Old Mars

Written in Dust MELINDA M. SNODGRASS

It was a festival day, and crowds strolled the jeweled streets. Overhead, delicate glass spires echoed the colors of the pavements below and scratched at the sky. The perfume of flowers both sharp and sweet coiled about her.A sticky-bun seller offered her one of his wares. The long face like a horse’s, but with faceted, insectoid eyes, nodded in acknowledgment as she sang her thanks. She was small compared with the crowds surrounding her. Tall, slim, swaying like dancing reeds, every word a note, every conversation a symphony. The living and the dead walking together.The inhabitants’ flowing attire seemed so much more comfortable than the binding suit she wore. She entered a temple, stood immersed in incense and the elegant curves of the abstract figures painted on the walls.The other worshippers turned to welcome her. For the first time in a long time, she was happy. She reached up and removed the bulky, confining helmet. Black hair tumbled onto her shoulders.But my hair is brown.

Matilda Michaelson-McKenzie (Tilda to her friends and family) awoke with a melody on her lips, but a melody that had little in common with any Earth tonal system, Western or otherwise.

She rose, sluiced off her face, and watched the water go swirling back into the recycling cisterns. This was the first time she’d had visions. Was that really what the Martians had looked like? Before, it had always just been sound without sight. And the memories seemed very human. Very explicable. Had she really been Miyako McKenzie?

Tilda was desperate to talk to someone about this latest development, but the only other person who heard the music was her father, Noel-Pa, and if they did talk, they would have to be careful. Tilda didn’t want to bring down Grandpa Stephen’s anger on her father—any more than it already was.

Noel-Pa had innocently mentioned the music the second morning after their arrival at the McKenzie farm hold, and received a barrage of abuse from his father-in-law. Daddy-Kane had shot his husband a pleading glance, and the slim, blond retired military man had pressed his lips together and hadn’t responded, though Tilda knew that it had cost him. Since then, Stephen had never missed an opportunity to cut at his son’s spouse.

And Daddy-Kane doesn’t even try to defend him, Tilda thought bleakly. Thank God she would be leaving for Cambridge soon to start college, and out of the fraught situation where she currently found herself. But there was no escape for Noel—unless he left his husband, and that was beginning to seem likely, to their daughter’s dismay.

Meantime, she was dreaming about a woman she’d never met, who’d walked into an alien city and committed suicide. Had Miyako been lured by the music? And what if it happened to her? Tilda felt panic fluttering in her throat. Now she really couldn’t wait to get off Mars!

She thought back on how they had come to the red planet, the night their lives had changed. The call had come in from Mars, and Kane had gone into the study to visit with his father. Tilda floated in the sim cage playing a game, and Noel-Pa was kicked back in a recliner, reading one of his old dead-tree books.

When Daddy-Kane walked back into the living room, the expression on his face, and the etched lines around his mouth, had the footrest smashing down and Noel-Pa out of the chair with the lightning reflexes that marked him for a soldier.

“Your father?” Noel-Pa began, putting his arms around Kane.

Daddy-Kane shook his head. “No, he’s fine. It’s my stepmother … she’s dead.”

Tilda shut down the sim. Without needing words, they went into the kitchen and settled around the kitchen table. Outside, the fronds on the palms shook in an ocean breeze, rattling like living castanets.

“My God, they’ve only been married seven months! What happened?” Noel-Pa asked.

“She walked into the Martian city and took off her helmet.”

“Good God! Why? What happened?”

“The Syndrome … I guess. Dad found her body two days later.” His voice was low and heavy. There was a long pause. “He wants me … us, to come home,” Daddy-Kane added.

Noel-Pa stood and busied himself pouring out iced teas for all of them. “This wasn’t how we pictured life after my retirement.”

Kane gazed down at his hands. “I know.” To break the tension, Tilda darted up from the table and brought her father a cup of tea.

Noel leaned against the counter and gazed at his husband, while Kane studiously avoided that blue-eyed gaze. “He married Miyako to try and replace you,” Noel said softly to himself.

“I know, but he needs me now. It’ll only be for a while. Once he’s gone, I’ll sell the farm, and we’ll come back to Earth.”

“That could be a long time.”

“He’s seventy-seven. It won’t be all that long.”

Noel-Pa swirled his glass, the ice cubes chiming against the sides. “I suppose it’s only fair. You’ve followed me from posting to posting—Luna, to Ceres, to Pinnacle Station, and around the world since.”

So Noel-Pa mustered out of SpaceCom and they moved to Mars. To the McKenzie holding, five vast domes of red Martian soil under cultivation, and a sixth to house the homestead, bunkhouse, workers’ houses, silos, warehouses, and garages. What Tilda hadn’t anticipated was the delicate twisting spires of the ancient Martian city on the opposite shore of the old lake bed from the McKenzie farm.

Those gleaming glass towers in rainbow colors had almost reconciled her to the move, and she couldn’t wait to explore the city. Except that Stephen had forbidden anyone to enter it after Miyako’s death.

Tilda had surreptitiously done research after she started hearing the music some few days after her father. They called it Mars Reverie Syndrome, and, in its more extreme forms, people did enter the cities and die. Usually people who were in poor health, or those who were deeply unhappy. Which said a lot about the May/December wedding of Stephen and Miyako. There was no indication that the twenty-seven-year-old Miyako had been ill. Which left only one explanation. An explanation that didn’t redound to Stephen’s credit.

It was the Syndrome, paired with the fact that most of the cities stood in places where the soil was rich, that had started the destruction. Cities were leveled, and the Syndrome became an epidemic.

Hurriedly, the Union government put a ban on the destruction of the cities, but by the time the legislation made its way through parliament, only one city remained. The one across the lake. The cases of the Syndrome eased off, though it never completely vanished, and now the Martians were singing in Tilda’s head and she was walking in the head of a dead woman.

She shivered and realized that she had been standing, lost in thought, for far too long, and Noel-Pa could probably use her help with breakfast. She dressed in the colorful, imaginatively patterned envirosuit and pulled on the thigh-high boots that marked her as a Martian farm girl, and that her grandfather insisted that she wear.

Since most of SpaceCom’s facilities on Earth were closer to the equator for ease of launch, she had spent her life in warm, exotic locations—Australia’s Gold Coast, Hawaii, the Florida Keys, São Paulo, where sandals and shorts or swimsuits were the unofficial uniform. Now she lived on an ancient, nearly airless world where a dome leak or a freak storm that crashed an ultralight could kill you. She supposed that there were things that could kill you on Earth too, she reflected as she fluffed out her hair, the curls dancing on her shoulders, but the home world didn’t seem so actively hostile. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of here!

