Offworld (35 page)

"Wow," he said.

She smiled in a bashful sort of way, yet held his gaze with those
incredible silver eyes.

"You look very nice."

She smiled again, nervously. "Never done nothing like this
before."

"Well, it suits you"

Mae looked up at the night sky, as if trying to see what he and
the others had found so interesting. "So. Show me something."

"Okay ... Um, look there." Terry pointed low to the western
sky. This was a topic he could handle. "You see that bright one, right
there?"

"Think so."

"That's Mars."

She looked at him like he was crazy. "Shut up."

He grinned. "For real."

"Wow." She examined the faraway light. "It's teeny."

"It's a long way away."

"Bright, though," said Mae.

"It's even brighter from the moon," said Terry.

She looked at him again. "You been to the moon?"

"Sure. Twice. We all have-all but Owen. Lunar missions are part
of NASA's on-the-job training for travel to Mars."

"How long's it take to get there-Mars?"

"Six months," replied Terry.

"Six months!" Mae repeated. Then she dropped her surprised
expression and leaned in closer to him, nearly whispering, "Is that
long?"

He smiled. "It's half a year."

This she understood. "Inside a rocket ship the whole time?"

Terry nodded.

"Go nuts sittin' in one place that long."

"Part of our training was coping mechanisms for dealing with
long-term confinement."

She nodded as if she understood. "What's Tholus Summit? Heard
ya'll talking about it. That on Mars too?"

He nodded. "It's a mountain peak. The mountain's shaped kinda
like a dome, and this peak is the highest point, giving a great view
of the surrounding geography. Chris mentioned it earlier when I was
being held by Roston. It was his way of telling me to jump over the
edge of the bridge when he gave the signal. Something similar happened one day on Mars when I jumped from the Summit and landed
in the back of the rover, which Chris was driving at the time."

"Why'd you do that?"

Terry shrugged. "Bored, I guess. It was exciting going to Mars,
don't get me wrong, but it could be tedious at times too, with all the
research and experiments and mapping expeditions we did. NASA
would kill me if they found out, but sometimes you just have to release
a little tension out there."

"Then why do it? Go up into space?" asked Mae.

Terry pointed his gaze straight up, and something about his
answer made his heart race a little faster. "To see what's past what
we can see from here."

Mae's face softened. She said nothing, but Terry read her relaxed
features as understanding. She had to know as well as anyone what
it was like to want to know. It was what drove every astronaut, and
at times every human being: that longing in the soul to reach out and
touch the untouchable strands of the truth of existence.

"Ever wish ya hadn't gone?" she asked.

The question brought him back to reality. "No! No, no. To actually
touch an alien planet? And be one of the first people to ever do it? I
have no regrets about going, none at all. I just wish I'd had something
to come back home to."

Something scratched at his brain and he finally asked, changing
the subject, unable to stop himself. "You told me at the lighthouse
that you were born on the street. You didn't mean that literally, did
you?"

"Sure did," she replied. "Mom lived on the street just like I do.
Didn't always. She was a nurse once upon a time. Guess she passed
some of that on to me. Always been good at knowin' how to take
care of people.

`Anyway, she had me out on the streets in New Orleans. She
was layin' next to a dumpster. Did it all by herself. Amazing woman,
she was."

"She ... was?"

Mae nodded. "Shot. Some thug. I was seven. After she was gone,
I just went into the cracks. It's easier to survive if nobody bothers
seein' you're there."

Terry was saddened by her story, but not surprised. It was close
to what he'd expected.

"So you really have lived on the street your whole life."

She nodded again.

`And you've never been to school, not a single day?"

She shook her head.

Terry had a hard time concealing his astonishment at just how
different their worlds were. He too was an orphan, but he'd been to
school and had a roof over his head, and had plenty of advantages and
opportunities. She by contrast had been given nothing at all. Ever.

