ears as I stared at her closed eyes in sullen silence, knowing well it was more likely going to be the other way around. The closer her departure approached, the more I dared ask her to tell me all the things she couldn’t afford to say. I knew to hear anything more from those alluring lips, or to lean in and steal a kiss from them would just hurt me that much more when I woke up the next day. Instead I swallowed my desire and closed my eyes, hugging her close. “I was probably too hasty with this choice,” she uttered at last. I began to wonder if she meant her decision to go or to live here in the first place, but down stairs in the driveway her ride honked. She kissed me with lips as soft as a cloud, then evaporated just as quickly.

     It’s a real pity. Just as I was getting used to it, the weather changed and she blew away.

itlom-gonewithwind

«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.

itlom-smallworld

«Just like Old Mars»

11-13-2308

     It started when I woke up drenched in a hot sweat. My room seemed a sauna to my waking senses, heated and gaspy, but too dry. Eon beside me, who always slept with at least two comforters, had pushed them all off and clung to the old, stained shirt that belonged to her brother: what she called her blankie. Getting up and inspecting, I found all of the other rooms too shared the same broiled air, so I flipped the fans on and opened up my bedroom window. I realized what was happening when a scorching gust blew into my room.
     “Turn down the heat, Lane,” muttered the still sleeping lump in bed, throwing a pillow over her head.
     It may be the middle of November when we Earthlings would already be bundled up in scarves and hiding indoors from the rain, but on Mars that just means it’s wildfire season. The Winds of Hades rip north-west from the Tharsis Montes through the Daedalia Planum to plague the Olympus region. The desert’s heat mixed with a world mostly devoid of moisture combine to make perfect conditions for fast spreading fires that wipe out the already scarce dry brush. It’s on these days, without a cloud in the sky but the brown stain of ash, when I miss home the most.
     If I had been back on Earth, I’d have been ready to celebrate my father’s 52nd Birthday with my family. They were nothing extravagant, but our traditions included going out to a fine restaurant and retiring to his house to watch old horror or cheesy comedy on his big screen. Instead I walked along the rusty sands of the late afternoon beach, starred down like an anti-christ.
     The Martians already chastised anyone with a cigarette clutched in their fingers. But when its fire season the orange ember smoldered like a gun in your blood red hands. Even at the beach, where nothing would even catch on fire if you marinated it in gasoline, they leered and jeered until they’ve watched you douse the cigarette in a wet gutter and throw it in a trash can. After feeling quilted by every pair of eyes I passed to stop smoking before I started another blaze, I strolled down the pier. Like everyone in west Olympus County, where the sky wasn’t as choked by sepia hands, I partook in another beautiful Martian sunset.
     An oil pallet mixed of crimson, violet and indigo painted a deep sky while the bloody sun slowly made its retreat. Curling in from the right, a funnel of smoke billowed out to sea from north up the coast. The thick, sepia smudge of low-laying clouds stained the bottom of the sky like a sickly brown tub ring.
     What I was amazed by more than the view was the crowd of people gathered to watch it. Never had I seen Newport Beach so packed, and everyone was just out to take pictures. Families posed in front of the aftermath of cruel nature and created fond, pretty memories at the expense of millions in property and emotional damage–just 25 miles away. A gorgeous sight that touched me so much I had to leave before I became nauseated.
     A few minutes later I approached the front door of my home in Costa Mensa with inexplicable caution, pulling the key from my pocked as I ascended the stair. My hand slipped off the knob as I tried to open the entrance, fingers covered with red grit. I brushed the fallout on my pants as I stepped in. The acrid stench of burning leaves and old iron pervaded the air inside as much as it did outside, which struck me as slightly peculiar.
     Entering the quarters Eon and I shared, I painfully realized why: the windows had been left wide. My life as I had come to know it, rather the small number of possessions I had manifested in my lack of a proper social life, were coated in a film of scarlet rust. I had only been out a few hours, but by then wind-whipped trails and dunes already spread across the broad dresser along the window. To get to it, I climbed over the pile of suitcases and clothing that belonged to her, which even had an orange tint. I lifted my once white journal to reveal a perfect black silhouette remaining on the desk. I breathed life into a cloud of dust, which stretched its wings into the dim room and dispersed among its resting kin. Another step and I reached for the open window, but hesitated from shutting out the harsh world to stare at it a moment.
     Mars appeared as it had in the old days, in the vintage colonial photos that still hang in bars and hotel lobbies. From here the sky was all cinnabar with an eerie pink eye, barely staring through the wind-swept palm trees and swaying power lines. The ashes danced in the air as spirits released at last from their bondage to our material world, and inevitably returned to nature.