She walked through the large living room, bootheels clicking on the stone floor. The McKenzie house had been hewn out of the redrock cliffs that lined three sides of the ancient lake bed. It stood three stories tall, and two generations back it had held a boisterous clan, but now there were just the four of them, Grandpa Stephen, his son, Kane, Kane’s husband, Noel, and their only child—Tilda.

Tilda checked her ScoopRing. There was a message from Ali Al-Jahani, one of the few people in the area close to her age. His family owned the farm to the west, and they had given him permission to play hooky from chores and say farewell to Mars before he headed off to Paris in a few weeks to begin his medical studies. Ali suggested a flight out toward Mons Olympus. She messaged back that she would join him.

Tilda had leisure time too, because while Noel-Pa had agreed to her learning to fly the long-winged ultralights that were the most common mode of fast transport on Mars, he’d resisted other Martian activities. Like Stephen’s trying to put her to work in the sorting and packing sheds. Just like Ali, she was leaving for college soon. She didn’t need to learn how to be a farmhand.

The yeasty scent of baking cinnamon rolls, cooking bacon, and the dark, sensual smell of coffee escorted her into the kitchen. Noel-Pa circled the big stone table, setting out plates and silverware.

On Earth, Daddy-Kane had kept “the home fires burning,” as Noel-Pa had put it, but here at the McKenzie farm, Kane had skills that Noel lacked—how to run the big tractors, harvesters, threshers. Noel-Pa could have learned, but Daddy-Kane already had the knowledge, so they had switched roles. Tilda wasn’t surprised that the former military officer proved to be as adept in the kitchen as he had been in combat.

He turned at her footsteps and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She hugged him tight. “So, what can I do?”

“Beat the eggs for the frittata.”

She beat three dozen eggs and helped Noel-Pa season them and pour the mix into an enormous iron skillet. The eggs joined the bacon in the oven.

“I dreamed about Miyako last night. I think I was Miyako. She was greeting the Martians and they were making her welcome, giving her food, and there was a temple,” Tilda said softly to her father. He glanced at her, his expression tight and tense. “I’m not crazy!”

“I know.”

“So, you’ve dreamed about her too?” Tilda asked.

Noel-Pa checked the watch set in the sleeve of his suit. Shook his head. “Not now. Not here,” he said. Then he counted down. “And three … two … one.”

There was the babble of voices and the rasp of boot soles being cleaned on the scraper just outside the back door. The unmarried field hands who lived in the dorm just down the road, Daddy-Kane, and Grandpa Stephen flowed into the kitchen.

Noel’s thoughts were in complete turmoil as he pulled the frittata out of the oven. How could his father-in-law’s dead spouse be invading both his and his child’s dreams? His dreams had not been so pleasant. He had experienced all of Miyako’s loneliness, sadness, and hatred. Resentment of her family for essentially selling her to Stephen. Hatred for her elderly husband. Or was he simply putting his own dislike of his father-in-law onto this phantom?

Noel sprinkled fresh parsley across the puffed-egg dish, and sliced it into individual servings. Tilda removed the bacon and the rolls, and everything was set on a long counter. Noel stepped back as the hungry workers lined up.

Stephen sat at the head of the table with Kane at the foot. No one left a seat open next to Kane, and Kane didn’t object. Feeling absurdly hurt, Noel found room on a bench and sat down.

“What is this thing?” Stephen demanded.

“Frittata … sort of an Italian omelet,” Noel replied.

“Well, why not just make a damn omelet?” the old man asked.

“A little hard to flip three dozen eggs, and this way I could time it for when you all came in,” Noel said placidly. Peace at any price, he reminded himself.

The response from Stephen was a harrumph. Noel saw Tilda glance at Kane, but Kane kept his focus on his plate. In the first month after their arrival, Kane had constantly leaped in to shield Noel from his father’s verbal attacks, but that had stopped. Initially, Noel had asked Kane to back off, thinking that Stephen would eventually come to accept him. But his charm offensive had failed, and lately, it felt like Kane was starting to agree with his irascible father’s constant criticisms of Noel.

They had always had a vigorous and active sex life, but even that time of closeness was becoming less frequent due to plain physical exhaustion on Kane’s part. At least that’s what Noel told himself as he lay awake listening to Kane’s snores and longing for his touch. Noel felt lonely and isolated.

As lonely and isolated as Miyako.

Noel studied his husband’s familiar and beloved profile and wondered when it had become attached to a stranger. He tried to catch Kane’s eye, and briefly succeeded before the younger man looked away. Noel knew that behavior. Knew what it meant. It meant something was up, something Kane didn’t want to tell him. His appetite fled, and the food smelled almost nauseating. Noel pushed away his plate.

Stephen gave a loud snort. “Even you don’t like this damn thing,” he said.

Noel kept his expression pleasant but pulled his hands into his lap so that no one would see when they balled into fists. Once again the litany was running through his head—have a stroke, have a stroke, have a stroke!

He’d had very little interaction with his father-in-law prior to the move. Stephen and Catherine, Kane’s mother, had attended the wedding on Earth. Catherine had been pleasant in a bluff, hearty kind of way. Stephen less so. It was clear that he hadn’t wanted his son to marry a “mud crawler,” even though Noel had had plenty of postings off-world in his career with SpaceCom. For Stephen, that didn’t matter; you were either a Martian or you weren’t, and Noel wasn’t.

Stephen had been alone when he came for Matilda’s christening, Catherine having died two years before from an aggressive cancer. At that time, the old man had tried to convince them to move back to Mars so that Tilda would be a true McKenzie. Kane had stayed firm and refused. Noel had just made commander, and admiral didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility, and Noel knew that Kane liked the soft winds and warm sun of Earth. Liked walking at twilight hand in hand without the separation of an envirosuit. And that he never wanted to dig potatoes or thresh wheat again.

Noel knew that it had hurt Kane when Stephen had announced that he’d remarried, and the old bastard didn’t mince words when he told his son why. Miyako was just a walking womb as far as the old man was concerned. A chance to start a new family, a farming family, a Martian family. A family that would understand history and continuity and never leave. Then came the tragedy of Miyako’s death, and Kane had felt it was his duty to return—and if there was one thing Noel understood, it was duty.

Breakfast ended with Stephen and the hands trooping out to work. Noel was surprised when Kane stayed behind and helped him and Tilda clear the table and load the dishes into the big industrial-sized washer.

“What are you up to today?” Kane asked their daughter.

“Ali and I are taking our lights out toward Mons Olympus.”

“Good. You have fun,” Kane said, dropping a kiss onto her cheek.

“You checked the weather?” Noel asked, trying to keep his tone casual and not sound like an overly anxious parent.

