NOVEL NEXT Chapter 98: Destiny
––––––
Vincent: We came for the dream, honey. Someone said once that if nobody believes the big lies, like 'Justice' or 'Freedom', they'll never become reality. So the President wasn't lying—
––––––
Sol 500 FY 26, 11:04 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
"Friends," said the President. His features, nearly pure-blood Iroquois depending on who you asked, were grey with age and heavy with dignity. The lights in the Oval Office were low, and the hangings he'd put up on the wall gave it a pleasant, rustic edge. "We are all of us excited on this momentous day—the Jovian satellites' first payload returned to earth. A 'pipeline' which will sustain human growth and innovation for, I am told, millennia. It seems to me that in all this excitement, there's been little reflection, and so I call you here today for a purpose. A revisit to old words, good words. Words that have been reinterpreted and painted with an unkind brush. "Manifest destiny". History tells us those who bore that banner were not to be trusted, and for many I'd agree—but I'd gently remind my listeners that words themselves hold meaning. 'Destiny'—where we will end up. 'Manifest'—the realization of potential. Literally the end of an arc, our final resting place. A quiet boast that if I build on, live on, and die on this land I have, in fact, done that much. Nothing more. Think of it this way: to those who dare, their descendants may look back on their actions and cheer that they were done. Mistakes and great deeds alike. And we are on the boundary of a marvelous opportunity. . . ."
It wasn't the rockets or the reactors that made Mars possible. It was a speech—a single address, delivered in low light by a tired man near the end of his presidency—that reframed destiny not as conquest, but as continuity. When the United Nations ratified the Mars Accords, it wasn't because they were ready. It was because, for once, someone had given humanity a story it wanted to belong to.
The Accords established Mars as sovereign at the outset—not as a colony, not as a dependency, but as a proving ground. They laid out four pillars:
That no single Earth government would control Martian governance.
That Martian resources would be developed cooperatively and transparently.
That scientific access would be universal, and findings open to all.
That no weaponry would be stationed, developed, or tested on Martian soil.
The pillars were idealistic, yes—impossibly so, some said. But they were also practical: a recognition that competition on Mars would end in disaster, and that no single Earth power could afford to go alone.
They were imperfect, incomplete, and deeply debated. But like the Declaration of the Rights of Man or the Antarctic Treaty before them, they represented a conscious turn in the trajectory of civilization. A moment when we didn't ask what we could take, but who we could become.
—Dr. Sima Bhandari, 'Red Soil, New Roots,' Earth Archives Institute, 2093.
–––❖–––
Marie, the first woman born on Mars, looked at President Imani's bust thoughtfully, reading his speech for the umpteenth time—faithfully transcribed in bronze on the monument later built in situ on Mars from locally sourced metals—and patted his shoulder for luck. It was shiny from all the touches from all the colonists over the years. She thought the framing pots of flowering rosemary were a nice touch.
"You built something," she told the statue. Today, the man himself had died peacefully in his sleep. Administration had discovered, fait accompli, that today would be a day of mourning and acknowledgement for Martians. The disruption to her routine felt disorienting, and made the loss feel . . .more real. If she closed her eyes, she could picture his face—framed by white hair and heavy eyebrows, lined eyes crinkled at the edges as the aged ex-president had wished her a happy fifth birthday via the first televised Earth-Mars video-conference. Her mother had been very proud of that—a screenshot from that call was still mounted in the hallway in her parents' hab. Marie thought about visiting for a long moment before deciding against it. Nothing seemed to fit her mood.
Perhaps a nap, she decided. After lunch.
The administration hadn't planned anything. When news of President Imani's death broke—a short alert in the early hours, bounced through Q-Net from Earth—it was just that: a footnote on the morning feed. But by noon, nearly every non-essential worker had walked off shift. Some asked permission. Most didn't.
No one wanted to turn the lights off, exactly. But there was a collective understanding—the kind discovered by many solo acts coinciding, then comparing notes—that business as usual wouldn't cut it.
By the end of the first meal window, the administration had reorganized the day. Meal blocks were consolidated—cafeterias filled in bursts instead of trickles. Volunteers read from Imani's speeches between trays of sweet-potato bread and boiled lentils.
"I always thought he was such a handsome man," Vera said, falling in line beside her. "I liked some snow on my hilltops, though."
Marie shot her a sideways glance. "Your Lark is a decade younger than you."
"He was my great investment," Vera said breezily. "Didn't want to spend retirement worrying about his shelf life. And he makes up for it in other ways."
Marie nodded solemnly. "Ah. Old soul."
Vera laughed, full and unrepentant. "Damn right."
Marie claimed a seat and chewed in silence for a few minutes of biography, details about Imani's life, times, his surviving daughters and grandchildren.
