Is There Life on Mars?

11-20-2309

From a distance the cosmos stands still. Days and weeks pass at a time while little or nothing appears to change. But the Solar system rages on, and underneath a seemingly static surface, it thrashes and spasms violently. Economic turmoil and inconvenient plagues. Wildfire and meteor showers. Death and regeneration.

When I woke up, I immediately flipped open my antiquated workstation from where I lay in bed. It sprang to life with renewed vigor, a needlessly complex reformatting was still treating the Z-140x well. It felt like a brand new computer. All that mattered was that I could access a network again, and within nanos I was connecting to the Zenith family’s portal. Though Gerund and Rikka’s terminals were silent, and Qwerty was still asleep, his porti was downloading a large file, so there was a little latency in the sphere.

I slid through the various social webs I keep a profile in, checking my multiple inboxes and even the dashboard control panel for this tlog but found no new messages in any. I hovered purposelessly in the internet for a few moments, idly rapping my fingertips on the case of the computer. I’d hoped by then I would have at least received word back from Olympus Coast College about my application or student financial aid. Not knowing what else to do, I brought up a window from an interplanetary newsource, probably based on Earth. The stark headlines it launched at me in grim menacing boldface startled me at first.

–[FLU DEATH TOLLS IN THE UNITED
TERRITORIES ESTIMATED AT 3,900]–

–[NEPTUNIAN PIRATES FAIL TO CAPTURE
IONIAN CARGOSHIP SECOND TIME]–

–[TIPS TO SURVIVE BLACK FRIDAY’S
DEADLIEST SHOPPING BATTLEGROUNDS]–

Suddenly concerned for my health, and worried that all those months of not worrying weren’t going to pay off, I thumbed over the article. I truly detest the tricks these fear mongering, ad-savvy newsources use to optimize search results to generate some more hits each day. The report is contrary to the one just a couple of days ago which calculated deaths to be closer to 130, so I just figured they wanted to claim that all of the regular annual flu deaths had been attributed to the H1N1 virus. I closed the window before I could see how many of those confirmed deaths were on Mars, lest I become a victim of the pharmaceutical industry’s scare tactics.

The next window informed me pirates had been thwarted in their attempt to gain control of a ship leaving the orbit of Galatea. Either by coincidence or the attractiveness of the blasted thing, it was the same ship hijacked last spring near those same waters. These marauders from the sixth moon of Neptune have reportedly captured over 50 vessels, and seemed to have a pretty good reputation until the Euxine Carolina was rescued by UT marines earlier this year. This time, the enhanced security placed onboard the hundred-ton spacefreighter was able to resolve any issue before it even developed into one.

I didn’t care about holiday bloodbaths or a unit with a bunch of dead people in it. I couldn’t be compelled to look too deep into the stories reported by the Ganymedean newsource or an associated feed I’d brought up in the background while I digested these either. I really didn’t care about Earth’s prison camp or the election being gorked up on Ceres, or any of the other news they don‘t often openly address in Earth media. I’m usually enthralled with that sort of stuff.

I logged into SpaceBook and updated my status to something disparaging to human nature for letting the media get so commercial, and closed my clunky old porti.

As if stirred by a ripple in a pond, Qwerty Zenith rolled over in his bed. As he rested, he’d probably been able to sense so many similar, relatively tiny waves just and slept right through it. But a rock being thrown into the pond from so close may have felt like a surge against the barriers of his constant digital stream. He sat up, rubbing the side of is head.

“Oh, good morning, Qwerty,” I said, realizing I hadn’t actually spoken a word to anyone yet when my voice cracked. It was the handle that he chose to go by in all of his social avenues, virtual or not. I don’t think anyone ever called him by his given name.

“Morning,” he said, not looking up from the glow of the COG already alight in his hands. The holoscreen illuminated his sharp face and the accentuated Ganymedean features. If he had antennae or pointy ears I would have seen them in the wash of blue light, but his head was framed only by a short haircut and a little scruff of beard.   “What’s this about the news?” he asked me, responding to the notification that woke him.

“Huh? Oh, well ther-” I began before he cut me off, he’d obviously brought up the headlines.

“Pirates…prison camp…experiment demonstrates possibility of life in Centauri?” he read aloud, a questioning tone as he wondered if he’d already heard that somewhere.

I was rising off my futon bed and walking as I replied. “I think that whole thing’s a ruse to get more scientific funding for deepspace exploration,” I grumbled as I stepped into the kitchen to scrounge up something.

“So it’s better we don’t find life outside the Solar system? You’re so cynical, Klay.” He was beginning to wake and warm up, getting out of bed only to settle into his computer chair.

His eyes hardly lifted from his screens. “No, I just think it’s going to be a huge bust if it turns out we went all the way there again and didn’t find anything … again.”

“Well it won’t be any bigger of a waste than if those credits went to the defense budget,” his sleek porti synced to the portal the nano he touched it, and in moments he was tangled in his various webs. “They got something like 700 bil for the military, just for a single year. That’s 2 billion a day.”

“Gork,” I exclaimed, slamming an unyielding cupboard. “Nothing’s looking appealing to me in here, wanna start the vaporizer?”

He glanced at the time and yelled “Fire it up!”

BODY OVER MIND

Following our stomachs and not paying attention to our credit balances, @Qwerty and I wash upon the parking shoals of Style Isle…

«···»

Hunger was of the few things that could involuntarily force someone out into the big, scary world; and even then there are the options of fast food, take-out and delivery services to minimize a given human’s exposure as much as possible.