“No dust storms predicted for the next two days,” she answered brightly. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry.” Her blue eyes danced with mischief.

They were the most obvious feature he had bestowed on their child. Her warm café au lait skin and curling brown hair were all Kane. His love for her manifested as a squeezing pressure in Noel’s chest. The back door closed behind her, and it was suddenly very quiet in the kitchen.

He turned to his husband and smiled. “Hey, we have the house to ourselves,” Noel said, giving a suggestive edge to the words. Kane’s grim expression didn’t lighten. In fact, it became even more pronounced. “What? What have I done now?” Noel asked.

“Let’s talk in our room.”

Noel shortened his stride so as not to outpace his smaller spouse. Their room was a perfect mix of both their personalities. Dead-tree books on a shelf, a few of Kane’s abstract paintings that they had paid to ship from Earth. Kane had intended to paint once they got settled, but, like so many other plans, that had never materialized. Noel’s battle armor stood in a corner like a warrior sculpture from some alien civilization.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Noel asked.

“Dad’s enrolled Tilda at Lowell University in the agronomy department.”

“Well, I hope he can get his money back,” Noel said. “She’s going to Cambridge, and she leaves in three weeks.”

Kane looked away, then walked to the dresser and began rearranging items. “I canceled her booking to Earth, and called admissions.”

“WHAT?” It was a tone and timbre Noel usually reserved for insubordinate recruits.

“She’s the heir after me.”

Noel forced himself not to shout. “What happened to we sell it after he’s gone?” Kane paced to the other side of the room and didn’t answer. “I take it that plan is no longer operative?”

“It’s honest work, maybe noble. We feed Earth,” Kane said defensively. “My great-great-grandfather built this house, broke the soil for the first time in who knows how many thousands of years. It’s right that a McKenzie continue here.”

“Tilda is also a Michaelson, and she has other plans. I had other plans.”

“I thought your plan was to be with me,” Kane said.

“It is, but …” Now it was Noel’s turn to pace. “You didn’t want this life. You said you never wanted to return.”

“Things change.”

“Obviously. But you and your horrible father don’t have the right to make that decision for Tilda.”

“So, now it comes out.”

“Yeah, he’s a bastard, and you know it. You used to say it. Tilda is going to Cambridge if I have to take her there myself.”

“You can’t. We’ll stop you at the port. She’s the daughter of a natural-born Martian, and underage. We can keep her here.”

Noel ran agitated fingers through his hair. “I don’t know who you are anymore. How could you do this to our daughter? To me?”

Kane crossed to him and gripped his shoulders. “Look, let him think he’s had the win. When Tilda turns twenty-one, she can do whatever the hell she wants, but it gives me time to work on the old man … and … and … things can change.”

“First, he doesn’t change. He reminds us daily about how goddamn resolute he is,” Noel said bitterly. “And second, I don’t think you can count on him conveniently dying and saving you having to confront him. Finally, three and a half years will be too late for Tilda. How’s studying agronomy at a shit college on Mars going to help her get into a quality university, especially after she backed out?”

Kane stiffened. “I graduated from Lowell.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did. You think this is Hicksville.”

“Don’t change the subject. That’s a distraction. You need to face up to what you’re really doing. You’re taking the coward’s way out. Not defying your father, and letting Tilda and me suffer because of your lack of spine!” The moment the words were out, Noel wished he could recall them. Even with Kane’s dark skin, Noel could see the blood rushing into Kane’s face.

“And now I see what the famous SpaceCom officer thinks of me!” He whirled and stormed to the door.

“Kane, wait! I’m sorry, I—”

The heavy metal door whispered shut, but it felt like a slam.

Tilda pushed back the canopy and climbed into her garishly painted ultralight plane. Was it the unremitting red of Mars that made settlers so crazy for color? she wondered. Hers was painted silver, with blue stars and moons and streaks and swirls across the overly long wings and fuselage. She taxied down the runway, past the big crawlers that carried their goods to the spaceport in Lowell City. The long acceleration down the runway, and the extralong wings, caught enough of the thin Martian atmosphere, and she was in the air. In the distance, she saw Ali’s black plane with silver lightning bolts also climbing into the ruddy sky.

She banked to come in next to him, and they flew wingtip to wingtip as they passed over the Martian city. She wondered what her dream Martians would make of it now. The jewel-tone towers were still the same, but now the avenues were washed with red dust and filled with the whine and moan of the incessant Martian wind instead of with songs.

The shadow of the ultralights’ wings swept across the red sand and rock of the planet, and played tag with the swirling whirlwinds dancing across the craters and plateaus. The fragile light of the distant sun sparkled on the domes covering the farm fields of the settlers.

Through the front windshield, she watched the looming mass of Mons Olympus, the solar system’s largest volcano, draw closer. The peak scraped at the red sky of Mars, and a few tattered clouds coiled about the shoulders of the mountain as if the massif were trying to wrap itself in a thin shawl.

Ali broke the silence. “I’m going to miss this.”

“Have you been to Earth?” Tilda asked.

“No.”

“You’ll like it.”

“My mom’s afraid that I won’t want to come back.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I promised her I would.” There was a hesitation. “But I lied. I don’t know how I’m going to feel after college and med school, maybe a residency spent down the gravity well.”

“Maybe it would have been better to be honest?” Tilda suggested.

“She cries all the time. Just think what she’d do if I’d said that.”

They crossed over a canal, and on sudden impulse, Tilda said, “Let’s land.”

“Why?”

“I want to drop a rock into a canal. I haven’t done that.”

“You hoping something will crawl out?” Ali teased.

“No, of course not. I just … look, just go with it, okay?”

“Okay.”

They found a level area not far from the sharp cut of the canal and landed. In Mars’s low gravity they were able to take long, floating strides that quickly carried them to the edge of the canal. It was obvious that it wasn’t natural. The edges were clean, as if cut by a laser, and the walls were impossibly straight. Tilda knew that early explorers had lowered probes into the canals but nothing had been found. Just sheer walls of fused glass. Why had the Martians made them? What purpose had they served?

Initially, the fear that something lived in those deep cuts had discouraged colonization, but years passed and nothing ever emerged from the canals, and necessity replaced fear. The home world, gripped in climate change and lacking enough cropland for her teeming billions, needed a new breadbasket. So the doomsayers had been overridden, and the settlers had arrived.

Tilda knelt on the edge of the canal and picked up a rock. Dropped it over the edge. Waited for what seemed like endless heartbeats. Predictably, nothing happened.

“It’s so strange they left no written records,” Ali said.

“I think O’Neill is right, and music is how they passed information,” Tilda answered, referring to a theory formulated by Mars’s most famous xenoarchaeologist.

