Is There Life on Mars?

12-29-2308

I’m not quite sure what friendship is right now, but I’m sure I know what it’s not.

– Friendship isn’t turning to someone to console or hold you, then turning your back on them the first time they may need to be comforted.
– Friendship isn’t saying you’ll return a favor each time, then watching those promises pile up as you ask for more.
– Friendship isn’t bringing down the quality of someone’s life just so you can feel better about your own.
– Friendship isn’t feeling not even a little obliged to be nice to someone who bends over backwards for you.
– Friendship isn’t agreeing to something, then diving through the first loophole to escape the responsibility, no matter how unclear the terms were.
– Friendship isn’t teasing someone with the promise of more than friendship, when leaving them hanging when they take the bait.
– Friendship isn’t lying to someone about not being ready for a relationship to keep them as a friend while you start one with someone else.
– Friendship isn’t keeping someone under your thumb while plotting everyone you’ll sleep with when they’re not around.
– Friendship isn’t hooking up with someone’s friends and then lying about what you did with or how you feel about them.
– Friendship isn’t taking advantage of someone’s feelings for you in order to coerce them to do anything for you.
– Friendship isn’t carelessly disregarding those feelings the second the next best thing comes along to charm it’s way in.
– Friendship isn’t ignoring and avoiding a conversation with someone because you don’t have the balls to tell them how you really feel.
– Friendship isn’t denying someone the common decency of being honest with them after tricking them into see something compassionate and human within you.
– Friendship isn’t saying ‘I Love You’ to someone one day, then neglecting to talk to them the next.
– Friendship isn’t making someone have to come up with a list like this in the first place.

Friendship isn’t liking the thought of never hearing from or seeing you again, but this has hardly been a real friendship, hun.

PREV: CH. 29 «Eviction Party»

NEXT: CH. 31 «Observations on The Earth» 

12-22-2308

The news was inevitable. There was no way that Tohm had come up with the credits, and Eon had moved out three days prior, knowing as well as I did what was about to happen. It was a rather expected notice, and well prepared for, but the news was still shocking.

‘Notice of Eviction for Tenants of
Apartment G-1. Effective as of 12/18/2308.
Sincerely, OC Properties Management.’

I sighed and crumpled up the paper, making sure to pick off the last threads of celluloid tape that affixed it to our hatch. I had been putting off the first cigi of the day so I wouldn’t have to be the one announcing it to Tohm; not that we didn’t see it coming anyway. I didn’t even want to light the my factory-rolled tobacco stick, but I suddenly needed it.

Tohm had lost his job, serving at that family restaurant in Nuport Beach, about five weeks ago. His irresponsibility and propensity to sleep until the early evening eventually overcame any good standing he had with his bosses or the clientele. Being a corporate chain, they took the two warnings for similar slip-ups into strong account when they terminated him, and the effects were immediate.

We had already turned in my portion of the rent, and used it to finagle ourselves a 15 day Promise-To-Pay extension on the rent, but with eight days in and not a credit from Tohm for what he owed, it didn’t look like there were any options out. The day he lost his job, all my hopes of starting my life anew in Costa Mensa were quickly siphoned off. That was until it flooded in the day before our last scheduled eviction.

A surge of hope named Eon flowed in that day. She had come to hang with us just as she had last week. And, expecting consequences as disastrous as her first visit, came prepared with a weeks worth of clothes and her beauty supplies. Lou had only intended on chilling out for a couple of days while she was suspended from her retail job in NA, but when our plight dawned on her in the early afternoon, it seemed her plans had changed.

She was the only reason we were able to keep the new place. She sacrificed every credit she had saved up working all summer long; money she had wanted to use to get herself a rover, or maybe just spend on girly things that would make her happy. Instead it disappeared faster than a cockroach in the light.

Keeping my home wasn’t, of course, the only pro to the situation. I had been infatuated—if not entirely enamored—with Eon since we went to school together back on Earth. The fates had never allowed us to become close in the past, but I felt like her first moving to Mars, then falling upon my hatchway, and having enough credits to keep us afloat another month were all the orchestrations of invisible hands I’d never paid much attention to before. She might have been my starmate.

But what someone once told me about starmates might hold true; you don’t have only one. There are many kindred spirits to yours among the different worlds of Sol, some planets with plenty. But starmate doesn’t exclusively mean your one true love; it means anyone who was born from the same star as you or made up of compatible celestial material. They might end up being your relatives, close friends or even adversaries. Whatever potential to have a romantic relationship with Eon may have been thwarted by my foolishness, or maybe we were only meant to be there for each other. Either way, it hurt me to be torn away from someone who could be very important in my life.