Like most Martian days, exterior temp was hot, windless and rentless under the beating red sun. Qwerty and I trod along the broad walkways of Nuport’s Style Isle. The outdoor mall was fashioned by The Caspian Company to resemble a cookie-cutter Ionian Mission; complete with terracotta tiles and black scrolling ironwork. It was a way to disguise their corporate headquarters as an outdoor shopping mall and gain a little extra revenue. It’s not actually an island, just a small mesa overlooking the Amazonian Ocean, and was used by natives in the past for their jamborees before it had been purchased. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see the red waters twinkling like a thousand rubies in the midday light… Whatever wasn’t obstructed by the rows of fancy rovers, oily parking bays and pristinely kept artificial palm trees.

I used to work here. Tucked away in the digital media section of Style Isle’s outdated bookstore, I toiled the first year I lived on Mars. The commute to Nuport from Fender was treacherous at the least, a whole 30 minutes. It was enough to make the job feel not worth it to me, spending the entirety of my only pay raise on the fuel it took just to get to work late every day.

We wove amongst the flow of shoppers, consisting mostly of wealthy women who didn’t need to be making any more credits. It always felt a little strange, walking amongst the same people I used to serve, calmly passing them decked out in their most splendid weekday attire. From the hottest trends off the runways in Mihr Patera to soft velour sweat suits encrusted in rhinestones. Large embellished sunglasses, gaudy jewelry and any number of insanely eye-catching accessories glinted and dangled in the red sun.

Anything they could afford to distract or cover up the seams between cosmetic surgery and plastic treatments. Neck-tucks and antenna-removal scars can still be tricky to hide, and that’s where expensive bronze and ivory make-up assisted. They perfectly mimicked the exemplary mannequins, stiff in the windows beside them but so posh. I cringed to think what these reptiles would look like without modding their bodies.

Just a few minutes there and I’d already seen too many aged women showing off their new breasts and arms, many of which still needed some tightening and laser treatments to erase the damage of decades of sun exposure. Gray roots hid under platinum blonde, deep crows feet under cakes of gap-filling eye shadow, and I’m sure I would have noticed the stench of death if it weren’t for the aroma of nail polish and hair products and overpowering perfumes. I just wanted to find the cheapest place to grab a bite, then get the void out of this commercial trap.

“I’m so excited for my appointment next week!” Qwerty said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m going to get my green license, and then my new toy will be completely legitimate,” there was so much glee behind his eyes as he said this.

“I just hopes it work’s out for you, it would suck if you were denied cause you didn’t qualify,” I pointed out, though that would be just as upsetting to all of us.

“Seriously,” he replied and winced with his blue eyes, trying not to imagine that possibility.

I turned to my Martian companion as we rounded a corner near the geyser fountain. “Hey, Qwerty, can you look something up for me real quick?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, slid his COG out of his pocket and unlocked the palm-held device. The flat, blue screen lit up in broad daylight, appearing a few inches above his hand. It rested on a faint laser cone, projected from the solitary LED eye; simplicity was the only identifying feature of an AM-3Gi COG. He called up a search application, and looked at me, asking “What do you need?”

“Gork, that was fast. Don’t you still have to connect to a network with that thing?”

“No, I canceled that basic service that came with it.” He pointed to his temple with his free hand, saying “I’ve been aug’d.”

“Ahh, now it makes sense, you are your own personal sphere,” I looked at him again as if I’d be able to see it’s sheen around him now.

“That’s astro, I’d love to get a chip one day,” I said quietly.

The cyborg’s eyes locked on me in disbelief. “What? You haven’t been auged?” the question rang loud here, even outside. Any sort of alterations, whether internal or external, are regarded highly by those of status, and I’m sure any of the women who could afford a boost in confidence could pay an extra few thousand creds to have a little more functional silicon implanted in their heads, too.

I looked around at no scowling faces or judging eyes, surprisingly. “No, what makes you think I have?”

“I totally thought you were. You don’t have extra memory in there?” he asked, genuinely amazed I hadn’t undergone any sort of capacity upgrade.

“No, not at all,” I said with as little pride as I could show these technophilic Newpsies.

“Huh, I could have sworn. Hmm…well I guess you just have a good memory then,” he said, adjusting to the idea of my head being emptier than his.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment…especially coming from a machine,” I said facetiously.

He protested “Hey, I’m still mostly human!”

“Whatevs, Robot. Find me the cheapest food around,” I commanded.

He grumbled, and returned his gaze to the screen, manipulating the flattened beam that the browser was illustrated upon with the swish of his fingertips. He looked up, over to the other side of the food court we had just meandered into. “There. The pizza place has the lowest cost here,” he said at once.

“Wow, you found it that quick?” I said, astounded by his technology again.

“No, I just remembered,” he said with a grin, adding “You Archaic humanoid.”

After we finished our two-cred slices of pizza pie, and made our way back through the mess of grotesque human facsimiles, we found ourselves at his little, cerulean crawler. The interior had been optimized for comfort and visibility, so much so that even the HUD cowling had been displaced to the center of the dash. He had three goggle compartments up there.

At the press of the ignition switch, the reactor whined and instruments illuminated with bright blue light, similar to the glow of the Qwerty’s COG, which now rested in a crèche on the center console. It supplied music from its harddrive to the entertainment system, and the driver or passenger could easily control media with the interface on either end.

We hurried home, where Gerund waited for our return. He’d sequestered himself into his room, determined to make full use of his burgeoning class-load by doing everything he could to pass them all. Little had been seen of him recently, except when he needed transit to and from campus, or when there was a bi-weekly jam, or if Nymh had come over to lure him out, though she just as often did nothing to make him want to leave the room.

Similar could be said of the youngest of the Zenith siblings. Rikka was often out of the unit since she was usually working one of her two jobs, and only appeared in sharp, semi-formal outfits when she was briefly home from either, or on her way to an interview for a third. Attention seeking and a hypochondriac, she was currently fighting a bout with the deadly flu upstairs in her quarters, and no one could tell if she were actually sick or not.