“Seems supercumbersome. What if you were a Martian that couldn’t sing? Would you be like a mute?”

Tilda laughed, happy to find herself able to laugh after so many weeks of tension. “That’s a really interesting question.”

“That’s me, all interesting questions, and no answers,” Ali said. He had a nice smile. “What do you want to do now?”

“I should probably get back,” Tilda said halfheartedly.

“And I’ve got a pressure tent, and Mom put up a lunch for us. How about the Face? We can quote ‘Ozymandias’ to each other.”

The flight took another hour. From the air, the Face was massive and easily discerned, the blank eyes frowning up at the red sky, mouth set in an uncompromising line. Once they landed, it appeared as just sheer red cliffs. Something that could be seen from space had to be too large to grasp from ground level.

“Wonder how they carved it?” Ali asked, as they set up the tent.

“Must have been aerial,” Tilda said. “Lasers from above to cut away the rock.”

“I’d hate to be the guy who missed the dotted line,” Ali said as he hit the oxygen canister. Tilda set up a small heater, and, with a sigh of relief, removed her helmet.

Mrs. Al-Jahani was a wonderful cook, and she had packed baba ghanoush and curried chicken, both choices wrapped in tender pita bread. There was baklava dripping with honey for dessert. Fortunately, bees had taken well to the life in the Martian domes. Which was good, they had pretty much vanished on Earth.

Ali seemed nervous as he packed up the picnic basket. “I was thinking, I’m going to be in Paris. You’ll be at Cambridge. Not that far apart. Maybe we can … get together.”

“I’d like that,” Tilda said, and suddenly the handsome, dark-haired Ali presented himself as potential boyfriend material. She’d have to think about that, but right now it gave her a warm, tingly glow.

They replaced their helmets, and broke down the tent, and stowed it back in Ali’s ultralight. They then went to the side of the Face. Somewhere in the recent past, some human had carved steps into the side of the mammoth statue. Tilda felt guilty as she clambered up but ultimately shrugged and accepted it. She hadn’t done it, and it was too late to undo it.

On top, they walked across the massive chin, across the cheek, and stood looking down into the notch of the left eye.

“I wonder who he was,” Tilda said softly.

“And that’s why they should have left written records,” Ali said. He paused, then added, “Hey, you want to come back to our place for supper?”

Tilda thought about the morose silence that held court at the McKenzie table and nodded happily. “I’d like that, thanks. I’ll radio home and let them know once we get in the air.”

“Which we’d better do,” Ali said, squinting at the distant, setting sun.

Noel-Pa gave her permission, but his voice sounded stretched and thin. She hoped that he and Daddy-Kane hadn’t had another argument.

The sun, small and distant, sank below the horizon. The moons of Mars rose and passed each other as they raced in opposite directions across the sky. Without the cushion of deep atmosphere, the stars seemed fingertip close. As if by agreement, they flew in silence, soaking in the moment. Eventually, the farm domes came into view, glittering like captured stars on the horizon. The towers of the Martian city formed shadow fingers, stretching as if to capture the stars and moons.

Dinner at the Al-Jahani house was loud, delicious, slightly disorganized, and very fun. Mrs. Al-Jahani’s face was like an exquisite cameo set in the frame of her headscarf. Mr. Al-Jahani held their youngest child, little Jasmine, on his knee. Ali’s two younger brothers surreptitiously punched and pinched each other, and Siraj, his merry black eyes alight with mischief, kept up a singsong of “Ali’s got a girlfriend.” Which eventually earned him a punch from his elder brother.

It all reminded Tilda of the cheerful, cozy family dinners she’d enjoyed with her fathers before they had moved to Mars. Wistfully, she wondered what it would have been like if the men had crèched a little brother or sister for her, but she knew that such technology was expensive on a military officer’s salary. Still, it might have made a difference now. Maybe one of these imaginary siblings would have wanted to be a farmer and mollified Grandpa Stephen.

After dinner, they played mahjong and Scrabble, much to the disgust of the younger boys, who had wanted to load up a SimGame and shoot aliens. When Jasmine fell asleep in her mother’s arms, Tilda knew it was time to go. Ali walked her back out to her ultralight and briefly clasped her hand.

“This was fun. Thanks for spending the day with me,” he said softly.

Tilda, studying the line of his cheek, and his mouth with its rather lush lower lip, thought how, on Earth, he would have leaned forward and kissed her now, but here they were separated by their helmets. She settled for giving his hand a tight squeeze.

“Thanks for inviting me. I had a wonderful time.”

“We’ll do it again before we leave.” He got an arm around her and gave her a hug, which Tilda enthusiastically returned. She then climbed into the ultralight and made the short hop over the canal that separated the two farmsteads.

She was surprised to find both her fathers waiting for her in the cavernous living room. She noticed that Noel-Pa was paler than usual, holding his face so still that he seemed more like a marble statue than a living man. Daddy-Kane put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the sofa, but she noticed that he never looked directly at her.

Then he began to talk, and with each word that Daddy-Kane spoke, Tilda felt herself dying. She wanted to scream, run, cry, batter at the stone walls that seemed to be drawing closer and closer. She hunched over, folding around the agony in her heart.

“But … but I don’t want to study agronomy,” she finally said. It was an effort to force out the words through a throat that ached with unshed tears. She mustered a smile. “I’m terrible with plants, Daddy, you know that. I killed a ficus, for heaven’s sake!”

Always before, Daddy-Kane had responded to her teasing. This time, he remained stone-faced.

“You’re a McKenzie. We grow things.”

“And some of us kill things.”

Tilda’s eyes darted to her other father, and she was terrified by what she saw in Noel’s face as he looked at his husband.

Kane’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Noel. “Well, that was certainly threatening.”

“All I meant was that I was a soldier. Why aren’t you pushing her to enlist? Why does it have to be your family tradition that she follows?”

“You said it yourself—you kill things.” Kane’s tone was nasty. “I want something different for her.”

Tilda stood and laid a shaking hand on Kane’s arm. “And I want something different for me too, but it should be what I want. I want to study philosophy and comparative religion. I want to understand the Martians, and the ice creatures on Europa. Please, Daddy.” Her voice caught on the final words, and she feared she sounded like a five-year-old.

“The Martians are dead. The creatures on Europa may not even be intelligent, and all you’ll be able to do with that degree is teach,” Kane said.

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Noel snapped.

“It’s useless and pointless.” Kane’s breaths were ragged and harsh. Kane looked down at Tilda. “Until your majority, your grandfather and I pay the bills and set the rules. You’re going to Lowell College. Classes start in five weeks.”

