NOVEL NEXT Chapter 80: Warm Welcome
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Marie: I used to walk up and down the corridors, singing and listening to the echoes. Now, with so many people, I'd be too embarrassed. I think that's kind of sad.
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Sol 498 FY 26, 05:30 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, Hallway
"This isn't what I expected," he told her honestly. "I'd been ready for cramped hallways with airlocks every hundred feet or so–like living in a submarine. But ...it's kind of roomy."
"The AI was undirected for the first seven years they were excavating," she explained. "It apparently pulled from training data from Earth–our dining hall, for example, is based on its impression of the Queen Elizabeth II Great Court from the British Museum. It thought humans preferred a great deal of open space–and that also has benefits for the ventilation, and the arched vaults help hold up the ceiling."
"How far up is it?"
"From here? Twenty, maybe twenty-five meters. It varies. It's not solid, though–we've got layers and layers. Above your head now is about where Vera heads fabrication, and over that's where we store steel and aluminum bar stock, and above that is the original lander which has the fusion core in it–we couldn't really move that very far."
"I imagine it was pretty big."
"It was the first really 'big' achievement of the colony's history. We slid the whole ship down a shallow trench, all hundreds of tons of fusion reactor, entombed it in regolith, then built everything else around that pillar of untouched soil. Rule number one in the dig manual: never undermine the core. Mess with anything else, but not what's keeping the lights on."
Gordon tried to imagine the scale of that process.
"For scale: that's not much heavier than the ship you showed up in. That was a ridiculous amount of fuel."
"Yeah–Hiram made a comment about how, if things 'go wrong' he'll end up with grandkids here. And he wasn't going to let them die of cold in the dark."
"That's grim. And a bit insulting. We've been keeping the lights on for twenty five years without his help."
Gordon nodded. "He's that. Grim, and insulting. You'll see soon enough."
"Why is he here? You only said he was coming here anyway–and I'm happy you're here, of course."
He gave her a side armed hug. "Glad to hear that. But ...hedging his bets, I think. If Mars is a bad bet humanity is sinking a bunch of resources into that never pays off then he gets to ferry the resources that are being sunk. If Mars ends up a big success then he's gotten in on the ground floor and can grow the company with it. But for either of those to be really meaningful we need to outperform the other options. Lux and Starfield."
"Pity your poor little dumb Martian woman," she teased him. "Tell me like I'm five."
"City-powering reactors, dirty little disposable reactors. And us. We're weaker but cheaper than option one, and don't blow up like option two."
"So why would he need to bribe us with fuel?"
"To take 'no' off the table," Gordon said simply. "Right now, you don't need him. You can keep renting launch services and storage space. It works. He can't force you to buy his system unless he creates a situation where refusing him is more painful than accepting. And that's what the fuel is. It's a hook."
"You're more than just a pretty face, aren't you?" she asked him, teasing–but shrewdly evaluating him at the same time, he felt.
"I'd have had to be blind, deaf, and dumb to avoid picking up the odd business factoid," he deflected.
"Mmm-hmm," she said. "I'm going to have to start grilling you about other areas of your life you've been suspiciously quiet about."
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"Like what?"
"Well. Are you...any good in bed?"
He chuckled. "I'm the son of a billionaire. I'm not sure I'd know either way."
"Had a lot of gold diggers going after your heart?"
The line was light, but the tug she gave his arm was not. This mattered to her.
"Not all that many. I've been a shut-in for 'security' reasons," he reminded her, making air quotes with his free hand. "But what little success I seemed to be having historically ended up something along those lines."
"You know," he said, as they negotiated the corner around a mid-hallway modern art display that seemed to have no purpose other than blocking line of sight down the adjoining hallways, "You could have asked this earlier."
"I could have," she told him. "But I didn't know if I could trust you yet."
"What do you mean?" He knew.
"To be who you said you were. To come. I knew you cared–Gallant was pretty obvious about that, but making it to Mars was always ...less likely than the alternative."
He twirled her around by their linked hands. "I think...that's really reasonable of you. I could have been angling to get a pretty Martian princess out of her clothes on live stream."
She allowed his nonsense, but her face was serious when she said, "Yes, you could have."
"Could have...as in it would have worked?"
She elbowed him. "Stop it, you're being ridiculous."
"I know. Well, I turned out to not be that guy."
When they stopped walking, it happened without him thinking about it. She turned to say something, plump lips just slightly parted—and before the words came out, he leaned down, brushing his mouth against hers. There was a flutter of tension–then she kissed him back, her hands clutching at his back urgently, her body leaning into his. The tension in his chest dissolved into nothing, and the unfamiliar setting dissolved into irrelevance. He wasn't an outsider, here in this warm little space between Marie's arms, this pitch-dark closed-eyes time. He was welcomed here. He belonged here. He was home.
Multiple footsteps betrayed the approach of feminine footwear around the same corner they'd just come around.
He felt her smile against his lips, a crescent of perfect teeth nibbling gently, teasing, and then she pulled away, radiant as a star, deep brown eyes sparkling. "Well. How are you liking Mars?" she asked, her bright voice quavering slightly with unrepressed emotion, humor and hope and triumph all in one, her figure resting gently within the circle of his arms. Her hand brushed his chest as though testing the reality of him, her fingers lingering against the collar of his shirt.
"After that warm a welcome?" asked Vera, irony heavy in her voice. "He's doing just fine.
Marie turned toward the older woman, smile undiminished but the pink tip of her tongue protruding in a childish, playful raspberry for an instant. Gordon released his hold on her as her hips twisted away, but caught her falling hand in his again. She swung their clasped hands forward and back, clearly possessed of too much energy to stand still, She was so ...vital. So alive, and real and vivid, more than he'd dared to hope she'd be. His cheeks hurt from smiling and burned with blushing under Vera's knowing gaze, and inside him the usual turmoil seemed strangely still. No intrusive thoughts, no distractions—he was present, in this moment, and partaking, and he liked it.
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Vera watched them go.
His posture had changed—looser, taller, fully unfurling the height he'd inherited from his imposing father, steps lighter and purposeful. The young man was grounded in a way he hadn't been when he stepped off the lander.
Beside her, Adya hovered with arms crossed, her gaze flicking between the younger couple and Vera's unreadable expression.
Adya spoke reluctantly. "Well?"
Vera didn't hesitate. "He wants to stay. I think ...I'll let them have their privacy. You should too."
Ahead of them, Marie and Gordon walked off, fingers loosely intertwined, their steps light, uneven, a little too buoyant to be casual. Marie swung their clasped hands forward and back, unable—or unwilling—to contain her energy.
Two pairs of eyes—one troubled—looked on.
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Gordon gave a little huff of laughter, half-joking, still riding the adrenaline.
"So...that happened."
Marie smiled faintly, color still high in her cheeks. "Yeah. Still calibrating."
They walked side by side, hand in hand, each of them turning the moment over quietly in their heads.
No one watching would have thought to comment.
It was quiet. Companionable. The corridor stretched ahead with its arching supports and warm uplighting. Somewhere beyond the next curve was her worksite. A place filled with responsibilities and structure and meaning. But right now, it was just the two of them.
If either of them was uncertain what to say next, neither showed it.