     It started when I woke up drenched in a hot sweat. My room seemed a sauna to my waking senses, heated and gaspy, but too dry. Eon beside me, who always slept with at least two comforters, had pushed them all off and clung to the old, stained shirt that belonged to her brother: what she called her blankie. Getting up and inspecting, I found all of the other rooms too shared the same broiled air, so I flipped the fans on and opened up my bedroom window. I realized what was happening when a scorching gust blew into my room.

     “Turn down the heat, Lane,” muttered the still sleeping lump in bed, throwing a pillow over her head.

     It may be the middle of November when we Earthlings would already be bundled up in scarves and hiding indoors from the rain, but on Mars that just means it’s wildfire season. The Winds of Hades rip north-west from the Tharsis Montes through the Daedalia Planum to plague the Olympus region. The desert’s heat mixed with a world mostly devoid of moisture combine to make perfect conditions for fast spreading fires that wipe out the already scarce dry brush. It’s on these days, without a cloud in the sky but the brown stain of ash, when I miss home the most.

     If I had been back on Earth, I’d have been ready to celebrate my father’s 52nd Birthday with my family. They were nothing extravagant, but our traditions included going out to a fine restaurant and retiring to his house to watch old horror or cheesy comedy on his big screen. Instead I walked along the rusty sands of the late afternoon beach, starred down like an anti-christ.

     The Martians already chastised anyone with a cigarette clutched in their fingers. But when its fire season the orange ember smoldered like a gun in your blood red hands. Even at the beach, where nothing would even catch on fire if you marinated it in gasoline, they leered and jeered until they’ve watched you douse the cigarette in a wet gutter and throw it in a trash can. After feeling quilted by every pair of eyes I passed to stop smoking before I started another blaze, I strolled down the pier. Like everyone in west Olympus County, where the sky wasn’t as choked by sepia hands, I partook in another beautiful Martian sunset.

     An oil pallet mixed of crimson, violet and indigo painted a deep sky while the bloody sun slowly made its retreat. Curling in from the right, a funnel of smoke billowed out to sea from north up the coast. The thick, sepia smudge of low-laying clouds stained the bottom of the sky like a sickly brown tub ring.

     What I was amazed by more than the view was the crowd of people gathered to watch it. Never had I seen Newport Beach so packed, and everyone was just out to take pictures. Families posed in front of the aftermath of cruel nature and created fond, pretty memories at the expense of millions in property and emotional damage–just 25 miles away. A gorgeous sight that touched me so much I had to leave before I became nauseated.

     A few minutes later I approached the front door of my home in Costa Mensa with inexplicable caution, pulling the key from my pocked as I ascended the stair. My hand slipped off the knob as I tried to open the entrance, fingers covered with red grit. I brushed the fallout on my pants as I stepped in. The acrid stench of burning leaves and old iron pervaded the air inside as much as it did outside, which struck me as slightly peculiar.

     Entering the quarters Eon and I shared, I painfully realized why: the windows had been left wide. My life as I had come to know it, rather the small number of possessions I had manifested in my lack of a proper social life, were coated in a film of scarlet rust. I had only been out a few hours, but by then wind-whipped trails and dunes already spread across the broad dresser along the window. To get to it, I climbed over the pile of suitcases and clothing that belonged to her, which even had an orange tint. I lifted my once white journal to reveal a perfect black silhouette remaining on the desk. I breathed life into a cloud of dust, which stretched its wings into the dim room and dispersed among its resting kin. Another step and I reached for the open window, but hesitated from shutting out the harsh world to stare at it a moment.

     Mars appeared as it had in the old days, in the vintage colonial photos that still hang in bars and hotel lobbies. From here the sky was all cinnabar with an eerie pink eye, barely staring through the wind-swept palm trees and swaying power lines. The ashes danced in the air as spirits released at last from their bondage to our material world, and inevitably returned to nature.

itlom-old-mars1

«Interplanetary Cuisine» Δ «Here on Mars»

