«The New Martian Dream»

09-15-2309

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahoy, hoy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

«Resolutions»

01-05-2309

Standing in a stagnant security check point line I begin to come up with my list of resolutions. It’s the appropriate Earth tradition this part of the year, but I just start doing it to kill time.

The first is to be more assertive. This is only at the top of the list since I’m currently struggling to strike up a conversation with the redhead standing before me in the queue. There’s a painless dialogue with this attractive stranger that could be had right now, easing both of our nerves before a long space flight to Mars, or whatever destination she was going to that I was too shy to inquire about. Instead we play that game of continuous nervous glances, keeping each other in our respective fields of vision while seeming to pass cynical, possibly just exhausted, messages back and forth. Punctuating each of our sentences with inviting smiles that , perhaps, read as just coy smirks. As she steps up to hand her passport over she peeks over her shoulder as if to say ‘Nice talking with you’.

The second resolution comes to me while sitting in a car of the subway system connecting the concourses from beneath the tarmac. The next time I walk into a room, acting and dressed ostentatiously, I have to be prepared with enough confidence to actually speak to someone. It’s a little like the first resolution, but anything that needs to be reiterated is certainly something I need to work on. If I’m going to share my talents and success, or try to rub off some undeserved sense of self-importance on others, I have to be able to feel comfortable enough with my assets to actually deem them valuable. The first key to making someone interested in what you have to say is being captivated enough with your own words that they can’t help but be too. I slump back in the nylon seat and hide behind my thick, dark green shades.

The third resolution is a freebee, I came up with it before the others–don’t be so much of a pushover. Playing ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ can only be so helpful, and doesn’t seem to be paying off in all the years I’ve put it into practice. From now on, if there’s something I need or just want I’m going to speak up and take it. It’s really simple: what life does not give me I will get for myself. I push up my shades and cut into the line to when they call to board my row. It’s kind of a wide line though, and I end up letting the elderly Saturnian couple I would have cut go ahead of me anyway.

As I’m walking up the aerobridge to where it meets the wide door of the red Perseus-Class that will take me back to my excuse for a life on Mars, I realize that all three of my resolutions are all kind of the same one. As I ponder now how to kill three birds with one stone I come to my lot. My heart suddenly jumps into my throat, as to say hello to the girl from the security checkpoint, who is seated next to my empty chair. How I plan to carry out my resolutions throughout the year is no longer a matter at this moment–I take off the sunglasses and prepare to tackle all three at once.

«Rocket Red»

06-24-2308

     The Perseus-class ship I’m boarding is a brand new, top-of-the-line star cruiser. Trimmed to match the rest of the Rocket Red fleet, the paint job makes it appear as a giant crimson phallus, standing erect on the tarmac.

     I’m normally not a fan of masculine symbols, being a feminist and straight myself, but this one appeals to me. It just screams power to anyone with colored vision and it has a certain comforting fortitude. She looks strong and safe, and I feel a little more secure about hurtling through space inside 20 tons of metal and explossives knowing it looks as menacing as this.

     I’ve traveled within much larger vessels though, the Perseus are a series of mid-size economy liners. Most commonly used for interplanetary commuting, travel to an adjacent planet system. They were designed with the highest passenger yield for minumum size and fuel consumption, and she boasts a capacity almost twice as large as her sister, the Danae-class, a luxury liner of the same size. Regardless, in a small port like this where they don’t have an aerobridges, where you actually have stand on sea level with the craft and ascend a series of stairs to your hatch, you have to feel at least a little awe for the ship no matter how small it really is.

     After our slow moving milling of a line made its winding procession among the seats up the whole spacecraft, I found my lot by a window. Putting my carry-on in the overhead compartment, I flopped exhausted in my seat and breathed a long needed sigh of relief. Finally my journey home begins without any further ado, I remember glancing out the window at a Danae beginning ignition as my heavy eyes sealed.

«Still Stuck on Mars»

06-23-2308

     Sitting stifled, watching the ships get to depart. Surface Skimmers, shuttles and starliners take their turns arriving and embarking. And I’m stuck here on Mars still.

     I woke up late, hungover and burnt out from another last hurrah. It took more than a second to realize my alarm was sounding, and that’s what the shrill noise filling the room was from. Frantically, I threw the evening’s clothes back on and began that last minute dash to make sure everything I needed was in my carry-on. At first I snuck around the bodies lining the floor downstairs, careful not to disturb them before I left. I don’t know what I was thinking, this tip-toeing went on for a good 15 minutes before I remembered they were giving me my ride. So with an hour left before my ship would board I woke everyone up and tried to share with them as much of my panic as possible.