It was the harsh tone more than the words that finally broke her control. Tilda gasped out a single sob and bolted from the room.

Blinded by tears, she ran for her bedroom; she heard Daddy-Kane say defensively, “She’ll have a cry and be over it by tomorrow. Kids are resilient.”

Noel answered harshly, “You’ve broken our daughter’s heart! I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

When Noel slipped into her bedroom, he discovered that she had fallen into an exhausted sleep. The soft shush of the door sliding didn’t wake her, and he had to give her shoulder a gentle shake. She sat up, clawing the hair off her face. The skin around her eyes was swollen and red, and she winced as light hit her tear-burned eyes when Noel switched on her bedside lamp.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and she flung her arms around him. “Can they really keep me here until I’m twenty-one?”

“Yes. Martian law controls in this situation, and they’ve always been pretty old-fashioned.”

“And you’re going to tell me to be patient.” The joy and youth had gone out of her voice. She sounded like an old woman.

“No. I’m not.” He nervously pleated the edge of the sheet between his fingers. “There is a way around the age of majority. It’s a case where Martian conservatism actually works for us.”

She bounced up until she was kneeling on the bed, hope kindling in her eyes. “Okay. I’ll do it. What is it?”

“Whoa. Wait. Hold on until I tell you. You might decide that Lowell College’s school of agronomy is preferable.” He paused, gathered a breath. “You enlist. You can enlist at seventeen with just the consent of one parent. Then you apply for the College Commissioning Program—Green to Gold. You’ll serve a year enlisted, but with your test scores, discipline, and with the recommendations from flag officers who owe me favors, you’ll get in. Cambridge is holding a slot for you already. You’ll be attending university, and just have to meet the year-for-year commitment. And you’ll be an officer.”

She frowned, chewed at her lower lip. “Will I have to study what SpaceCom tells me to?”

“They don’t care about the degree. Just about the process and achievement.”

She sat with the idea for a few minutes. Noel wondered if she was picturing herself in one of the blue-and-gold uniforms. “You taught me to shoot.”

“I did indeed.”

“Is another war likely?” she asked.

“It’s hard for me to answer that. I don’t think so. Since the Belt Rebellion, the politicians on Earth seemed to realize that they need to talk to the settlers rather than bullying them. Hopefully, that will continue.”

“And that’s what you hate about this,” Tilda said, gazing up at him. “You think we’re being bullied?”

He hugged her tight. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“Okay, I’ll—”

He placed a finger against her lips. “No, I want you to think about this carefully. Remember, there’s no guarantee this will work. Plans can fall apart. Let me know in a few days. But whatever you do, don’t let Stephen get a rise out of you. If he thinks you’re rebellious or going to be mulish, it will make it harder for us to get away. If you should decide to enlist.”

She took three days to consider. She watched war movies and documentaries about the Belter Rebellion on her ShowSim. Could she stand basic training? Probably. She was in good shape and liked to be active. Guns didn’t scare her. Dying did. But how was that different from any other person currently living?

Tilda had followed her father’s advice and not pitched a fit. Stephen read her silence for acquiescence and absolutely fawned over Tilda. Each time he hugged her, he threw a triumphant glance at Noel-Pa as if saying, see, she’s mine now. Toward his son-in-law, Stephen became even more horrid.

On the third night, the three of them sat in the living room. Noel-Pa, seated on the sofa, mended one of Kane’s shirts while Kane flipped through a seed catalogue that he’d brought up on his ScoopRing.

“With Tilda going off to school, I think I’d like to get out of the housework and join you in the fields,” Noel-Pa said.

“I’d like that too, but maybe not right now. Dad likes working with me.”

“Why can’t he work with both of you?” Tilda asked, but it was more a challenge than a question.

Noel-Pa shot her a warning glance, and Kane looked bedeviled and irritated. “Look, this might not be the best moment. Let’s all just stay …” His voice trailed away.

“What? Stay what?” Tilda demanded.

“I’m going to bed,” Kane growled, and stomped off toward the bedrooms. Tilda noted how Noel’s eyes followed him and how sorrow had etched lines into his face.

“Take a turn and look at the stars before bed?” she suggested.

Noel nodded and followed her out of the house. The dome softened the brilliance of the stars and gave an almost rainbow hue to Phoebus rushing overhead.

“I’ve decided. I want to enlist. And maybe once I’ve gone, Grandpa will have to accept you and stop looking to me.”

He brushed her hand back with a gentle hand. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s get you onto a SpaceCom ship.” He threaded her arm through his, and they walked out into a field, where they could see anyone coming and wouldn’t be overheard. “Long-range forecasts show a hell of a dust storm coming day after tomorrow. It’s heading toward Lowell City, and we can run before it.”

“And Daddy and Stephen won’t be able to follow, because by the time they’ve discovered we’re gone, the storm will have grounded them, and the crawlers are too slow to catch us.” The sense of secrets and plots was exciting.

“Exactly right. Go out with Ali tomorrow and pack what you want to take. Remember, pack light. SpaceCom footlockers don’t hold much. Then just leave it in the cockpit of your plane.”

Tilda almost quailed at the size of the storm. It was a monster, bulking on the southern horizon, the dust roiled into fantastic shapes by the force of the winds. At the moment, it was a low-level hum that set nerves on edge and had everyone snapping at one another, but when it arrived, the sound would be the howl of a thousand banshees.

Kane and Stephen were ordering the hands to check the various domes in advance of the storm’s arrival.

“Tilda and I will check the ultralights,” Noel-Pa called as they walked past the huddle.

“Wait!” Stephen began.

“Look, Dad, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to lash down a plane. I tied down enough fighters in my day.” Noel-Pa didn’t wait but took Tilda’s arm, and they hustled to the airlock closest to the ultralights.

The wind hit them the moment they stepped through, and Tilda staggered. Noel-Pa grabbed her around the waist and steadied her. Hunching against the moaning gusts, they rushed to Tilda’s ultralight. Noel-Pa wrestled with the canopy and got it open. He boosted her up, and she scrambled into the cockpit.

He pressed his helmet against hers and shouted, “I’ll unlash you, and you get airborne.”

“How will you—”

“I’ll manage. Be ready.”

He pulled the canopy forward and dropped to the ground. He then unlashed the ultralight. She felt it begin to sway. Once he was clear, she went taxiing down the runway with the wind buffeting the craft and setting the long wings to vibrating. She managed to get into the air, and circled, watching as her father ran to another ultralight and pulled back the canopy. He dropped back down and un-tethered one line.

The wind was getting worse and worse, and dust blotted out the sun, creating an unnatural twilight. Tilda fought the controls as her father ran to the next tether. A shaft of light spilled onto the red ground as the airlock cycled open.