     A dead calm came over the early afternoon. The wind dropped suddenly and the mixed feelings over our second day of fishing had just been stirred a little more. The sun was hot and Earth’s humidity made it so much worse, all 9 of us on this little charter boat huddled under the canopy in the middle of The Taurus. My father, brother and self along with 6 strangers, including the cross-eyed captain, his part-time first-mate, my dad’s friend Edd and 3 other Earthmen. I got dragged along on this little weekend excursion my first day back on Earth. And trust me, yesterday had been much better; chasing Chesapeake Spadefish and Saturnian Sea bass and catching them by the handful, little bastards putting up a fun fight. No such haul now though, today had only seen skates, rays and an occasional shark; one a little bay Hammerhead my dad reeled up, but she bit through the line when she caught a glimpse of the boat and eager, net-handed faces.
     With our quarry of Kobia successfully eluding us and distaste for the turn the weather took, we needed something to lift our spirits. My father turned to Edd, the large grey-rooted Ionian, seated on the cooler closest to him. The two had been friends and business partners for ages, and after meeting him for the first time on this trip, I realized why they stayed such good friends. Edd is an jolly old fellow who never runs out of stories and is always an absolute riot, the perfect kinda guy to have stuck with you on a dull day at sea. All morning he had resorted to jokes and riddles to keep us awake while nothing took our bait, and now my father knew of a perfect weapon to unsheathe for this moment.
     “Hey Edd,” he said with anxious grin, “Why don’t you tell everyone the Tortuga story?” This lit Edd’s face up like a Christmas tree, and he slapped his hands together licking his lips.
     “What a splendid idea, my good man!” Edd turned to his already captive crowd. “I’d like to treat you gentlemen to an enchanted tale about Venusian dining, but first I’m afraid you must hear of the horrors of Saturnian Cuisine,” he said, meanwhile motioning for my father to supply him with a beer, at no time taking his attention off his audience.
     “If ya don’t know of my past,” he begun, “I was an immigrant truck driver in New Tros, delivering pies all over Nuwerk. Oh it was the pits. One day I found a matchbook with a number for computer school on the back and I thought to myself ‘I’d do anything to get out of this hell’ for the second time in my life. By the next year I was working for HAL, designing reservation systems for interplanetary and eventually inter stellar travel companies, engineering credit mainframes and installing interplanetary intranets across the Solar system. It paid well, and they put me up in some of the nicest places in the system while I was on the job, sometimes staying for a month at a time. Well, lets just say I got a taste of culture.
     “This one time I stayed on Mimas for a week, I asked my host to take me out to enjoy a traditional meal of his people. I didn’t want to see a single familiar word on the menu, just point to something and be pleasantly surprised. He knew just the place and, after he watered his plants for the evening, took me there with haste.
     “Now you gotta understand my mood going into this: I sat down at a round table elbow to elbow with a dozen smelly Mimasians, all grabbing at the food in communal bowls with their bare hands. I didn’t see a single utensil or napkin, so instead I looked for a dish that everyone wasn’t knuckle deep and double dipping into. I spotted it, right next to me was a small plate piled with white objects about the size of golf balls that looked like they were covered in something like coconut. I grabbed it, noticed it was crunchy, but once I bit through the crispy exterior I was treated to the most amazing explosion of flavor. I smiled and grabbed two more, and had the third to my lips when my host came up and patted me on the shoulder. “Edd! You like the deep-fried pigeon heads!!” And sure enough, there was a little crispy beak and two little squinty eyes. Well what was I supposed to do, I popped it in my mouth, finished chewing and smiled.
     “A couple of years later the company let me bring a friend to Rhea, while I was there to help program the computer at the then new Gaia spaceport. So I took Jon, who as Keret knows,” Edd said motioning to my smirking and nodding father, “is a most timid little man from Amalthea. He’s come fishing a few times–I’ll bring him next year, we’ll all have a real laugher. Anyway, Jon and I are sitting in a the most popular restaurant in this fledgling port’s boom-town. The first half of the evening he hardly moved a muscle, staring at his plate in contempt, trying to occupy his lips with a glass of beer for as much of the evening as he could.