The lentils were tasteless, or perhaps it was her mood.
"It feels like a bad omen," Marie said, her voice low. "Even though I know it's not. Just. . .timing."
Vera nodded, quiet for a moment.
"The dream is worth it," Marie added. The words tasted like metal in her mouth.
Vera looked over, eyes softening. "Your dad's words?"
Marie nodded.
"Well," Vera said, brushing imaginary lint from her sleeve, "it was worth it—for him. To give up what he did. And for me, too. I left people on Earth."
She turned toward Marie fully now, steady and unapologetic.
"But you?" She raised two fingers, crooked in the air. "'Destiny'? That could be anything at all. . .Earth, Mars, a person, a purpose. It's just a word until you choose what it means. And that doesn't make all this"—she gestured vaguely to the statue, to the cafeteria, to the dome beyond—"less meaningful. Or the work you've done here already any less valued, even if you have to leave to follow your journey to its conclusion elsewhere."
She gave Marie a half hug, hand warm and firm and jerking her half off the bench. "We'll still love you if you have to go. You do you, just . . .for the right reasons."
Marie didn't reply. She watched the steam rise off her tray and imagined Earth's blue curve outside a shuttle window. It still felt impossibly far away.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
"I won't sugar-coat it—you're going to have some hard decisions ahead of you," said Vera.
Marie chewed listlessly.
"You told him, didn't you?" Vera asked. "How you felt?"
Marie didn't answer.
"Your hangups with that word are astonishing. Your names are on a shared habitat, but you—can't say three syllables out loud?"
"What does it matter?" Marie said quietly. "How I phrase it won't bring him home."
Vera paused, choosing her words.
"Having exact language for what's happening—even just for yourself—is always useful," she said finally. "Honesty starts in here."
She reached out and tapped Marie lightly on the chest. The gesture was brief, not unkind.
"If you can't name what you're feeling, you'll have a hell of a time holding on to it while you try to figure out what's next. Just a thought. I've never tried a long-distance relationship, but maybe you know something I don't?"
Marie's laugh came out as a brittle croak, halfway between amusement and pain.
"I think I made a huge mistake," she said. "On bigger things than just that."
"Hiram came to my quarters while Gordon was at breakfast. He made me an offer—a one-way trip to Earth. Medical support, expenses covered. A life with Gordon. He promised to keep out of it. All I had to do was convince Gordon to go. And go with him."
Vera listened, calm.
"I thought I was doing the right thing. Standing on principle. But instead of protecting Gordon's agency, I took us out of the conversation entirely. I gave Hiram all the power by refusing to play."
"I didn't calculate. I didn't even ask for time. I just. . .said no."
She wiped her cheek. "And the worst part? If I'd asked Hiram why I was wrong—if I'd actually listened—I think he would've told me. He did tell me. Just not in a way I could hear."
She let out a breath. "Before he left, he said: 'Don't subordinate strategy to tactics.' I had to look it up. Don't chase a short-term win that wrecks your long-term plan. That's when I realized what I'd done."
Vera nodded slowly. "He did tell you. And your instincts were right to distrust him. But look—some people live forward. They trace the arc of their current path and ask, 'Can I live with where this leads?' If not, they adjust early. They pay a cost. But they get to steer."
She folded her arms. "You can be a Hiram, or a Vera. Someone who looks ahead and takes the hit, because it's the only way to shape your future. But that takes clarity. And guts."
Marie stared at the floor.
"I could've," she said. "I want to think I could've. I was loyal to Gordon—but I was also afraid. Afraid of leaving my family. Of Earth. Of being just another girl in a strange place. Here, I have purpose."
Vera nodded. "You wanted to be loyal. But autonomy isn't a feeling, Marie—it's a function. It only exists when the options are real. And Hiram controlled the options. He gave you a frame where stepping back felt like virtue. So you stepped off the board."
Vera shook her head. "You didn't think you were choosing this. You clung to it, because it matched your story of yourself—as someone who doesn't manipulate, who doesn't force. But the only winning move—the one that preserved your ability to act—was the one you couldn't emotionally justify."
"You're saying I should've gone to Earth," Marie whispered.
"I'm saying you should've made the move that let you keep playing," Vera said. "Now the option is 'no Gordon' or 'no Mars.' What do you want to do—fold, or find a new way to play?"
Marie nodded faintly. "The game wasn't about Gordon choosing. It was about whether I'd stay in play long enough to stop us being separated."
Vera gave an ironic quirk of her eyebrows.
Marie's voice was quiet. "I didn't see it coming."
She finished her sweet-potato bread. It tasted like Thanksgiving, which was just around the corner, Gordon had said. That felt tactless of the calendar, to do her like that right now.