A suited figure ran out and charged at Noel-Pa. Too short and broad to be Daddy-Kane. Tilda switched on her radio and heard her grandfather’s voice raging in her headphones.

“Bastard! Son of a bitch. Like hell you’re going to take her.”

“Stephen.” Noel-Pa’s voice was loud but still placating. “This is—”

But he never got to finish. The older man barreled into him. Noel-Pa managed to keep his feet, but they were locked in anger’s embrace. Stephen was raining blows onto Noel-Pa’s body. The SpaceCom officer was trying to hold him off and not strike back. The half-tethered ultralight was whipping back and forth like the tail of a frenzied scorpion.

Tilda forgot about the plan. She set her radio on emergency channel and screamed out, “Daddy! Daddy! Help!”

It was getting harder and harder to keep the wings level as the wind swirled and howled. Noel-Pa managed to push Stephen away, but he didn’t see the tail of the plane swinging around, propelled by a vicious gust of wind. It smashed into his back and head, and he collapsed onto the sand.

“Papa!” Tilda screamed, and she turned the nose of her plane toward the runway.

She was trembling with fear, and that, coupled with the wind, made it a terrible landing. One wheel collapsed, and a wing dug deep into the sand and crumpled. She pushed back the canopy and scrambled down. She could barely keep her feet as she ran to her father. Stephen stood, hands hanging limply at his side, braced against the wind. He was staring down at Noel-Pa, an expression of both shock and fury on his lined face.

Tilda dropped to her knees next to her father’s still form. “You monster! You hateful old bastard! You’ve killed him. I hate you! I hate you!” Her words seemed to drive Stephen back as much as the wind.

The airlock opened again, and another suited figure raced out. Daddy-Kane reached her side. He was gasping for breath.

“Noel. Oh God, Noel.”

A gust of wind screamed past and sent Tilda’s crashed ultralight tumbling across the sands.

“We’ve got to get inside!” Stephen screamed.

Daddy-Kane grunted with effort, but lifted his husband into his arms, and the foursome clung together and fought their way back to the airlock.

The storm raged on, blotting out the sun and setting everyone’s nerves on edge as the wind screamed and moaned around the dome. Noel lay in bed and didn’t regain consciousness. Henry, one of the hands who had some first-aid training, did what he could.

“He needs to be in the hospital in Lowell City,” he said, but, of course, the storm made that impossible. Henry shook his head and slipped away, leaving Kane to sit next to the bed, holding his husband’s limp hand.

Tilda sat with them. Hours passed and she felt limp with exhaustion. Once Stephen came to the bedroom door.

“Go away.”

“Kane.”

“I can’t deal with you right now.” Kane looked at Tilda. “Go to bed.”

“I want to help. I want to be here,” she said.

“Get some sleep. Then I’ll have you take over and I’ll rest. Okay?”

“You’ll call me if …”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” She stood, came around to his side of the bed and kissed his cheek. He kissed her back, but never let go of Noel’s hand, as if by sheer will he could hold Noel in life.

She undressed and crawled into bed. She hadn’t thought she’d be able to sleep, but sometimes the body can trump the mind.

She was walking through the Martian city, and once again it was filled with Martians, tall and graceful. Among the aliens were two smaller figures. One was very slight with long black hair. The other Tilda instantly recognized. It was Noel-Pa. His arm was linked through the woman’s.

Tilda ran forward. “Papa, Papa!” He released Miyako and took her in his arms. “What are you doing here?” But he didn’t answer, just smiled down at her. “Come on,” she urged. “We have to go home. Come with me.”

She took his hand and tugged, but he resisted and slid his hand out of hers. He then linked arms with Miyako again, and they drifted away. Tilda ran after them, but she didn’t seem to be making any progress, and they got farther and farther away. She looked around and saw a Martian standing at the top of the steps of what she called the temple. There was something familiar about that arrogant face and the set of the faceted eyes.

Ozymandias.

She ran up the steps and stood looking up at him. Unlike the other Martians, he looked down and seemed to see her.

“Where’s my dad gone?”

The music crashed over her, filled with information that she couldn’t process, and she awoke.

She returned to her fathers’ bedroom, where a tense conference was under way. Henry had pulled back the eyelid on Noel’s left eye. The pupil was so dilated that there was almost no blue left in the eye.

“His blood pressure is spiking,” Henry said, “and his pulse is so slow I can barely find it.”

“Meaning what?” Daddy-Kane demanded.

“There’s probably a bleed inside his skull. If the pressure isn’t relieved, he’s going to die.”

“So do it,” Kane ordered.

Henry backed away, palms out as if pushing away Daddy-Kane’s words. “No, no, not me. I don’t have the skill or the training for something like that.”

He fled the room before Kane could speak. Father and daughter stood staring at each other. “A storm this bad will jam the engine on a crawler,” he said. “And it’s a five-day trip to Lowell even in good conditions.” His shoulders slumped, and she watched him accept the inevitable.

“That’s why he’s in the city,” Tilda murmured almost to herself. “He’s dying, and he’s gone to the city.”

“What are you talking about?” Daddy-Kane asked. Anger edged each word.

“I dreamed about Daddy and Miyako. They were in the city together. Ozymandias was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand.” Her voice broke.

“That’s crazy talk. And who’s Ozymandias? And he’s not going to die. I won’t let him die!” He strode around the room as if he could outpace death.

Tilda’s mind seemed to be fluttering in frantic circles. She kept trying to think of plans, solutions, alternatives, but all she saw was Ali’s warm brown eyes and soft smile. Then she realized that he was the solution. “Ali!” she shouted.

“What?”

“He was a scrub tech at the clinic in Bradbury. He’s going off to medical school.”

“They’re on the other side of the canal, and we can’t fly in this,” Daddy-Kane said.

“Zip line. Across the canal.”

Kane considered. “We won’t have a lot of time. A storm this bad can overwhelm a suit too.”

“Then we better do it fast,” Tilda said, and went to call Ali.

It was a testament to the kindness of the Al-Jahanis that they didn’t balk or hesitate. Grandpa Stephen declared the plan insane and ordered that none of the hands were to help.

Tilda felt her fingers curling into claws, and she was ready to launch herself at her grandfather. Any remnant of affection for the old man vanished at that moment, and she saw that something had happened with Kane too. He was chest to chest with his father, screaming into the old man’s face.

“You son of a bitch! You want him to die. Someone will help me. Someone has to hate you as much as I do!”

Daddy-Kane’s words hit like acid, and Stephen seemed to shrivel under the assault. And Kane was right. Several of the hands had come to like both Noel and Kane, and offered to help. Tilda wanted to go with them, but Kane didn’t want her out in the storm.