I’d become closer friends with Qwerty over the previous weeks, finding similar interests was easy for us; or something like that. It could have been something to do with being the same age as me, or that he was easier to tolerate for an entire day than his often boisterous older brother. Perhaps it was because we had planned to move to that ski resort in Cyane this winter and had begun pre-roommate rituals of bonding. But it’s probably just because we both share the ground level of the unit.

We arrived back at his townunit in the mid-afternoon and immediately return to our positions in front of our workstations. Using some sort of control on his terminal, he remotely activated his brand new vaporizer, allowing it to warm up the 600 seconds so it will work properly. He then sent a message through the sphere to let Gerund know he’d have about ten minutes to find a stopping point.

By force of habit, I brought up the newsources again with my renewed net connection, feeling warm with this novelty: the privilege of fresh information afforded only to those who have the technological means. By the look of the new banners, it seems healthcare reforms were stagnated by both sides of UT government, Earth’s new president visited Titan, and strife continued between warring factions on little Davidia.

A terrorist plot on another Earth skyscraper was foiled, a fusion plant in New Ganymede almost meltdown again and AM would probably release a new model of The COG over the holidays. Students protested an increase in tuition rates at University of Mars campuses, a ferry crash in The Rings left 26 dead and the sequel to that weak teenage-heartthrob-vampire movie broke box office records this weekend.

I closed all the windows at once and brought up one of my bookmarked links: a streaming, real-time image of the star Sol. I zoomed in partway, only until I spotted the well recognizable shapes of the gas giants, the thin haze of asteroid belts and the glint off the terrestrial worlds orbiting close the yellow main-sequence star. If it weren’t for a ticker running the time at the bottom you would have sworn it was just a still image, captured by a traveler from some rocket’s window.

I attempted to imagine for a moment that I was peering out of that porthole at the static but majestic view. I tried to picture myself away from any apprehensions of holidays, pirates, finances or vaccinations. It wasn’t working.

I collapsed the screen of the outdated porti. “Hey, Qwerty,” I called as I stood up, “I’m getting Gerund whether that machine of yours is ready or not.”

PREV: CH. 48 «The New Martian Dream»

NEXT: CH. 50 «When You’re Twenty-Two»

09-15-2309

The night’s air was crisp, the breeze warm and dry, breathing through my clothes instead of humidly pasting them to my skin. I struck the lighter I’d slipped past security and lit a cigi. I puffed it happily into the crystal clear evening as I stood on the arrival curb of the spaceport with my possessions.

I had just been anxiously awaiting them at the baggage claim, worried they’d never make it to the luggage carousel intact. I was afraid of losing the few belongings I could be sure I still owned, and even more nervous about checking the guitar, whether it was in a spaceworthy titanium case or not. Fortunately my luggage arrived without a scratch, the only marks were the one’s I’d made to personalize them; matching the symbol tattooed to my left wrist. Satisfied, I turned to wait for my ride.

Shayne Lynoir pulled up a few minutes later in the silver 2-hatched crawler she’d just driven to Mars in last week. In the few day’s she’d been here I could tell that she’d began to adapt well but still wasn’t used to all the little differences yet. She cautiously pulled out onto the closest freeway and headed us towards Olympus county, following directions from the navi fixed to her windshield.

“How are you liking living here so far?” I asked as I stared up at a sky filled with so much light, purely endemic to the Martian atmosphere.

“Oh it’s great. I’ve been smoking the best since I was in Omstel, way better than anything we found on Earth,” which I knew she’d say. “I’ve had a date with that girl I was looking forward to seeing. Uhm…I went to a strip club last night, Klay!”

“Wow, one week and Mars is already treating you right. You’re perfectly aware it’s all a trap, right?” I wouldn’t want her thinking the place was always this astro.

“Yeah, I know. It does seem too good to be true, so I won’t be surprised when the bottom falls out. But I’m not worried, I’ve got two fellowships to pay for school. And in half a year I’ll have my Martian residence…and you know what that means,” she said with a devilish grin.

“Of course, Shayne, it’s the reason that at least half the people that come here still haven’t left yet. It’s why I came back. This is the land of opportunity, the gorkin’ Martian Dream was made real again. Now it’s the New Martian Dream: come to Mars, become a resident, and get a license to possess and grow,” being back had obviously inspired me already.

“Uhm. Kinda sounds like the old one…just without the whole movie business and stardom thing,” she pointed out, facetiously.

“Ok, fine. And this one’s a lot more like the first dream..you know, that whole gold rush thing,” I admitted.

“I thought you once said the first dream was that the planet was inhabited by Amazons,” she would remember me mentioning a thing like Amazons.

“Haha, it was the Ionians who thought that before they ever made landfall. I don’t think the Martian Dream existed until after Earthlings settled here, it’s sort of an evolution on their dream…or bastardization if you would,” I was starting to spill my rhetoric on the subject. “Their dream—our dream; whatever. We’re still Earthlings, after all.”

“And we can never really be Martians, anyway,” she reminded. “But I am looking forward to being called an Amazonian,” she said with a wide grin, her imagination reeling on all the possibilities the future held for her. She snapped back into attention when the navi spout out the next direction in that robotic female voice.

I felt right at home when a lumbering garbage carrier made a blind merge and nearly smeared us into smudge in the pavement on The 5. The shock from the double-coiled repulsors knocked the ash off my cigi. Shayne pulled into the next lane with feline reflexes, making sure to flip off the trasher as she accelerated past. They kindly responded with a blinding strobe from their high-beams and a bark from their massive air-horns; both designed to carry across the vacuum of space. The sound of blaring horns was like music to throbbing ears.