On the otherhand, the other other roommate…I feel like its important to my life to distance myself from his kind. And I don’t have any qualms with outing Tohm. He had, and continues to have, a major drug problem. I drink alcohol and smoke cannabis almost every day, but these are the days I can afford it. He was addicted to Venusian Coca; a habit that cost him 60 credits a day even when he didn’t have the moneys for it. On top of that he also consumed everything else that wasn’t nailed down in the unit with such fervor it made me wonder if the devil worked as hard for what he wanted.

I blamed him for losing my home. I blamed myself for not realizing this would happen the day we moved in and he started chatting away on his touchi in Martian with his dealer when I told him I had a little cash to get booze. I blamed Gerund for setting me up with his co-worker in the first place, knowing him and his problems far better than I did. Mostly though, I just blamed Tohm for being too hopeless to ever recover.

I spent the last day in my brand new home carrying all of my possessions out of it. Luckily our neighbors had agreed to let us keep our stuff in their garage until we could find new places to live, so it was a short trip down the flight of stairs–but like everything, I had to do it on my own. It’s only fitting though, that the captain go down with his ship. I surveyed the damage one last time, the rooms barren and fresh as the day we moved in 2  months ago. I stepped back, tipping my hat to emptiness and locked up, closing the door on this chapter of my life.

At least I was going home for the holiday, and it worked out that my flight back to Earth would occur the same day I had to vacate the residence. As I started my crawler I thought of my dear Eon and hoped to feel the warmth of her embrace soon. I lit a cigi and watched my old place disappear in the rear view mirror.

PREV: CH. 28 «Women are like Lighters»

NEXT: CH. 30 «The Meaning of Friendship»

12-10-2308

They come and go so easily. One nano you have them, and the next they disappear in a cloud of smoke. You always get upset when you see another guy holding your lighter, and you always know when its your lighter. Sometimes we make marks in lighters or decorate them to let everyone know that their ours.

You can find them just about anywhere, always at bars and clubs and sometimes, if you’re desperate and have a few credits, down at the right store. Sometimes finding one is as simple as leaving the unit.

You have to grasp the fact that if you can get a lighter you can lose it just as easily. No matter how much you like it or how well it works out for you or seems to make everything easier, you’re going to lose her. You have to realize that even if it can keep you warm for a little while, eventually you’ll have to get a new one when she runs out.

But it doesn’t really pay to weep over the loss of a lighter. You’ll both get along just fine without each other.

PREV: CH. 27 «The Thing with Amazonians»

NEXT: CH. 29 «Eviction Party»

12-05-2308

Just what makes one an Amazonian, anyway? How are they different than Martians and similar to Earthlings? Are we talking about ethnic groups or social castes here? This may be a confusing topic for some readers who’ve never even been to Mars or know anyone from Amazonia. I promise I’ll make this an easy download for you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned living in this territory: it’s how to judge the differences in people.

The term Amazonian is used to describe anything of or related to Earth’s territory of Amazonia on Mars. We’re all part of the U.T.E. so there’s no difference nationally; we all speak the same language, use the same currency, eat the same food and wear the same clothes. There is nothing different between calling a person Earthling or Amazonian politically. There’s a big difference socially, though, and now to be an Amazonian starts with believing you’re entirely different kind of human.

I’ve lived on Mars long enough to be considered a resident. My driver’s license and address may argue that I’ve become an Amazonian. If you ask a True Local, though, they’d say I can’t just move in call myself an Amazonian; you’ve gotta be born here to be part of the clique. And it’s hard to guess if you were from Mars just by looking at you. Amazonia is populated mostly by pureblooded Earthlings. Most people here look (more or less) just like me.

Your family would have to have moved here more than three or four generations ago for it to be likely to see pointy ears and antennae genes mixed in via marriage. And if you don’t have any Martian heritage you could never acquire any of their physical features–except for the “green” skin. Anyone can shut themselves up indoors and far enough from the sun to lose their tan. Pale skin appears greener in contrast to the red landscape of Mars. It’s the ‘glow’ the indigenous people became so famous for when Ionian colonists drove them out from underground.

It doesn’t even matter, though. Mars is a melting-pot-world of multi-toned native and alien cultures. You can’t use skin color to accurately determine a person’s planet of origin. Particularly when both Earthlings and Amazonians participate in self-tanning as a ritual of status; often artificially.

Historically, Paleness has been associated with purity and luxury more often than having dark skin, especially on worlds where being part of the working class means toiling under the sun… like most planets. Or it’s a sign you’ve been rich enough to travel in space recently and skip out on our star’s harmful UV rays, cozily curled within the radiation shield of your ship.