“Stay with Noel,” Daddy-Kane said, hugging her close. “Keep him with us.” He started away, then looked back. There was a grey cast beneath his dark skin. “And don’t let your grandfather into the room.”

Eyes wide, Tilda just nodded. She locked the door and returned to Noel-Pa’s side.

Forty minutes ticked past, with Tilda holding her father’s hand, talking to him, reminding him of their life together. Eventually, the door opened, and Kane and Ali entered. The young man looked scared but determined.

Tilda leaped up and hugged him. “Thank you. Thank you.” She brushed away the tears that sprang into her eyes.

“Don’t thank me yet, but I think it’s going to be okay. Neanderthals did trepannings, and I’ve got an uplink on my Ring to the Lowell Medical Center, and a neurosurgeon is going to walk me through it. So let’s get started. We need to shave his head and disinfect the skull. And I need a drill.”

The prep took longer than the actual procedure. Daddy-Kane steadied his husband’s head while Tilda held a towel at the ready to mop up blood. Ali inserted the drill. The whine edged the teeth, and made the back of Tilda’s eyes hurt. She tightened her sweat-limned hands on the towel as the drill bit slowly through the skin. A burning scent as it hit bone, then Ali was through and a geyser of blood hit him in the chest and face. Tilda jumped forward to block it with a towel, only to have the older, white-haired woman doctor in the ScoopRing holo say shrilly, “No, let it bleed. We want the pressure reduced.”

The spurting blood slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Ali scrambled to his feet and held his ScoopRing over the hole in Noel’s skull for the surgeon in Lowell City to inspect. Dr. Bush was leaning forward as if she could step across the hundreds of miles. Ali pulled out his earbud so that they could all hear the woman say, “Nice job, Ali. Looks good. Clean it, get a pad and a bandage on it, and he should awaken in a few hours.”

Tilda hugged first her father, and then flung herself into Ali’s arms. He bestowed an awkward kiss that pretty much missed her mouth, but it was still really nice.

Tilda went to her room to change into a clean shirt. Some of the spouting blood had hit her. She was rather proud of herself that she hadn’t fainted or reacted to the gore. Maybe she could have been a soldier. Of course, she wasn’t going to have a chance to find out now. What was going to happen once Noel-Pa awakened? she wondered. But that line of thought was too fraught and filled with pain and dread. She returned to her fathers’ bedroom.

Hours passed. The pupil in Noel’s eye returned to normal. His blood pressure dropped, his pulse was normal. He didn’t awaken. Ali called Dr. Bush back. She had him test muscle reflexes on the bottom of the soldier’s foot. It all tested normal. But still he lay like an effigy, and with each passing hour, he seemed to fill out the sheet less and less, as if he were diminishing before their eyes. Kane’s face sagged and went grey. Ali made hurried calls to Dr. Bush, but nothing she suggested helped.

The storm screamed itself out. Ali’s father wanted to fly over and collect him, but Ali refused. “Not until my patient wakes up” was what he said, and Tilda wanted to kiss him again. Grandpa Stephen came by once and gazed with a bitter expression at the prone form of his son-in-law. Tilda was glad then that Ali had stayed; it kept all the hate and bile from being spoken aloud.

Tilda retreated to her bedroom and lay down. She was just going to rest her burning eyes for a few minutes—

Noel-Pa and Miyako were sitting on either side of Ozymandias on the top step of the temple. All three of them looked at Tilda as she walked down the long boulevard. The air around Tilda pulsed and—

She was suddenly elbow deep in a tea bush, carefully stripping off the tender leaves. Her hands were tiny, a child’s hands, and the skin was pale almond. She glanced up at her father, who smiled over at her.

“This tea will be drunk in the White House and Buckingham Palace. It’s as if we’ll be there when they serve it,” he said, and Miyako felt a shiver of excitement.

Her hands were larger now, gauntleted in armor, and they gripped a heavy rifle. There was a flash as a laser gouged a new crater on Ceres. Her faceplate darkened so that she wouldn’t be blinded. She threw herself in a long dive into cover.

“Delia? Sam? Matt? Sound off. Talk to me, people.” Her voice was a deep baritone.

Tilda had reached the foot of the steps, and she walked up to Ozymandias.

“Do you understand now?” he asked.

“The cities were the repository of memories,” she said. “Somehow you all lived together—the living and the dead. Past and present in tandem. No wonder we couldn’t understand. It was too much, so we interpreted it as music.”

He nodded his long, thin head. “So many of us are lost. The voices of the ancestors, ground to dust by you rushing children.”

“We didn’t understand,” Tilda said. “But Miyako became the bridge, didn’t she?”

“And you and your father listened.”

Tilda looked over at Noel-Pa. “But I’d like to take my father home now.”

“Body and spirit are separated. And yours is not the call he will answer.”

Tilda woke, scrambled out of bed, and ran to her father’s room.

“That’s crazy. You want to drag a sick man out into those ruins?” Daddy-Kane said.

“I’m sorry, I have to agree with your dad.” Ali gestured at the bed. “He’s getting weaker by the hour. The move might kill him.”

“Right now he’s dying by inches. Isn’t he?” she demanded of Ali. He hesitated, then gave a slow nod. She turned back to Kane. “Please, Daddy. What have we got to lose? I’m telling you, he’s gone to the city. Like Miyako. He doesn’t think there’s anything to come back to. You have to convince him, lead him home.”

Kane chewed at his lower lip. Looked over at the bed. The sheet seemed to barely rise and fall over Noel’s chest. He looked to Ali, who just shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t think there’s anything more I can do.”

Kane slowly said, “My mom heard the music. She wanted to die in the Martian city, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. She begged me to help her, but I took his side. He took her to Lowell City. To the hospital.” It was a confession as raw as acid.

“Don’t take his side this time,” Tilda pleaded. “Noel-Pa doesn’t have to die. He just needs a reason to live. Please, Daddy.”

For a breathless second, it hung in the balance, then Daddy-Kane jumped up and grabbed Noel’s envirosuit. With Tilda’s and Ali’s help, they got him dressed. Kane lifted Noel into his arms.

“My dad’s forbidden anyone to go into the city. You’ve got to cover for us, okay?” Kane asked the young man.

“You got it.”

Determining that Stephen was in the orchard dome, they hurried to the garage and the crawlers. As they rolled across the dry lake bed, a dust plume rose like a phoenix’s tail behind them. Then they were at the city, and a wide boulevard stretched before them.

“Is there someplace in particular we’re going?” Daddy-Kane asked.

