NOVEL NEXT Chapter 17: Sweet Nothings
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Vincent: We live in the rock, breathe oxygen freed from the rock, sleep on metals spun out of rocks, and eat … mostly potatoes, actually, but there's probably rock in there somewhere. The dream works.
Adya: We're mole people.
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Sol 489 FY 26, 15:35 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
The hallways had seemed so spacious when she was growing up—18 feet across, you could almost lay three people head-to-head lengthwise across the floor. Whether it was for reasons of structural support or perhaps airflow, they were even taller than they were wide. The hallways had always seemed huge when she was younger.
Now, carrying an extension ladder, they didn't seem so grand anymore. Every few hundred feet in the residential areas, an airlock interrupted the otherwise uninterrupted expanse of perfectly smooth hallways. Settlers had festooned the spaces between airlocks with potted plants, benches, and occasional works of art. Anything was allowed as long as it wasn't more than three feet wide and didn't obstruct passage. It was amazing what a tall fern plant could do, bracketing a bench or a painting, to make the space feel more private, more peaceful.
Now, these little interruptions threatened to catch on the feet of her ladder. She had to hoist it a little higher as she hurried down the hallway, cramped and rushing. She was going to be late. She'd been working late the last few days—no fault of hers, no fault of anyone's. Something was wrong with tank 12, and it just wouldn't stop getting infected.
The runoff from the tank, every time she drained it, came out as a dark sludge, slowly tapering off to a salty, relatively clear liquid. No algae in sight. "Blight," she'd call it—something that preyed on plants. Her crop was blighted, and she was annoyed.
She was annoyed because the colony would have that much less air. 1/20 of the air that should have gone from carbon dioxide to perfectly useful oxygen. A 1/20 loss wasn't a big deal—everyone knew that—but what if it spread to the other tanks? That's what kept her up at night.
Today, she had disassembled the tank entirely, drained it, and taken it apart. Modular design was a good idea in theory, but the downside was all the little rivets and divots, the seams where pieces joined, and things could hide. And they did—biofilm caught in the tiniest crevices, impossible to fully scour clean without tearing it down to frame every time. That wasn't sustainable. Not for a tank that needed monthly maintenance. If this went on, she was going to resurface the entire inside of the tank. And if that didn't work, maybe the colony would have its first tank burning.
It was immature, and she didn't care. She was frustrated.
And she was going to be late for her call to Gordon.
She'd already video messaged him, but it didn't matter. She told herself she wouldn't be late again. She hiked the ladder higher and sped up, her hard hat jiggling on her head as she walked. This was supposed to have been such an easy schedule.
Finally, she stowed the ladder, using the docking station with only a few tries. Not bad for her.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Long strides, back up the hall. Passing into residential, she began to unceremoniously strip safety gear, creating a bundle of goopy garments which plopped into the bin the instant her hab door opened. Shedding the last of them, she threw herself into the welcoming softness of the scrunched-up cotton duvet on her unmade bed, portable in hand, dialing.
He answered on the first ring. He sounded delighted to hear from her.
"I thought I was going to miss you tonight!" he told her. The 30-second delay was accompanied by a faint ringing sound, like mic feedback. His view flickered into being a second later, showing a rumpled-haired man in a bathrobe. He had so many bathrobes.
"Which would have been horrible since I have great news for you," he continued. "Harry's finally ready to do his delve, and once he has his magic resistances on, we can get past the sprites to the far gate without losing him—and you can finally see what I made for you."
She said, "Mine's been waiting for you."
"I know," he said, slightly hesitant, "but I told him I'd really try not to solo adventure, since we only have so much time left to play together."
She nodded. "I'm looking forward to seeing what you made me," she said. She wouldn't argue with his friendship boundaries—she was the reason he'd be giving them up, someday. Sort of.
"Likewise," he said lecherously, dramatically.
"Promise you won't share?" Her voice was as playful as it was earnest.
"I promise," he said, his tone skirting flirtation. "Nothing but the heal-bot."
"What makes you think I made you anything better? Don't be greedy." Her chiding wasn't serious. "And how about me?" she asked.
"Well," he admitted, "it's been a struggle getting yours done. I might have bitten off a little more than I thought I was—nothing I can't handle, it just took longer. Feature creep."
"It doesn't have to be perfect," she said. "I'd take a clone of you and just take him right back to my boudoir."
He grinned—she could hear it in his voice. "That's sweet of you, but I think you're worth a little effort. I hate how lonely you get sometimes. I want to be there for you."
"Hurry up and get rich," she said. She wasn't joking. "You know where to find me. I'll always have a spot here for you, next to me."
"You're the most amazing person."
"Liar," she said. It was one of the little flirtatious games they played.
She was amazing, not because she was the only Martian born on Mars, but because she was special to him. He was amazing, not because he was the heir to a tech empire, but because he was special to her.
Both of them had deep-seated questions about whether they were, in fact, worthy—worthy of the attention, accolades, or praise they'd received. Offers for remote university scholarships, applause for their achievements, and so on, had only deepened their impostor syndrome.
And yet, in one another, they'd found someone who didn't care.
Neither one of them had used their real name on their profile. Both of them had admitted it in their first few exchanges, and after only a few weeks of messaging, they'd each woken up one morning to see a mutual heart appear in the app. Both had decided the time was right to reveal themselves—and both had been terrified it would scare the other away. It hadn't.
"Maybe you're not amazing," he teased, "but you're amazing to me."
It was part of the game. It was the right thing to say.
She wanted to be amazing to him. And she was.
"Charmer," she purred.
"Flatterer," he accused her, a smile in his voice.
"You know," she said, "I was in such a bad mood when I logged out yesterday. But I'm going back now, and I'm going to be walking on sunshine."
"I'm glad I did something right," he said.
"I think so," she replied. "Sweet dreams, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
She was beaming when she hung up and languidly padded her sweaty body to the shower.
Time to build a fortress!