     It only took 20 minutes to travel about half the way to Novus Angelicas. Allan’s lifetime of experience living on Mars gave us the edge to slice through the ground traffic in his sister’s open topped buggy. I’d left my sunglasses in and carry-on stuffed it in the tiny boot, so I had the pleasure of my hair cutting at my eyes the whole ride. I was slightly distracted by my decreasing deadline.

     Just inside the NA county limits lies a small space port at Porro Beach. I feel attached to it, since it was the first plot of Martian soil I ever set foot on, and it’s the closest port that extends service to my favorite spaceline, Rocket Red. After that terrorist attack in New Tros and DT at the end of 2301, a negative stigma was affixed to space travel, and the aeronautics industry took a huge hit. In it’s collapse many companies completely went under, opening a niche for start up corporations to get a hold. All the new liners are flashy and bright, years more advanced and aesthetic than the aging fleet of clunky starcraft feebly holding our planets together.

     An Oedipus-class ignites it’s engines and erupts into the atmosphere as I grudgingly sip my coffee. I’m sitting in a smoking area outside of baggage claim right now, cursing myself for wearing black on a day like this. An unexpected meteor shower passing Luna is the focus of my frustration right now. I was supposed to stop over on my old moon for an hour before catching a connecting shuttle down from Earth orbit. The weather has all departing craft grounded on her surface for the next few days. I didn’t even know that meteor showers could impede space flight.

     So instead of hanging out on the moon for a few days, a dangerous idea for anyone with an affinity to flashing lights and a tendency to lose all their money on one hand, I was placed on standby for the last flight leaving Mars tonight. A non-stop Perseus straight to Goddard, the spaceport just outside of the capital. This of course means that I won’t actually leave until about the same time I was supposed to arrive there.

    I glance at my texti and give a sigh. With another seven hours to go, I watch another space ship blast off and light myself another cig.

     Sitting stifled, watching the ships get to depart. Surface Skimmers, shuttles and starliners take their turns arriving and embarking. And I’m stuck here on Mars still.

     I woke up late, hungover and burnt out from another last hurrah. It took more than a second to realize my alarm was sounding, and that’s what the shrill noise filling the room was from. Frantically, I threw the evening’s clothes back on and began that last minute dash to make sure everything I needed was in my carry-on. At first I snuck around the bodies lining the floor downstairs, careful not to disturb them before I left. I don’t know what I was thinking, this tip-toeing went on for a good 15 minutes before I remembered they were giving me my ride. So with an hour left before my ship would board I woke everyone up and tried to share with them as much of my panic as possible.

     It only took 20 minutes to travel about half the way to Novus Angelicas. Allan’s lifetime of experience living on Mars gave us the edge to slice through the ground traffic in his sister’s open topped buggy. I’d left my sunglasses in and carry-on stuffed it in the tiny boot, so I had the pleasure of my hair cutting at my eyes the whole ride. I was slightly distracted by my decreasing deadline.

     Just inside the NA county limits lies a small space port at Porro Beach. I feel attached to it, since it was the first plot of Martian soil I ever set foot on, and it’s the closest port that extends service to my favorite spaceline, Rocket Red. After that terrorist attack in New Tros and DT at the end of 2301, a negative stigma was affixed to space travel, and the aeronautics industry took a huge hit. In it’s collapse many companies completely went under, opening a niche for start up corporations to get a hold. All the new liners are flashy and bright, years more advanced and aesthetic than the aging fleet of clunky starcraft feebly holding our planets together.

     An Oedipus-class ignites it’s engines and erupts into the atmosphere as I grudgingly sip my coffee. I’m sitting in a smoking area outside of baggage claim right now, cursing myself for wearing black on a day like this. An unexpected meteor shower passing Luna is the focus of my frustration right now. I was supposed to stop over on my old moon for an hour before catching a connecting shuttle down from Earth orbit. The weather has all departing craft grounded on her surface for the next few days. I didn’t even know that meteor showers could impede space flight.

     So instead of hanging out on the moon for a few days, a dangerous idea for anyone with an affinity to flashing lights and a tendency to lose all their money on one hand, I was placed on standby for the last flight leaving Mars tonight. A non-stop Perseus straight to Goddard, the spaceport just outside of the capital. This of course means that I won’t actually leave until about the same time I was supposed to arrive there.

    I glance at my texti and give a sigh. With another seven hours to go, I watch another space ship blast off and light myself another cig.