Vera's tone softened. "Far be it from me to tell you what will make you happy. But don't measure your life by the cost of every road not taken. Don't grieve not having a steak when you chose a taco—if you wanted the taco more. If you don't like where you are now, picture a future you could like. Take a step. But don't look back at that choice with Hiram. That road's closed."
She touched Marie's arm. "When's the last time you ate?"
Marie blinked. She gestured at her plate, which was now empty. Her stomach gurgled.
"Yeah," Vera said, standing. "That's what I thought. Come on. Growing girl needs her steaks." As they walked towards the counter, Vera added, "Besides, you've been so consumed with self-doubt and regrets that you've entirely neglected to consider your assets."
–––❖–––
"I know you were all rooting for me," Marie told her audience. Her character walked through knee-high grass, occasionally gathering armfuls of violet reeds and severing them at the base with her pruning knife, but the activity was disconnected from the words, just something to do with her hands. It felt strange to be so dissociated, robotic. "He was . . .perfect. Everything I dreamed about."
> RobotsInLove: You're eulogizing. What happened?
"Mars administration has decided, 'after due consideration of all the factors' to deny his immigration to Mars pending UN review."
The chat was not pleased.
"I can't say who made the decision," Marie said numbly. "I can't tell you who's using Administrator Flowers like a personal sock-puppet, and I can't tell you why my. . ." she choked, ". . .romance is going this Romeo and Juliet route."
> RandoonTheWizard: Look at her contract. Binary Systems Corp. has a gag order on 'speech defaming the company,' end quote.
> EnzotheMillionaire: I say we bump him.
"I never told Gordon I loved him," she says softly, gathering wildflowers and shovelling them gracelessly into her inventory. "I thought it was obvious. Implied. But since he's left for home, he's gone radio silent—I can't tell you what I think happened there—and I never had the courage to say it before."
–––❖–––
> RandoonTheWizard: She can't put BSC on blast. She signed a contract. But there's nothing stopping private citizens from discovering something big corp doesn't want being known and getting the word out there.
> ClubPubberfly: Okay, bet.
> 38PercentStable: Hey fellow Marsgirl shippers, I have some news: Gordon's father, Hiram Stone, was personally on the line with the Martian Admin's office, and /I have the audio file/.
> ClubPubberfly: That was fast.
Marie's avatar froze mid-gather, the violet reeds dangling awkwardly in her digital arms.
Her real self sat still, too, hands resting on the sides of her chair, eyes locked on the scrolling chat.
> 38PercentStable: I have the audio file.
The stream lurched into chaos.
> MechaRomancer: WHAAAT
> SweetVermin: DROP IT
> RandoonTheWizard: Doxxing is illegal, but leaking is public service
> BinaryBootlicker: This is gonna get you sued
> ClubPubberfly: Post the receipts or get out
Marie didn't speak. Her mouth had gone dry. She couldn't feel her fingers.
> 38PercentStable: Uploading a transcript first. Audio pending. Redacted where needed. Time stamp and metadata seem right.
Hiram Stone: I trust you'll take appropriate action regarding my son's. . .precipitous action. The Board expects leadership, not emotional compromise. Binary Systems cannot afford a Martian CEO. That is a reality we must all live with.
Administrator Flowers: This is irregular—
Hiram Stone: Hardly. Look—let me draft it for you? There's the sound of a pen scratching, but it's over fairly quickly.
Hiram began to read aloud.
Marie's lips parted, but no sound came out. Not at first.
She had known it. Felt it in her bones. Watched it play out in Gordon's face even through the glitches in their last call. But hearing it? Seeing it? All the cold political calculus?
> 38PercentStable: I'll put up a streaming link for you guys later. Let's do some good today.
"Thank you," Marie told them honestly.
She looked down at the wildflowers in her hand.
"You didn't sign up just to watch me whining," Marie admitted. "But I'm not very focused, so we're just going to see how the stream goes. Some of you were asking me for 'deets' on the in-person meetup. Was he tall in real life? Yes. Did I 'climb that like a tree'—"
She hefted her spear over her shoulder and continued walking toward civilization. The fields around her stirred all at once as a cool wind buffeted her and sent hair and ribbons streaming. "Yes. I did."
> RandoonTheWizard: Get it, girl
Marie smiled, just barely.
"What else did you want to know?"
> EnzotheMillionaire: Did you guys talk about a future together?
> Randoon_the_Wizard: Oh come on, guys
"Yes. We got our own place together. Just a few rooms, but I'd already started moving my stuff over." She expected talking to be harder, but just a few tears ran down in angry rivulets.
The chat poured in, but she didn't look yet.
"We didn't call it forever. We didn't need to. It was going to be next week."
Her voice cracked on that last word.