Fortunate survivors of the freeway system, we pulled into Gerund’s complex, a cookie cutter community created by the Caspian Company. The large, bold letters and stylized directory maps at each of the entrances usually give it away, but if you were as familiar as I am to the area, you’d know to just assume they built it. It was identical to everything else constructed within a 20 mile radius.

Inside his mass produced housing unit, Gerund sat downstairs with Nymh and Rei, watching a movie on his brother’s wide screen workstation.

“Ahoy, hoy!”

“Klayed!” the half-Martian, half-Saturnian toddler shouted as I slipped in the airlock, leaving my suitcase, guitarcase and carry-on in the entrance way to give hugs.

“Hey, Rei. How have you been?” I asked, addressing her more as a peer than a 3-year-old. She turned away shyly, dumbstruck and speechless though she’d asked for me every single day of summer.

“Aww, Rei. Your lovi’s back,” Nymh joked, which made her daughter even more bashful, burying her face in my shoulder.

“What’s up, guys?” I asked as I set her back down and received hugs from my long lost friends.

“Not much, brutha! How are you doin?” Gerund inquired, excited to see his buddy again.

“Oh, it feels so good to be back,” I said patting his shoulder. “But, actually…there’s one thing…” I trailed off, turning my eyes to the airlock as if to initiate a crawler party.

“Back porch,” Gerund said, understanding my request, though his answer confused me.

“Really?” I couldn’t believe they’d ever think a spot was more comfortable than the cabin of Gerund’s vehicle.

“Yeah, go ahead, Lane, it’s already outside. I’ll be there to S-M-O-K-E with you in a nano,” Nymh spelled out so her daughter wouldn’t be able to understand.

“You sure you don’t want me to watch her for a little while,” Gerund asked his lovi in a saccharin voice.

“No, no. Go on, baby,” the Tethynese mother said, giving him a kiss before he joined me on the back porch.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, wasting no time to get to business as I packed the glass full of fire.

“I have no idea yet, actually. It was such a struggle for me just to get back here…I really didn’t think any further ahead than this part,” I admitted, indicating to the pipe in my hand. He shrugged, seeming to expect as much. “Would it be alright if I crashed here for a little while?”

“Well it’s a little packed now. My sister never moved out, and my brother, Qwerty, came back from Eris and doesn’t even have a room anymore. Also, with Nymh and Rei spending the nights here often, and Rikka’s lovi sleeping over all the time, it’s a full unit,” he explained.

“I understand, well that’s ok. Shanye did say I could stay with her a little while if I wanted,” I didn’t want to mention it wasn’t too big of a deal because I’d probably be moving back to Earth before spring anyway.

“I’ll see what I can do though. If I find some room I’m sure my parent’s won’t mind you being here a few days, they did miss you too,” he said, lighting a cigi impatiently while I took my time to finish packing the bowl.

“Thanks, bro, I appreciate it,” I was genuinely relieved someone on this planet had a heart. Though it wasn’t even my weed, I offered him greens out of gratitude. He shook his head to turn it down.

“Go ahead,” he waved, though I was reluctant to take it. “Welcome back to Mars, Mr. Lane,” he announced, handing me a lighter. It pained him to do so, but I’d never notice.

I nodded in appreciation and struck the lighter, focusing it’s flame on the leafy green and purple material packed into the chamber as I inhaled it’s milky goodness deep into my lungs. I felt a tingle emerge instantly, fluttering through my chest and head and easing everything it touched before I exhaled a plume of smoke into the open Martian night, the divine flavor I’d longed for most of the summer lingering on my tongue and lips. I smiled and closed my eyes, relishing the moment.

This is it: The New Martian Dream. How sweet it tastes.

PREV: CH.47 «Still Stuck on Earth»

NEXT: CH. 49 «Tumultuous Apathy»

08-16-23

Why am I here?

Still just waiting to go back to Mars at this point, it seems. It’s almost the end of August and I’m still exactly where I was a month ago. At the very latest, I was supposed to go back at the beginning of this month, that way if I couldn’t get the credits to Witt for rent, I could at least get my stuff out of that apartment before she had a new tenant move in.

That didn’t work out, and now I’m trapped here it seems. I get to say goodbye to all my friends that have kept me happy here on Earth in my plight. Everyone getting on with their responsibilities, taking no longer than a month or two to get the jitters out and back to school or off to work again. All the guys I got to hang out with and all the girls I was hooking up with all summer have retreated back to their lives.

It’s been getting awfully lonely without anyone to play with. There was one girl I had hopes of working things out with, but she disappeared as suddenly as I met her. She’d come to one of my brother’s friend’s parties, knowing fewer people there than I did, and stood out immediately. The skinny bea uty from Mars struck me dead in my tracks, her petite frame wrapped in a tight, leggy dress–all the way up to her big, doey eyes.

Shayne was quite upset with me by the time we’d left the party. She’d had her eyes on the cute girl before I started chatting her up. Shayne reminded me I wouldn’t have ever had a chance if she hadn’t broken the ice for me. All the same, I got her number and Shayne was feeling a little bitter towards me on our drive home. Hopefully my friend will shake the grudge before she moves to Mars in a few weeks…otherwise I may not have any friends to hang out with.

And did we forget about my life on Mars? It definitely seems like I’ve lost the ‘what’ that I had to return to there. My former roommate, Witt, seems to have gotten my replacement lined up. Gerund’s had to do me the favor of getting my possessions from my old place in the small increments she’s let him take without seeing a single credit from me. I don’t really know what I’ll be going back to when I free myself from my Earthly bonds.