“Yes.” Tilda was staring intently through the front windshield. “I know the way.”

The walls of the buildings gave back the echo of the crawler’s big engine, and the ever-present Martian wind sighed and whispered through the streets. A flash of movement had Tilda’s head jerking around, but it was only a dust devil. Slowly, an overlay of the memory city formed over the ruins. She could see the gaily dressed crowds, the streamers and kites dancing in the wind, the rainbow hues of the towers. The music was all around her.

“Jesus Christ!” Daddy-Kane muttered. “Is that …? I hear it.”

She guided them down now-familiar turns and streets, until the temple stood before them. “Up there. We need to take him up there.”

Ozymandias was on the top step. When Tilda climbed out of the crawler, he gave her a slow nod and vanished.

Kane gathered Noel in his arms, and the trio climbed the steep, high steps. Inside, the swirling patterns on the walls were faded and broken in places, and sand gritted beneath their boots.

The music was like a river roaring past them, breaking like a prism into visions of alien lives and memories. Her father looked down at her, his face tense behind the helmet’s faceplate. “I can barely think. I don’t know what to do.”

“Call him back. Tell him … you know what to tell him.”

Kane nodded, knelt, and placed Noel on the floor of the temple. Then, taking Noel’s gloved hand in his, he said softly, “Wake up, honey.” Noel moaned and stirred slightly.

This is going to work, Tilda exalted.

Her ScoopRing chimed, a dissonant note in the Martian song. She wanted to ignore it, but its insistent clamor was starting to shatter the melody. She answered. It was Ali.

His face in the holo was tight and tense. “Tilda, it’s your grandfather. He’s freakin’ the fuck out. Totally losing it. I tried to keep him out of the room, but he forced his way in. He knows where you’ve gone. He took off raving about how he was going to tear down the old city. How it’s luring away his family. Your granddad’s on his way to the city with a big earthmover.”

“Oh Jesus,” Tilda breathed. “Okay, thanks … I’ll … I’ll think of something.” She cut the connection and looked toward her fathers.

Kane was huddled over his husband, talking intently. “I’m sorry, Noel. I lost my way for a while. I wasn’t sure where my first loyalty lay. I know now. I love you. Come home.”

There could be no help there. The connection between Kane and Noel was still too fragile, too tenuous. She couldn’t pull Kane away at this critical juncture. Tilda slipped out of the temple, down the long stairs, and into the street. In the distance, she could hear the dragon’s growl of heavy machinery, followed by a crash as a wall came down.

She broke into a run. She rounded a corner, and there was Stephen in the high glassed-in cab. Even through the layers of glass and his helmet, she could see how his face twisted in fury. He drove the giant earthmover into a building, battering at it with the front bucket.

Tilda ran forward, waving her arms over her head and shouting, “Stop!” She got in front of the dozer. Her grandfather jammed to a stop only inches from her.

“Get out of my way!”

“No! You can’t do this! You’ll kill Noel-Pa. His soul is in the city.”

“He’s already dead. He gave in to these creatures. This place. I have to save Kane and you.”

“You do this, and you’ll lose us both,” she screamed back.

He threw the massive machine into reverse, spun it around, and headed for another building. Desperation like bile filled her mouth. Tilda had no idea how to assault the behemoth and the man inside.

Miyako walked slowly and calmly out of the door of the building Stephen was approaching. The dozer ground to a stop, and Tilda realized that the torrent of memory had penetrated even Stephen’s closed mind. Wind-driven sand swirled about her feet, and, suddenly, Tilda knew what to do. She ran forward, ripped off the fuel cap.

Miyako was talking. “You didn’t love me. I was a means to an end. You never forgave me for being in Catherine’s place.” Tilda was frantically shoveling handfuls of sand into the gas tank. “All you talked about was the baby and how he would be better than Kane ever was. Even the baby was just a way to hurt Kane. It didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.”

All through Miyako’s speech, Stephen was muttering, “You’re not real. You’re a monster.”

Oh God, she was pregnant, Tilda thought. And it broke Granddad. Broke us all. She shook her head, driving away the hopeless thought. But not yet, damn it!

Stephen threw the earthmover into gear and roared forward, trying to crush Miyako. Then the engine coughed and died. Screaming curses, the old man threw open the door of the cab and leaped to the ground. He was carrying a long, heavy spanner.

Tilda rushed up and paced at his side as he pursued Miyako, who drifted always just out of reach. “You can’t kill her. You already did that. And you can’t wipe out the memory of what you did to her. And if Noel-Pa dies, the memory of your cruelty to him will remain too. And I promise you I’ll come here to die, so what you did to me won’t ever be forgotten.”

He stumbled over a curb, and his strides seemed less certain. Tilda pushed on, knowing that her words were cutting wounds in the old man’s soul and not really caring.

“If you had let Catherine die in the city like she wanted to, her memories would be here. You wouldn’t have lost her completely. Don’t you understand? The more you grab at us, the more we fight to get free. And if your actions cause Noel-Pa to die, you’ll lose your son too.”

Stephen stumbled to a stop and leaned on the spanner like a cane. His shoulders were shaking. “God forgive me!” The words were broken, whispered, and Tilda barely caught them. “I’m so alone.” He sank down to the ground.

Miyako’s memory ghost walked up to him. Laid a hand on his shoulder. “We have a lot to talk about,” she said simply.

Tilda left them there and ran back to the temple. To find Noel-Pa leaning against Kane, his helmeted head on his husband’s shoulder. They opened their arms to her and she ran into their embrace.

A few weeks later, she and Ali walked together in the Martian city. It was a scene of frenzied activity as crews worked to clear away the sand and rubble, scientists pondered how the city recorded the life memories of the dying, and religious leaders prayed. The McKenzie farm had opened its doors to house the army of experts who had arrived.

“So, you don’t regret staying?” Ali asked her.

“No. There’s so much to do here. Noel-Pa and Stephen have the easiest access to Miyako, and I can talk to Ozymandias. I’m needed.”

“Who was he?” Ali asked.

“The Martian who figured out how to keep memory alive.”

“No wonder they built a monument to him.” Ali paused and surveyed the slender spires, now cleaned of the occluding dust. “It’s sort of ironic the way your dad and granddad are working together now.”

“Yeah, also kind of appropriate. And I’m still going to Cambridge. They’re just letting me do it as a correspondence course.” She smiled at him. “I’ll miss you.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I thought you were staying on Earth.”

Ali looked around. “I’ve got a lot of memories here. I’d hate to abandon them.”

He gave her a hug, and she watched him walk back to his ultralight. She then headed home. Daddy-Kane and Noel-Pa were making breakfast, and, with so many people to feed, they could probably use some help.