"Don't get all sad," she chided. "Not telling you to get pity
back."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"First person who ever asked. Now . . . wanna ask you
something."

"Okay," he said.

"You think God's real?"

The question took him completely off guard. "Whoa-what,
now?"

"Other day," Mae explained, "you said God must have a crazy
sense of humor ... if He's there. So, you think so or not?"

"I ... I don't know," he admitted. "It's not something I really
think much about."

"Well, I do," Mae said.

"Yeah?"

"I live in the open. Watch the sun rise and set. Look at the water
when it's all calm. Feel breezes touch my face. See the insects do
what they do. See all sorts of things other people spend all day
ignoring."

He waited for her to continue, though she paused for a long
moment.

"You write poetry, yeah?" she asked.

"Yeah, I told you the other day-"

"Life is poetry," said Mae. "Stop. Watch. Listen. There's poetry all
over. And the thing about poetry? It don't write itself."

Morning came early after a difficult night. Twice more as everyone
tried to sleep, reality had hiccupped, and they'd each been woken up
briefly in an unimaginable place. Sleep was hard to reacquire after
waking up swimming in a sea of green gelatin, or floating weightless
in an empty red space where there was no oxygen.

Chris took his customary morning run, his mind consumed with
Colonel Mark Roston. Whatever was happening all around them,
whatever had happened to the world's population, this man was at
the heart of it. Chris couldn't conceive of how that could be possible.
All that mattered was that they had to stop him. But first they had
to find him. Would Roston be waiting at the base of that beacon of
light that even now Chris could see brighter than sunlight? Was he
watching Chris have his morning run, and waiting to see what he
would do?

Back at the farm, Chris arrived anxious and ready to get everyone
moving, but to his surprise they were up and waiting for him.

They understand, then, he thought. This is the day we arrive in
Houston.

Terry, Owen, and Mae were packing supplies into the jeeps in the
barn. Mae pointed to the farmhouse when Chris asked about Trisha.
When he found her, she still had a haggard appearance and a stiffness
to her movements, but she was in the living room doing her daily
stretches again for the first time all week. Something had given her a
little boost, and Chris noted with interest that she no longer showed
contempt in her features when she spoke with Mae.

He walked in behind her, entering the kitchen. "Morning."

"I think we're pretty well armed for whatever you have planned,"
she replied, not looking up. "There's still a lot more of them than us,
but these weapons give us some options, at least. We're loaded down
with plenty of food and all the medical supplies we could find. The
others are going to wait in the cars. I think we're ready."

"Cool," he said. "Thanks for-"

"Before we go," Trisha interrupted, meeting his eyes for the first
time, "we need to talk."

Oh no.

Terry told her. He told her I have feelings for her.

That look on her face ... She knows, and she doesn't approve.
What am I going to say?

"Okay ..." he said, hesitant. He would have preferred to cut to
the chase, but decided to buy himself some time to form an intelligent response.

"I need to ask you something," she said. "I'm only going to ask it
once, and I'll believe you, no matter what the answer."

Chris swallowed, his heart racing. And why was it so hot in here
all of a sudden?

Trisha took a deep breath, bracing herself. "You know I'm your
friend. You know I'll follow you no matter where the road takes us. But as your second in command, I have to know: Are we going after
Roston because of your father?"

Chris blinked. "Wait, what?"

He was sure he'd misunderstood what she said.

"Your father. He's dead, Chris, and I'm sorry about that. But
defeating this man is not going to bring back your father. Even if
we manage to find everyone and bring them back, your father will
still he dead. So I need you to tell me we're not going after this man
because of your loss-because you need someone to take out your
frustrations on."

Chris' mind was reeling. No one had ever made him feel so vulnerable before, and she'd disarmed him so quickly, so easily.

"How do you know about-" He stopped his own words, because
he didn't need to ask that question. He already knew the answer. "For
someone who doesn't say much, Mae has a big mouth."

"She doesn't like keeping secrets."