     “‘Psst! Edd,’ Jon whispered, leaning in to me, ‘We’re eating bait!’ I told him its not bait, it was Pingafish caught fresh that morning in this very port, and was renowned enough to bring us halfway around the moon in the middle of my vacation. ‘There’s no dish without fish!’ Jon said to me moments later after having his terrible epiphany. It was true, it was all seafood in front of us, but until this moment I had thought he was a real fisherman. I pointed to a plate next to him “You like fried calamari, right?” I said indicating a tray of sautéed squid-like things beside him. He shrugged and picked up one of the whole squid-things with a pair of chopsticks and stuck it in his mouth headfirst. Upon biting into it, its tendrils began to move and wriggle, and in shock and disgust John spit out the living creature. He then received similar looks of shock and disgust from around the table, but at the taste he left in everyone’s mouths. ‘I-I’ve got bad teeth,’ he came up with quickly, but no one bought it.
     “Afterwards, I took John aside and scolded him about rejecting their food. Told him no matter how vile or disgusting of a spread he had to treat it like it was the most tender delicacy he had ever put to his pallet. ‘We gotta prove to these guys that Earthlings aren’t tasteless, uncultured insects,’ I recall saying.
     “Well, I also I recall making the mistake of inviting Jon to come with me to Venus. We were heading near Ishtar just to visit a friend of mine who owned a brewery. We arrived at the gates of the Sol Beer Brewery and were greeted with cigars and given the grand tour by the short Europan owner. After meeting the factory floor girls, and finishing our cigars in his glass office overlooking the assembly line at full steam, he brought up the topic of nourishment. ‘I don’t know how you guys are feeling, you must be hungry after your flight, I know I’m famished just looking at you. Let us get ourselves some food and drinks, yes?’ he offered. I was eager and glanced at John who looked a little uneasy and asked ‘What about the factory, can you just leave it unsupervised?’ I could have shot him an icy glance, knowing he was doing, but the Europan responded ‘Oh, not a worry at all’ he said , thumbing for a button on the handle of his chair, and suddenly the break whistle blew on the floor, “The girls will come with us,” he said with a grin.
     “At the most popular restaurant in town we sat a dozen deep at the nicest table they could offer, with a giant bay window over looking the harbor and a saffron, early afternoon sea. By no coincidence, this establishment was sponsored by Sol Beer, and it was free as long as we kept refilling our glasses and posing for photos. After two hours of that punishment the food arrived, carried upon three giant wooden platters and set before us the table by shirtless waiters, and all the Venusian girls cheered. A smaller fourth plate was brought and placed on our end of the table before of Jon and I. The small white golf ball shaped objects it contained made my heart jump up my throat, but I swallowed it back down. ‘What’s that?’ I dared to ask the Europan. ‘Oh, Edd! That is Tortuga, of course!’ he said with a smirking slur. A moment later a realized he meant sea turtle, sea turtle eggs, a species extinct on Earth and endangered on Venus. ‘You mean like ENDANGERED Tortuga?’ I spat out in dismay. ‘Yeah, they’re great, you gotta try them, here!’ He said picking one up.
     “He squeezed it in his finger tips and it warped like a water balloon. ‘It’s leathery like any other reptile egg, no? So you take a knife,’ he said lifting a small bladed scalpel with a carved wooden handle and demonstrating how to make a proper slice. Then, taking one of a half dozen multicolored sauces in front of him, he poured a bit into the slit. ‘Once you choose a sauce you just put it to your lips, and,’ he said before following his instructions, then squeezing the contents of it into his mouth and swallowing it down. He smiled and said ‘That’s all there is. Go ahead, Edd!’
     “I picked one up and held it in my fingertips, squeezing it a little to test its elasticity. I took the knife, cut my slit then inspected the sauces, picking my poison as it were. I picked a dark red sauce, figuring it would be spicy, I’d just burn out the flavor if it was gonna be as bad as I was expecting. I poured some in and held the prepared egg to my lips. When I squeezed that lump into my mouth I swear I almost lost my stomach, it had the taste and texture of a ripe ball of snot. And I don’t mean the pleasant, drippy snot, I’m talking about your lumpy, black-spotted-smoker’s phlegm. I smiled and looked down at Jon. It was his turn and his face was as red as his hair, he was shitting bricks and sweating bullets when I nudged him, almost jarring him from a trance. ‘It’s not bad,’ I lied to his face, ‘go ahead, Jon.’
     “With a shaking hand he picked up the closest squishy egg, made a carefully though jittery incision, and without hesitation picked up the red sauce, having the same idea that I had: to scorch his taste buds off. With a final nervous gesture he put the egg to his lips and squeezed. The expression on his face that followed was one of sheer terror. His eyes wide and searching for something to help him, he finally sighed and pulled the egg away from his mouth. Clenched between his teeth was poor half-developed turtle–little legs, little head, with a little see-through shell. Just when I was just fearing the worst, John sighed again remembering Rhea, and popped the little thing into his mouth. With a couple awkward crunches, he swallowed it down and smiled.