I need to go back to Mars, but I’m getting more nervous about it each day that I’m away. The anxiety is near palpable, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m not better off staying here on Earth. Is it too late to save my Martian Dream? I guess the only way to find out is to go back… who knows when that will ever happen.

PREV: CH. 46 «GML»

NEXT: CH. 48 «The New Martian Dream»

07-23-2309

I’ve already been stuck on Earth for two weeks longer than I was supposed to stay. I only gave myself another weekend to see my friends from the road trip, but in doing so I seem to have missed my only chance to get back home to Mars.

Things haven’t been going too well at my father’s company. With our solarwide economic crisis, people just aren’t putting the credits they used to into the luxuries in their lives. The anti-gravity swimming pool industry is taking a hit in places where it’s too expensive to reasonably upkeep a pool, especially if it’s only to have it open 4 months of the year.

He had to abandon having an office center with a storefront and moved into the separate apartment unit he’d built over my mother’s garage years ago. It helped them both since it was much cheaper rent, and those credits went to pay my mom’s bills. It had just been a little strange that both of my parents were back in the same unit, but it had it’s perks. One of which was being able to come downstairs to my kitchen on days when I’d come in and answer vidcalls for a few hours.

It was an unrewarding job, taking vids from creditors and bill collectors all day long. Especially when that meant he didn’t even have enough credits to pay his employees for weeks worth of paychecks at a time. Another hour, another few messages from lawyers taken for my dad, whom I told them wasn’t presently in the office while I looked right at him.

He couldn’t afford to pay for my space fare back to home. He couldn’t afford to pay me for the work I’d done over the past 3 weeks at least. He couldn’t afford to pay my vehicle insurance, which surely has lapsed by now. He couldn’t afford to pay the rent for the apartment I needed to get back to on Mars, which put me in the predicament I’m faced with now.

Today I received an expedited parcel from Witt, my roommate and landlord Mars. It informed me my father’s last transfer was rejected, that my lease would not be renewed at the beginning of the month, and that I was to be evicted if I didn’t pay the full rent, along with retroactive late fees on all the previous months when.

What can I do with no credits and no integrity left in her book? How can I afford to get back in time and take care of all my expenses when I get there? Why does my summer have to fall apart like this just when it was starting to get good? What’s going to happen to all my stuff if she needs to move in someone else? How am I ever going to support myself if I lose everything now?

GORK MY LIFE!!

PREV: CH. 45 «Back Home»

NEXT: CH.47 «Still Stuck on Earth»

07-01-2309

I’m home, I’m home!

After two long weeks, I’m finally home! Ok, I’ve been home for a little while now, but there was plenty of recovery necessary. It’s actually been over a month now since I left my meager existance on Mars. I’ll just sum up the past few weeks quickly for you, none of the verbose detail of past transmissions.

The return from the festival was uneventful, spare a wet fiasco with part of the large aft hatch that wouldn’t stay closed during some rain we drove through, nothing that important, though. Ok, so the interior lights won’t turn off now, big deal. At least it doesn’t drain the beast’s battery every time we turn her on.

That next week, after Leona had returned to New Tros, someone else randomly came into town. Shayne Lynoir, the sapphic chemical biologist, was one of the nicer friends I had in high school. We’d begun to rehash things when she came out to visit Mars earlier this spring, seeing if she wanted to go to school at University Mars: Caspian. She had been on Adrastea for the summer, working some well paying chemistry job while she got to enjoy the sights of the canalous capital of Omstel.

She’d come home to Earth for a week to attend a funeral, so she was much relieved she could hang out with someone with whom she could share her new passion for the Fire of Jove. She went into detail about all the hi-grade cultivars she’d been privilege to, some of which I’d known from my Martian Living, others of which I’d never even heard of. She had decided she would definitely choose UMC and a life on Mars over the peace corps or a Jovian school, excited to take advantage of the legality of the green medicine and become a rockstar chemist.

PREV: CH. 44 «The Festival – Part 2»

NEXT: CH. 46 «GML»

MINK’S BASEMENT 07-02-2309

This is familiar, this is home to me. The fire of Jove and comedy teli… I’m just gonna stay here in Mink’s basement and take some time to…decompress from the festival. I might be here for another week.

SUN SAILING 07-04-2309

I maintain the assertion that the only reason my father owns a solar sail ship is to impress women he dates. His children should, therefore, be allowed to use it to do the same. So Zech and I planned a bit of a sailing trip to kick off the holiday weekend and got our dad on board. I invited Leona and Brick along, since my roadtrip buddies were in town for the fireworks. My brother invited along some friends, including a really cute Dionian girl he liked. I’m not sure if things quite went to plan after our father gave her the helm…

FIREWORKS 07-04-2309

Since we met on the road trip, Leona and I have had a little thing going. We’ve been texting and chatting online late at night, and she even came down from New Tros and spent a weekend with me. I think I like her more than just a bit; she’s cute and really intelligent and well traveled – she even speaks fluent Epimethese. She’s the kind of girl I think I could see myself with, maybe I’ll even call her my lovi one day.

Anyway, looking forward to a great evening with Leona and the fireworks!

06-12-2309

On the second day of the festival, I woke up to the cry of the evil magpie, awake at the crack of dawn and willing to share the experience with everyone. I looked up at the already illuminated world with dirty, bloodshot eyes. To my right Leona, still immune to anything audio, was well asleep. To my left Brick was still snoring away, like a shield against any noise that could potentially wake him. I envied his defense as I rolled over and covered my head with the damp sweatshirt I’d used as a makeshift pillow.

I couldn’t tell if I actually rested over the next two hours, or just tossed and turned myself around one little nap, but I didn’t start getting up until the others did sometime around 9 in the morning. We roused ourselves slowly, eating what we could find appetizing that early in the morning, which wasn’t much more than a PB&J sandwich and a granola bar. We were anxious to meet up with the other group, so we briefly washed up and got on our way to find us a map.