"Yeah," Chris muttered, "I think she mentioned that. So when
did she ... ?"

"Last night."

"And did she also tell you-"

"What she saw you do to your father's tombstone?" Trisha replied,
frowning. "It came up. Chris ... I'm not judging you. You've never
talked about your father in all the years I've known you, and I know
now you had good reason not to talk about it...."

"No, you don't know," he said.

"Then tell me," said Trisha, her expression a mixture of confusion
and caution. "I trust you, but I need to know if this could compromise
your judgment"

"My father was ... he was hard on me. He-"

"He abused you," Trisha inferred, not quite asking.

Chris became lost in thought, his eyes glazing over and a stiff look
on his face. A thousand memories raced through his mind at once.

"He loved me. He wanted me to succeed more than he wanted
anything else out of life."

"That doesn't excuse-"

"I'm not making excuses," Chris said. "Everything he did was his
way of training me, preparing me for a life he believed I was meant to
lead. And yeah, that included some severe physical punishments. But
it was never about abuse, he was never sadistic ... or vicious....

"You have to understand. Dad raised me almost entirely on his
own-my mom died a few years after I was born-and he wasn't a
young man even then, so it wasn't easy for him. Whenever I questioned why he was so intent on `training' me instead of just letting
me be a kid and play and learn and grow like all the other kids, he
would look me dead in the eye and say that he wasn't interested in
my comfort. He was concerned with my character. Didn't matter how
many times I asked, his answer was always the same. It was years
before I figured out what he meant by that."

He paused.

"I loved him. And sometimes, I hated him. But everything I
know that means anything came from him. He taught me loyalty.
And strength. Patience. Courage. Trust. Integrity. I would never have
been a pilot, an officer, or an astronaut-much less the first man on
Mars-if not for him. I owe him everything."

"Then I don't understand," Trisha said slowly. "If you don't resent
him ... then you destroyed his grave because ... ?"

Chris grappled with his thoughts. `He was my anchor, my whole
life. Every mission I came back from, I went straight home to see him
and give him a `report.' Which was our way of interacting with each
other, it was how we bonded. When we got back to Earth and found
that everyone was gone ... the only thought on my mind was my
father. He was frail when we left for Mars. So I went to his home. I
went to find out if he was gone like everyone else was-and might
somehow be brought back ... or if he was gone for good.

"When I saw that grave marker ... I didn't know what to do with the thought of him being dead. Because it meant that I would never
hear his voice again, see the look of approval in his eyes, smell the
scent of his cigar. Looking at that gravestone made it real, and it was
the one thing in all this I just couldn't compartmentalize. I couldn't
deal with him being really and truly gone forever, so I sort of ...
tried to erase it. It was like, if that headstone wasn't standing there
staring back at me anymore, then maybe it wouldn't be real. That
probably sounds stupid."

"It's not stupid," she replied softly.

"No matter what happens-whether we find a way to get everybody back or we don't my father will be gone forever. And he's all
I've ever had."

Trisha nodded slowly, taking a long pause before saying, "I'm
sorry, Chris. And I know you haven't had the time to deal with your
father's death yet, but why are you so dead set on Roston?"

Chris sighed. "We're not going after Roston because of my father.
We're going after him because no one else can. And someone has
to. Everything else comes later."

Trisha hesitated, as if making a decision to admit something. "I
understand. I had to put some grieving on hold myself. I can't go
down that road yet. Not if I want to be of any use to you."

Chris took a small step closer to her. "Until there's time to decompress this stuff ... if you have any weak moments-physically or
emotionally I'll be your support. And maybe ... I could lean on
you too."

She offered a gentle, meager smile. "Sounds like a plan."

The back door was nearly torn off its hinges as Terry burst into
the kitchen. He was out of breath, and his eyes were wide and wild.
He handed Chris the radio he'd pulled off of Roston's men back at
the fairgrounds.

"It's him."