     “Our little Europan host had been flirting with a new employee this whole time, only tuning in halfway through, and also choosing a poor time to finish his glass. When he at last sipped it all and set it down, he exclaimed down the table ‘Oh no, Jon! You got a bad egg!’”

07-20-2308

     A dead calm came over the early afternoon. The wind dropped suddenly and the mixed feelings over our second day of fishing had just been stirred a little more. The sun was hot and Earth’s humidity made it so much worse, all 9 of us on this little charter boat huddled under the canopy in the middle of The Taurus. My father, brother and self along with 6 strangers, including the cross-eyed captain, his part-time first-mate, my dad’s friend Edd and 3 other Earthmen. I got dragged along on this little weekend excursion my first day back on Earth. And trust me, yesterday had been much better; chasing Chesapeake Spadefish and Saturnian Sea bass and catching them by the handful, little bastards putting up a fun fight. No such haul now though, today had only seen skates, rays and an occasional shark; one a little bay Hammerhead my dad reeled up, but she bit through the line when she caught a glimpse of the boat and eager, net-handed faces.

     With our quarry of Kobia successfully eluding us and distaste for the turn the weather took, we needed something to lift our spirits. My father turned to Edd, the large grey-rooted Ionian, seated on the cooler closest to him. The two had been friends and business partners for ages, and after meeting him for the first time on this trip, I realized why they stayed such good friends. Edd is an jolly old fellow who never runs out of stories and is always an absolute riot, the perfect kinda guy to have stuck with you on a dull day at sea. All morning he had resorted to jokes and riddles to keep us awake while nothing took our bait, and now my father knew of a perfect weapon to unsheathe for this moment.

     “Hey Edd,” he said with anxious grin, “Why don’t you tell everyone the Tortuga story?” This lit Edd’s face up like a Christmas tree, and he slapped his hands together licking his lips.

     “What a splendid idea, my good man!” Edd turned to his already captive crowd. “I’d like to treat you gentlemen to an enchanted tale about Venusian dining, but first I’m afraid you must hear of the horrors of Saturnian Cuisine,” he said, meanwhile motioning for my father to supply him with a beer, at no time taking his attention off his audience.

     “If ya don’t know of my past,” he begun, “I was an immigrant truck driver in New Tros, delivering pies all over Nuwerk. Oh it was the pits. One day I found a matchbook with a number for computer school on the back and I thought to myself ‘I’d do anything to get out of this hell’ for the second time in my life. By the next year I was working for HAL, designing reservation systems for interplanetary and eventually inter stellar travel companies, engineering credit mainframes and installing interplanetary intranets across the Solar system. It paid well, and they put me up in some of the nicest places in the system while I was on the job, sometimes staying for a month at a time. Well, lets just say I got a taste of culture.

     “This one time I stayed on Mimas for a week, I asked my host to take me out to enjoy a traditional meal of his people. I didn’t want to see a single familiar word on the menu, just point to something and be pleasantly surprised. He knew just the place and, after he watered his plants for the evening, took me there with haste.

     “Now you gotta understand my mood going into this: I sat down at a round table elbow to elbow with a dozen smelly Mimasians, all grabbing at the food in communal bowls with their bare hands. I didn’t see a single utensil or napkin, so instead I looked for a dish that everyone wasn’t knuckle deep and double dipping into. I spotted it, right next to me was a small plate piled with white objects about the size of golf balls that looked like they were covered in something like coconut. I grabbed it, noticed it was crunchy, but once I bit through the crispy exterior I was treated to the most amazing explosion of flavor. I smiled and grabbed two more, and had the third to my lips when my host came up and patted me on the shoulder. “Edd! You like the deep-fried pigeon heads!!” And sure enough, there was a little crispy beak and two little squinty eyes. Well what was I supposed to do, I popped it in my mouth, finished chewing and smiled.

     “A couple of years later the company let me bring a friend to Rhea, while I was there to help program the computer at the then new Gaia spaceport. So I took Jon, who as Keret knows,” Edd said motioning to my smirking and nodding father, “is a most timid little man from Amalthea. He’s come fishing a few times–I’ll bring him next year, we’ll all have a real laugher. Anyway, Jon and I are sitting in a the most popular restaurant in this fledgling port’s boom-town. The first half of the evening he hardly moved a muscle, staring at his plate in contempt, trying to occupy his lips with a glass of beer for as much of the evening as he could.