In places like this, where the more wealthy and blessed should feel no need to expose their skin to the harsh sun, the Amazonians find novelty in laying out under it all day, letting it bronze and crack their skin. The wiser Martians would be covered by layers of chemically tinted glass, or the wide brims of their somber bonnets, were they in the southern territories. Its only where they’re forced to labor daily outdoors in the northern hemisphere that they look as dark as they wealthy pay to appear.

No, there’s reliable means of guessing someone’s nationality superficially…nor should there be. The best method to find out remains asking them, “Where are you from?” If that’s not possible and you still want to determine from afar, it’s better to watch what they’re doing instead of seeing what they look like. Growing up in this harsh, most-deserty place indoctrinates a different set of values than being raised on a moister planet.

For example: a world mostly made of water (like dear Earth) engenders in its inhabitants a notion that the liquid is indispensable and can just be squandered. Anyone who has seen enough summers here, or has been fined for overuse during a drought, knows the importance of not wasting a drop of water. It’s rare you catch any native Martians indulging with the robust, unnaturally enriched yardscapes that adorn most of the wealthy neighborhoods overlooking Olympus County from every rising hillside and ridgeline. Of course, as with the first generations of any transplanted families, it can be hard to let old traditions die.

Another notable dissimilarity in habits of Amazonians and those Earthlings living on Mars is sight-seeing. I’m more than certain anyone born on this world has visited attractions like Olympus Mons, Valles Marineris or any of the dozens of amusement parks dotting the sunset coast a hundred times since they were old enough to take a road trip with their family. And it was probably kinda boring anyway, what Amazonian would want to do that again? The only Martians you’ll find there will be the people leading around a party of noob tourists.

Earthlings don’t know to always wear UV rebounding sunglasses and brimmed hats or to stick with few layers of light colored clothing. Earthlings don’t usually trust the food from chains they’ve never eaten at or heard of before, and usually stick to the types they‘re very familiar with, hardly daring to adventure away from their normal pallet. Earthlings don’t often figure out how to cool off and take it slow. Amazonians are generally easy going and well adjusted to anything that comes their way.

However Earthlings don’t feel an undeserved sense of accomplishment just from merely existing, or that they have some sort of birthright to fame because this place is closer to the stars. Earthlings don’t actually have to update their fashions along with the changing trends to stay acceptable or in. Earthlings don’t dine at more than one fast food joint in the span of a day, and would never think about visiting the same chain twice in the same day. Earthlings don’t just look at life from the perspective of someone who’s grown up in one of the plushier little parts of the red world, and don‘t wonder honestly why people can‘t see it their way exclusively.

But just give them some time. Eventually everyone that moves here succumbs to a condition I’ve dubbed Amazonication: an obsession with the lifestyle and culture of Mars to the point where one desires to (and in many cases believe they have) become an Amazonian. Some fall victim to this telecommunicative disease before they ever move here.

Early symptoms include the complete abandon of all previous traditions and might manifest as addiction to tattoos, piercing, tanning, surfing, fast food, or any of the other facilities Mars provides in excellence. The next sign of infection will be the development of an Amazonian resident status with any or all of the following side-effects; bank accounts, comm provider plans, emission certifications, vehicle operators’ licenses, cannabis green licenses, state health insurance policies, automobile and skipper insurance policies, Marsquake insurance policies, meteorite and other falling space junk insurance policies. All are important indications one has come down with Amazonication.

I, of course, suppose myself a severe victim of the terrible affliction for years. But no matter how long I’ve been carrying this disease, or how good my ability to assimilate culture and adapt to my surroundings are, I could never become a local Amazonian. I’ve tried, they won’t let me. It’s a tight clique.

But just because I don’t qualify for membership in their cosmo club it doesn’t mean that I can’t still take my position in the race for the Martian Dream. There’s a slot reserved for anyone daring enough to try to find a new life on Mars.

PREV: CH. 26 «Everyone Comes Here»

NEXT: CH. 28 «Women are like Lighters»

11-25-2308

I wished goodbye to my Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and lit a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the brisk night wind as I pondered.

Two years of living on Mars has been a serious download. You get hit with a lot of information rapidly, and it’s not necessarily even good info. I’m still trying to filter out what’s not just spam, personally. One thing you might not learn too quickly is no one living in Amazonia is from Amazonia. Most residents aren’t even Martian; they all moved far, far away. Everyone here came from some other planet. Whats really weird is how many you’ll run into from your own.

My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a dancer instead. Dune, my guitarist, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Gerund may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago.

A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cigi out and went back inside to discuss travel with my roommates.

PREV: CH. 25 «Just like Old Mars»

NEXT: CH. 27 «The Thing with Amazonians»