We got our first taste of the strange world around us. Passing by a small pocket of food stands apparently on loan from a carnival, with flashing lights and an iridescent paint jobs, we found ourselves on the paved road we’d used to drive in last night.

“We should probably head that way,” Brick was pointing opposite of the way we came in, the direction everyone else seemed to be walking.

“Looks good to me. Do you think that giant question mark will be of any use to us,” I asked, noting the floating white balloon nearby to our right.

“Couldn’t hurt to check,” Brick shrugged as he started to lead the way.

The ballon was curiously punctuated and informitave. There they filled us in on all we needed to know, handing us each a map plate with the abbreviated concert information contained. Before getting back to the road, I used the map to locate the closest water station to fill up with fresh water before searching for my brother’s camp among these thousands of other camps. I flipped my texti open in my other hand.

“Good morning,” I said spitefully over the comm.

“Oh, hey! What’s up?” my brother simply responded.

“…Not much, where can we find you?”

“Uh, well we’re….you can…if you…well right now…” he continued, unhelpfully.

“Heavens, man! Where are you?” I was past impatient with him and I hadn’t even seen him yet.

“Balloon three. We’re by balloon number three right now, ge-” I cut him off after I heard all I needed to, hanging up my texti and pulling the map out of a cargo pocket to find #3.

The plastic card, loaded with a single program, displayed an aerial view of the 700 acre farm, broken up by a score of streets and avenues. The camping areas were in yellow, themselves each containing a dozen smaller lanes, and the 100 acre event center was in white at the south side of the farm, boasting 5 main stages, several small stages and hundreds of artisans and vendors–according to the info bubble.

The green circle with a “3” in it was located very close to the entrance of Centeroo, marking east-most secton in the first ring radiating from it. We ended up at the far end of the thoroughfare and could see the green balloon tied off somewhere ahead, and even further off, the very tip of the entrance arch visible over the top of the swarming crowd before us.

All three of us (the Martian and both Earthlings) marveled at everything we passed on display. Bags and blankets, with intricate, trippy patterns woven of hemp. Flowing hippie skirts and tie-dye shirts and accessories. Incense and burners of each shape and size, made of wood, stone and ceramic. Of course, there were the pipes and bongs, but most of what we saw looked thin and generic, nothing truly outstanding that called to us to waste our credits on. They also sold food of the strangest types, brought in from all sides of the solar system, and all supposedly healthier for you. Well…not the funnel cakes.

They definitely appeared to be on something already. We found them in an apparent daze loitering about a food stand, staring at and confused by their present surroundings. Rip and Zech were brightly colored, each with curly messes of hair atop their heads, cut by the same barber. Minkus was uncharacteristically bald, and appeared bruised about the eyes and forehead, like he’d been in an accident, or bar fight. He was bobbing up and down, singing back the name of his order to the beat of a nearby band playing when we sauntered up to them through the mud.

“Blue-Berry-Pan-Cakes! Blue-Berry-Pan-Cakes!” he went on in a deep voice, mimicking the bassline.

“What up, motha gorkas?!” I shouted sliding in when they hadn’t noticed me yet.
“Blu-Oh hey, what’s up!?” Minkus said, giving me a hug.

“Hey, man!” Rip was next, throwing an arm around me.

I stepped up to my brother, glaring at him for a nano, before hugging the little guy. Well, not so little anymore it seemed, though he was only two years younger than me, it was strange to see he was as big as me now, and had more hair on his face. “Hey bro,” I finally said.

“What’s up, Marsman?” a voice from behind me asked.

I turned to see Eli standing there, apparently having been there the whole time. “Whoa, I didn’t even notice you, man. How are you?” I asked, embarrassed I didn’t see him. He just shrugged.

“Hi guys,” Brick said, clearing his throat from behind everyone.

“Oh right, everyone this is Brick and Leona. They go to school in New Tros, and Brick‘s from Olympus county, he knew Leucosia,” I said to my old friends, who each nodded in understanding. “Guys, these are Rip, Minkus, Eli; they all went to school with me, Mink goes to school up north now, too. And this fuzzy guy is my brother, Zech.” I felt like I’d introduced everyone well enough.

After Minkus had received his blueberry pancakes, singing the theme song between each bite, we began the short walk to their camp site. Literally just around the corner from where we were standing, it didn’t take long at all for all seven of us to reach the nose of my brother’s supersized rover. They opened the hatch to reveal a few seats on the tail and also pulled the cooler around for another.

“Sorry, we haven’t had this many people here. We didn’t realize we wouldn’t have enough seats,” Rip said, apologizing for his camp.

“No worries, I think I can fit up inside the hold, are you guys gonna be ok?” I asked my two companions.

“I’ll be fine for now, Leo?” Brick passed the question on.

“Yes, for now. I’ve got a folding seat back at our camp I could bring here. And a lamp for later at night,” she added, not noticing any of the tarps or lanterns you’d see accessorizing the other sites.

“You guys may wanna head back pretty soon and take care of that while it’s still early. It gets kinda hard to go back and forth all the time with this many people here,” Rip advised.

“Yeah, but first things first,” I insisted before anyone started moving.

“Hey, he’s right. Have you guys smoked yet?” Minkus asked, his mouth full of breakfast.

“Oh?” this convinced Brick to get comfortable and he sat down on the cooler, offering the other half to his roommate. Rip began to remove his box of goodies, a strange variation on the multi-pocketed case he usually carried his accoutrements. He presented their brand new acquisitions.