     “‘Psst! Edd,’ Jon whispered, leaning in to me, ‘We’re eating bait!’ I told him its not bait, it was Pingafish caught fresh that morning in this very port, and was renowned enough to bring us halfway around the moon in the middle of my vacation. ‘There’s no dish without fish!’ Jon said to me moments later after having his terrible epiphany. It was true, it was all seafood in front of us, but until this moment I had thought he was a real fisherman. I pointed to a plate next to him “You like fried calamari, right?” I said indicating a tray of sautéed squid-like things beside him. He shrugged and picked up one of the whole squid-things with a pair of chopsticks and stuck it in his mouth headfirst. Upon biting into it, its tendrils began to move and wriggle, and in shock and disgust John spit out the living creature. He then received similar looks of shock and disgust from around the table, but at the taste he left in everyone’s mouths. ‘I-I’ve got bad teeth,’ he came up with quickly, but no one bought it.

     “Afterwards, I took John aside and scolded him about rejecting their food. Told him no matter how vile or disgusting of a spread he had to treat it like it was the most tender delicacy he had ever put to his pallet. ‘We gotta prove to these guys that Earthlings aren’t tasteless, uncultured insects,’ I recall saying.

     “Well, I also I recall making the mistake of inviting Jon to come with me to Venus. We were heading near Ishtar just to visit a friend of mine who owned a brewery. We arrived at the gates of the Sol Beer Brewery and were greeted with cigars and given the grand tour by the short Europan owner. After meeting the factory floor girls, and finishing our cigars in his glass office overlooking the assembly line at full steam, he brought up the topic of nourishment. ‘I don’t know how you guys are feeling, you must be hungry after your flight, I know I’m famished just looking at you. Let us get ourselves some food and drinks, yes?’ he offered. I was eager and glanced at John who looked a little uneasy and asked ‘What about the factory, can you just leave it unsupervised?’ I could have shot him an icy glance, knowing he was doing, but the Europan responded ‘Oh, not a worry at all’ he said , thumbing for a button on the handle of his chair, and suddenly the break whistle blew on the floor, “The girls will come with us,” he said with a grin.

     “At the most popular restaurant in town we sat a dozen deep at the nicest table they could offer, with a giant bay window over looking the harbor and a saffron, early afternoon sea. By no coincidence, this establishment was sponsored by Sol Beer, and it was free as long as we kept refilling our glasses and posing for photos. After two hours of that punishment the food arrived, carried upon three giant wooden platters and set before us the table by shirtless waiters, and all the Venusian girls cheered. A smaller fourth plate was brought and placed on our end of the table before of Jon and I. The small white golf ball shaped objects it contained made my heart jump up my throat, but I swallowed it back down. ‘What’s that?’ I dared to ask the Europan. ‘Oh, Edd! That is Tortuga, of course!’ he said with a smirking slur. A moment later a realized he meant sea turtle, sea turtle eggs, a species extinct on Earth and endangered on Venus. ‘You mean like ENDANGERED Tortuga?’ I spat out in dismay. ‘Yeah, they’re great, you gotta try them, here!’ He said picking one up.

     “He squeezed it in his finger tips and it warped like a water balloon. ‘It’s leathery like any other reptile egg, no? So you take a knife,’ he said lifting a small bladed scalpel with a carved wooden handle and demonstrating how to make a proper slice. Then, taking one of a half dozen multicolored sauces in front of him, he poured a bit into the slit. ‘Once you choose a sauce you just put it to your lips, and,’ he said before following his instructions, then squeezing the contents of it into his mouth and swallowing it down. He smiled and said ‘That’s all there is. Go ahead, Edd!’

     “I picked one up and held it in my fingertips, squeezing it a little to test its elasticity. I took the knife, cut my slit then inspected the sauces, picking my poison as it were. I picked a dark red sauce, figuring it would be spicy, I’d just burn out the flavor if it was gonna be as bad as I was expecting. I poured some in and held the prepared egg to my lips. When I squeezed that lump into my mouth I swear I almost lost my stomach, it had the taste and texture of a ripe ball of snot. And I don’t mean the pleasant, drippy snot, I’m talking about your lumpy, black-spotted-smoker’s phlegm. I smiled and looked down at Jon. It was his turn and his face was as red as his hair, he was shitting bricks and sweating bullets when I nudged him, almost jarring him from a trance. ‘It’s not bad,’ I lied to his face, ‘go ahead, Jon.’

     “With a shaking hand he picked up the closest squishy egg, made a carefully though jittery incision, and without hesitation picked up the red sauce, having the same idea that I had: to scorch his taste buds off. With a final nervous gesture he put the egg to his lips and squeezed. The expression on his face that followed was one of sheer terror. His eyes wide and searching for something to help him, he finally sighed and pulled the egg away from his mouth. Clenched between his teeth was poor half-developed turtle–little legs, little head, with a little see-through shell. Just when I was just fearing the worst, John sighed again remembering Rhea, and popped the little thing into his mouth. With a couple awkward crunches, he swallowed it down and smiled.

