NOVEL NEXT Chapter 99: Redemption
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Administrator Flowers: Of course, we all came here for the same, best possible reasons—to prepare for future generations of Martians, to realize the diaspora of our species across the system—to 'boldly go' as they say. . . .
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Sol 500 FY 26, 12:10 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
Marie stood just inside the door, arms crossed.
"We—well, I—knew this day would come. Could come."
Her father was correcting himself an awful lot. He wasn't happy—his normally pale face flushed a deep pink with nerves.
"I didn't tell you the entire story of your birth," he said. "It's not my proudest moment, and it didn't seem relevant. Or. . .I just didn't want to tell you, and neither did your mom."
She listened, hands folded.
"I thought your mother might be pregnant while we were still on Earth. We. . .well, your mother told you about birth control, right?"
She nodded. She wasn't going to make it easy on him. The thought felt foreign, but she'd had a really shitty day.
"Well, something burst—long and short of it—and we both knew she was under the weather halfway through the next month. But we wanted to go to Mars so badly—for the dream. But we didn't leave Earth for another week. She didn't feel better, and I offered her a urine test, but didn't want to push it. . .well, that's not very fair of me. I also told her no matter what, we'd be okay. I muddied the choice for her."
"I should have been born on Earth," Marie said.
"Yes," he admitted. "And you'd have had all the boys your age you could want—a big family—grandparents you could touch. And your mom would have had to stay. And I. . ."
He paused, wretched.
"I don't know what I'd have done. But we decided not to find out something we weren't ready to know. And. . ." He gestured vaguely. "Here you are."
"You broke the law," she said, almost to herself.
"Probably," he said. No fight in it.
"I've been so lonely. And it wasn't a fluke."
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"I mean. . .I'm sorry, darling. I said all that to say, though, that I'll go to bat for you—with your mother. You'll go where you want to. And I'll help you with the therapy and equipment you need. If you still trust me to help you."
You should have years ago. She didn't say it.
She hugged him, silently, after a second's hesitation. He paused himself, then held her close. They were both crying.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I don't know yet," she told him. "I'm scared."
She needed her dad right now.
He held her while she cried.
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It wasn't even subtle.
Adya leaned against the doorframe of Marie's unit, arms folded like some self-appointed warden.
"I tried to call him," she said.
Marie didn't look up from her tablet. "What?"
"Gordon. It says his number is restricted."
Marie set the tablet down. "That's intentional."
Adya narrowed her eyes. "I asked you for it. What's his number?"
"No," Marie said.
Adya blinked. "Marie—"
"No," she said again, sharper this time. "I am not going to let you poison the well."
Adya stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"I've already used that metaphor," Marie muttered, standing up, voice rising. "But no. I'm not going to let you ruin things. I will not give you his number."
"How dare you—"
Marie's voice cut clean through her. "How dare you. You do not get to insert yourself into this just because you think you're entitled to it. This isn't about you."
Adya's face hardened. But Marie didn't flinch.
"He doesn't owe you politeness. And neither do I."
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Marie stormed down the corridor, tears streaming openly down her face.
"Hey—hey, Marie!" Jaz caught up with her, the taller girl moving at a steady lope instead of a run. "Marie, what is going on?"
"It's Mom," Marie said, not slowing. "She has no boundaries. There's nothing sacred."
Jaz winced. "Well. . .yeah. This is Adya we're talking about."
"She tried to call Gordon," Marie said, voice cracking. "I think she was going to tell him to give up on Mars. That he should find someone easier. Someone safer. Someone with a family that wasn't—" She shook her head. "She was going to poison it."
Jaz's face hardened. "Well. Yeah." She nodded, almost to herself. "That's Adya. You already knew she was a toxic snake. Why are you acting surprised?"
There was a lilt in her voice—half dry humor, half challenge. Not unkind.
"He wouldn't have believed her," Marie said. "He wouldn't."
She sank down onto one of the benches scattered along the hallway, flanked by tall potted plants that branched upward like slow green fireworks. The foliage shielded her from the crowd, the busy flow of hallway traffic muffled behind it.
"I know," she said. "It's just. . .it's one more thing. And sometimes you can't bear one more thing. Even if it's small."
She wiped at her face.
"Grief's not linear," Jaz said, gently. "And Gordon's not dead. But yeah. Sometimes it's too much. I'm sorry."
She crouched and gave Marie a light punch on the shoulder—a bump, really. Something grounding.
"We're all rooting for you."