“Wait a sec,” I said, smelling something familiar before even taking the piece out of his hand.
“Is this opium in here? Pipes, opium…” I started

“Midies,” Minkus added, holding up a large bag he’d brought in.

“and Headeez” Rip finished, producing a jar of what looked like purple and a bag of something orange.

“Gork, how did you guys get all this stuff, you’ve only been here a day,” I was understandably impressed.

“We willed it all to us,” Rip explained in a deep, mystical voice as he clutched at an invisible ball of energy at his chest. I laughed a nano until I noticed the deadpan expression on everyone else’s face.

“No really, we did. We manifested our desires,” Minkus said, usually skeptic of these sorts of things.

“Wait, really?” I was in disbelief.

“Yeah, it started when I sent Rip to find something for us to do,” he went on, “I was just telling Zech that I’d love to try chasing the dragon, and then bam, he appears again with opium.”

“Then I wished that we had something to smoke out of, besides the little thing I bought for my mom,” Rip continued. “Then a glass blower wandered in and sold your bro and I our new pieces.

“Yep, then I wished for some dank fire, and someone came by to deliver it to us in moments,” Zech said. “Craziest thing ever, man.”

“Does it work with anything?” my mouth was agape as I looked about, marveling at the possibilities.

“Everything we’ve tried so far…here, hold on,” Minkus said, passing a freshly packed bowl to me to start. He stretched his arms for a nano as he stood up, flinched his head a few times and cleared his throat before saying, very loudly “Man, I could really use some pussy!”

Everyone held their breaths as they waited to see if it would work. Would a desperately, attractive girl come running out of nowhere? Would a naked hooker fall from the sky? Would a stray kitten wander in? After a minute it was apparent nothing would happen.

“Maybe it only works with drugs,” Brick suggested.

“Or maybe everyone only gets one wish,” Leona said, looking around to everyone contemplatively nodding to her answer. The consensus became such.

“Well, I don’t want to waste my wish, so somebody hand me a lighter,” I said, eyeing a green bowl in front of me.

After we were thoroughly baked, we wend our way through the other camps to find our own. Brick, Leona, Rip and I arrived back at the b-site in near no time. My brother brought me an extra sleeping bag, pillow and jacket made on Earth and more suitable for the climate here. I left them at our camp and we made sure to prepare everything we thought we’d need for the day: sunblock, water, snacks, maps, cigs, and a few umbrellas and ponchos incase the rain made a second appearance tonight. I grabbed my guitar to leave at the other camp and we were back on our way and harassed by the pushers in no time.

“Spice!” “Plutonium Nyborg!” “Spacoline!” “Jet!” “Bug Powder!” “Slappers, wide variety of mood slappers!” Were just some of the choices being offered in broad daylight. Smarter folks would say less obvious streetnames under their breath as they passed, like ‘Dust’, ‘Meteor’, and ‘Ultima’. Most common was to hear simple initials like ‘K’, ‘H’, ‘X’, ‘D’ or “Q”.

“Lucy? Who was looking for Lucy, I found her,” another would say, less subtly. Girl’s names like ‘Molly’, ‘Stella’, or ‘Helen’ were often used, but sometimes overplayed, so people would start to get creative. ‘Kaleidoscope Eyes’ and ‘Chocolate Covered Shoelaces’ were obscure choices, but not as confusing as ‘Seventh Star of Saturn’. ‘Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster’ got me to turn my head. Eventually, you just assume anyone speaking in your general direction as they pass is trying to sell you something.

“I’ve got acid, 5 creds a hit,” the most indiscreet of the salesmen would tell you as you walked by them. So forward and honest it was truly surreal, one had to marvel at it. What an amazing place where you can be so straightforward with your clients, and even haggle back with your vendors.

“Cookies. Five credit cookies,” one kid with a large tuberware said passing by. I could see Rip straighten to attention, his antennae perking up a bit.

“C’mon!” he said back to us with determination as he sped up, tapping the kid on his bare shoulder and inviting him to take a walk down the nearest lane, away from all the prying eyes of the street.

“Alright, how many do you guys need?” he asked, getting his KEYring out and opening the lid by rote.

“Uhm, well let’s see,” our Ionian-Davidian representative spoke, for us, turning to count heads real quick. “What if we get a bunch, will you cut a deal?”

“Yeah, just hurry up, what are you thinking, five for twenty? Six for twenty-five?”

“How about eight for thirty?” Leona chimed in real quick. I was already handing Rip €10 from me and another €10 from Brick to add to the pool. The salesman locked eyes with her for a nano and then saw Rip handing him 30 credits.

“Alright, alright,” he said, scooping out eight sugar cookies, benign enough in appearance, and trading them for the chargecard. “Pleasure doing business, gents. Enjoy,” he said, and returned to the crowd.

“Ok, who wants how many?” Rip asked as he took two for himself and offered the other six.

“Oh, I don’t want any yet, thank you,” Leona politely turned it down.

“Really?” Brick asked. “Ok, I’ll take two then, Klay?”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll take two and we can give one to Mink and One to Zech,” I said taking my two and leaving the remaining pair for Rip to pocket. “I could always give my brother one of mine… or half of…naaaah,” I said, deciding to eat both as we hiked back.

The others had started planning our itinerary while we were gone. So far the list included a series of strange sounding band names: Karp, Cedarpleat, Ferrous Fortress, Mammal Commune and a great deal more you’d need to pass an indie credit check to recognize. I’m not too lazy to list them all, it’s just you probably haven’t heard of them.

Equally as important as deciding who we’d get to see at the festival was determining which substances would best augment our experiences. Similar to the sales pitches I’d just heard on our walk back through Bonnaroo, the guys began listing off random names of drugs we could take. It was beginning to sound like a full itinerary.