     “Our little Europan host had been flirting with a new employee this whole time, only tuning in halfway through, and also choosing a poor time to finish his glass. When he at last sipped it all and set it down, he exclaimed down the table ‘Oh no, Jon! You got a bad egg!’”

«←→»

07-27-2308

     Here on Mars, I sat on top of Fender’s tallest hill, looking down at my home below over a questionable fast food hamburger. I had to sigh before taking another bite, but it wasn’t even the greasy meat patty that had made me lose my appetite. I was looking down all at the activity to and from Fender Municipal Spaceport and longing to be on the move again. I only got home two weeks ago but already I’m sick of life again. I want to stay fluid.

     The same thing happened about 2 weeks into my stay on Earth. It had been great and exciting to be home up until then, but the last seven days there had been dull and spent longing of my life back here on Mars. Now that I’ve got that in my grasp again, I remember how unhappy I was with it a month ago. Is there something tangible compelling me to feel this way or am I just insatiable?

     They’re small ships, the largest an interplanetary at the best, though. I’m pretty sure thats an Helen-class down there, that probably means some dignitary came down last night. I passively ponder high-jacking a rocket and seeing how far I can get. I’m sure if I could get to Callisto I’d find a way out of the Sol System all together, the trick would just be getting myself through the asteroid belt. Or even just out of Mars orbit for that matter, I’ve never piloted anything larger than a surface skimmer or a work-skiff, and never flawlessly. If I’m sure of anything though, they give me a leg up on maneuvering a bulky rocket, but theres still too many things I’d have to know how to do, things I should bother to learn about before taking off. Like landing.

     I could always snag myself a shuttle and just hop over to ISP Olympus, stow myself away on a freighter or transport heading to Saturn, find away to the old routes and hitchhike my way off Pluto. Always? Thats hardly plausible at all. I sighed and threw my half eaten burger into my bag, took a dissatisfied swig of soda from a straw and started my crawler. I lit a Martian Spirit and put the Fender Municipal behind me.

itlom-hereonmars


«The Second Belt War»

04-23-2308

     There’s an old story I’ve heard about an ancient lost world. As legend had it, this large rocky planet resided between Jupiter and Mars, a link between the inner worlds and the gas giants. The people of this mythological planet were far more advanced than the rest of the solar system, but their gifts were never shared. They were a wonderfully diverse culture spread out over all the land, but they were fiercely territorial. To top it off, they were devout in their varied beliefs, and an animosity had grown that drove them to civil war, one that continued to escalate until the planet was finally destroyed. It says this is how the Great Asteroid Belt was formed, and how Ceres and the other belt worlds were born.
     The tale also says that as well as totally annihilating their own civilization, the incident took out those living on Mars and Venus, the former receiving a direct shot through his heart and the latter suffocating in her tainted atmosphere. It then claims that by passing to us a moon, life was able to begin on Earth. Some versions of the story even say the refugees of the disaster scattered throughout and settled the solar system in isolation, and that this is how life came to Earth.
     I’m not going to assert that I subscribe to any of these notions explicitly, my beliefs are much more flexible. What I do know is, because of strong beliefs being held, there is now war on Ceres. Two of the largest tribes of Belters currently reside there and live perpetually poised to put an end to each other. It holds interplanetary concern for humanitarians everywhere, attracted by most wars and their atrocities, but of the economists as well.
     Though there might be a wealth of resources on each asteroid, Ceres is the only belt world large enough to harbor a spaceport, and controls the trafficking of resources through the belt and value of carbon fuels through out the solar system. It’s assumed, therefore, whomever controls Ceres can set the prices for most of the traded commodities today. There are, of course, a number of integral mining operations throughout the asteroid belt, namely on Pallas, Juno, and Vesta, but Ceres is the key to the belt–to have her is to have the galaxy in your pocket.
     It can’t be known if the legends are true, or if the Belters even aren’t the descendants of a lost world, still fighting it’s war to a bitter end. You can be sure in these times, though, that someone is going to try and interdict a conflict like this, for whatever reason they have.  The last time The Union became involved it was supposedly to prevent a despot from encroaching on his neighbors, and it was swiftly resolved with a simple flex of our muscle. Now, in this second Belt War, the chivalrous UT of E has again stepped in the be the police of the solar system.
     This time though the stakes are a little higher. There isn’t an identifiable enemy to target anymore; it’s an idea. Not only are radical fundamentalists attempting to annihilate each other, but trying to wipe out any other way of life but theirs, particularly the Inner World Way. Of course we appear as bad guys if we try to destroy or simply pacify them first, just another example of the Earth stretching its long white arms to strangle the galaxy into submission. I usually disagree with the things my government has done recently, but I’m left rather unsettled by this one. Even publicly, it may even be more unfavorable than the first Venusian War was, this one having absolutely no support from the home front or any of the other worlds.
     I dread the news to come that a draft has been instated for the first time since the Tethean War, or even worse, orders to invade Ceres’s peaceful, cosmopolitan neighbor, Pallas. If it happens, I’m fleeing to a non-partisan planet to wait it out. The prices and availabilities of the markets don’t concern me until I need to fill my tank or my pipe, and certainly not enough to want to fight a war over it. If I’m gonna die for my nation, you better believe I’m going to stand for that nation’s ideals and perhaps agree with it’s politics first.
     Ceres is thus crossed off my travel list until further notice.