Somewhere in the circle of discussion Brick brought up the Flowers of Taurus we had leftover from the road trip. My brother’s ears perked with interest. Minkus jumped in, asking if there was any more I could share. Before I could respond Eli was also begging me for fungus.
“Yes–gorkin’ vultures–you all may have some. But its back in the cooler at our camp, I’m not just getting it for you. Follow me if you want any Flowers,” I declared standing as I flipped my yellow scarf dramatically, and turned to lead them away.
“Wait, are we set on the schedule? We’ll have to head to the shows soon,” Rip shouted to stop me.
“Hmm, well what do you suggest?” I asked, stopping mid-step.
“Well I think we were gonna go find some food,” Leona said, looking to Brick who nodded back, hunger behind his eyes. They’d been whispering and nudging themselves towards the vendors while we were deliberating.
“I guess I’ll go looking for tonight’s main course while the rest of you are gone then. Rendezvous here at 1500 hours?” Rip sighed, referencing his droid for the time.
“When?!” Zech asked facetiously.
“40 minutes, bro; let’s go.”
And so we split into three different missions, like in some RPG where all your characters separate to go on their own quests somewhere early on–so early you don’t get to choose who you take in each of your new parties. Brick and Leona’s goal seemed easy enough to handle by themselves, and Rip was leveled well enough to make it on his own. As the main character of this adventure, I felt like I was just dragging along a few expendable NPCs.

We arrived at my camp sometime after 2:30, the tent and crawler already hot to the touch from the unrestricted sun. I thumbed the KEY in my pocket to open the hatch and began digging in the cooler for the psychedelic remnants.

“Hey, any of you guys want a beer? They’re still ice cold.” They all asked for one and I handed them out, they’d need something to wash down what I’d remove next. “Behold!” I held aloft a metalic foil bag.

“Coffee?” Minkus asked.

“Chocolate truffle coffee?” Zech asked, looking more closely at the label.

“Shut up,” I began to open the package and dig around the finely ground stuff with my wet fingers. I sighed, wiped my hand off on my pants, and poured half the Venusian beans in the dirt. I stopped when the baggy fell out.

“Behold,” I said again, retrieving it for them. “It’s up to you guys to decide how much you each get,” I handed the bouquet to my brother. I grabbed myself a snack and popped open a beer while I watched them divvy up the larger pieces of heads and stems, then take pinches of the bluish powder at the bottom.

It’s always amusing to see people react to the filthy, mucusy texture when eating them raw. I happen to like it; the taste reminded me of sunflower seeds. The two blonde Earthlings grimaced and cringed with each tangy bite, immediately washing it down with a big swig of lager when they couldn’t take it anymore. The dark haired one, face shaded by the brim of his baseball cap, ate it like candy, delighting in the end of the bag when the others didn’t want anymore. We grabbed another round of beers before heading off to join the other parties.

After our rendezvous, we made our way to the event center. The lanes and roads were well established by sandled foot by now, the main streets slick with mud from runoff at all the water stations and consession stands, laid over with hay that too had saturated and slipped under foot. Rip had to head back before filing through the security checkpoint into Centeroo, he had to drop off the pure MDMA he’d just bought himself and the others who were staying up late tonight. We entered separately but managed to reunite again at an easy enough landmark, a blue pillar with a hood over top like a mushroom cap that dispensed water.

I realize I could sit here typing all the bands Ive watched today, most of which you’ve probably never heard of, and give short reviews of their performances for you to feel like you’re here at the festival with me…or I could take these drugs and enjoy it for myself.

Holy gork it’s hot, I can’t even believe what I’m feeling right now…omg is that ice cream? Oh thank you, Brick, best idea ever!

This is a sort of exhausting ordeal, trying to move around between each of the, like, seven stages all the acts are split up on so you can see enough of your favorite ones before moving on to another favorite band of yours…gork.. And you have to maintain awareness of this zig-zaggy schedule while you’re head is full of all the drugs you’re trying to enjoy the festival with…trying to enjoy the festival…just trying to enjoy this festival…

«···»

We ran into the others just outside of the spherewall of the main event space. We were heading back to camp to drop dead as heading in to drop molly and dance their asses off to the late-evening line-up.

“Hey Zech, gimmie your KEY, I wanna grab something from your rover on the way back,” Trying to stop him for a nano. As he passed by quickly he shouted back.

“It’s open. The batteries dead so the hatches won’t lock. Just don’t lock it or we’re gorked!” he warned, running to catch up with the others.

At his quiet campsite we collected the items we’d left there over the day, sunglasses and hats, our battery powered lantern and the sticky green that Brick had found earlier. I also grabbed my brothers new pipe, since none of us had anything appropriate with us, and they had plenty to use. I had a feeling I would likely be its custodian this summer, or at least at just over Bonnaroo, so I tucked it with care into my pocket as if it were my own.

Back at B-Camp we immediately climbed into the crawler and sunk in, turning on the AC to blast off the layer of humidity that tried to cling to us. Brick turned up the music, Leona passed us beers from the back seat, and I packed a bowl at the end of the second day.

PREV: CH. 43 «The Festival – Part 1»

NEXT: CH. 45 «Back Home»

Breakfast today consisted of a Bloody Mary’s and spliffs while listening to asteroid reggae and classical guitarists all morning. I think I could get used to this kind of lifestyle.

Ughh. Thank the stars the drugs I took for the last act are still working. I could not handle this seriously..and to think there are people who came to the festival just to see The Boss.

You know, it might be the drugs, but for a second I felt the awesome power of the all-Earthling hero…but then he brought it down and started to talk to the crowd about “building a house of love” …that’s our cue to pack up the picnic blanket and head back to our camp to try and rest for the next adventure.