     There’s an old story I’ve heard about an ancient lost world. As legend had it, this large rocky planet resided between Jupiter and Mars, a link between the inner worlds and the gas giants. The people of this mythological planet were far more advanced than the rest of the solar system, but their gifts were never shared. They were a wonderfully diverse culture spread out over all the land, but they were fiercely territorial. To top it off, they were devout in their varied beliefs, and an animosity had grown that drove them to civil war, one that continued to escalate until the planet was finally destroyed. It says this is how the Great Asteroid Belt was formed, and how Ceres and the other belt worlds were born.

     The tale also says that as well as totally annihilating their own civilization, the incident took out those living on Mars and Venus, the former receiving a direct shot through his heart and the latter suffocating in her tainted atmosphere. It then claims that by passing to us a moon, life was able to begin on Earth. Some versions of the story even say the refugees of the disaster scattered throughout and settled the solar system in isolation, and that this is how life came to Earth.

     I’m not going to assert that I subscribe to any of these notions explicitly, my beliefs are much more flexible. What I do know is, because of strong beliefs being held, there is now war on Ceres. Two of the largest tribes of Belters currently reside there and live perpetually poised to put an end to each other. It holds interplanetary concern for humanitarians everywhere, attracted by most wars and their atrocities, but of the economists as well.

     Though there might be a wealth of resources on each asteroid, Ceres is the only belt world large enough to harbor a spaceport, and controls the trafficking of resources through the belt and value of carbon fuels through out the solar system. It’s assumed, therefore, whomever controls Ceres can set the prices for most of the traded commodities today. There are, of course, a number of integral mining operations throughout the asteroid belt, namely on Pallas, Juno, and Vesta, but Ceres is the key to the belt–to have her is to have the galaxy in your pocket.

     It can’t be known if the legends are true, or if the Belters even aren’t the descendants of a lost world, still fighting it’s war to a bitter end. You can be sure in these times, though, that someone is going to try and interdict a conflict like this, for whatever reason they have.  The last time The Union became involved it was supposedly to prevent a despot from encroaching on his neighbors, and it was swiftly resolved with a simple flex of our muscle. Now, in this second Belt War, the chivalrous UT of E has again stepped in the be the police of the solar system.

     This time though the stakes are a little higher. There isn’t an identifiable enemy to target anymore; it’s an idea. Not only are radical fundamentalists attempting to annihilate each other, but trying to wipe out any other way of life but theirs, particularly the Inner World Way. Of course we appear as bad guys if we try to destroy or simply pacify them first, just another example of the Earth stretching its long white arms to strangle the galaxy into submission. I usually disagree with the things my government has done recently, but I’m left rather unsettled by this one. Even publicly, it may even be more unfavorable than the first Venusian War was, this one having absolutely no support from the home front or any of the other worlds.

     I dread the news to come that a draft has been instated for the first time since the Tethean War, or even worse, orders to invade Ceres’s peaceful, cosmopolitan neighbor, Pallas. If it happens, I’m fleeing to a non-partisan planet to wait it out. The prices and availabilities of the markets don’t concern me until I need to fill my tank or my pipe, and certainly not enough to want to fight a war over it. If I’m gonna die for my nation, you better believe I’m going to stand for that nation’s ideals and perhaps agree with it’s politics first.

     Ceres is thus crossed off my travel list until further notice.

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