Sal scanned the skies and caught sight of a star plummeting out of the western sky. She keyed into a phantom keyboard, and the MASPEC’s display enhanced the image. “Confirmed, base. We have visual contact.”
The bright spot of light became an oblong vessel, and it came down at an astonishing speed only to suddenly halt over the pad, just as the mothership had done in space. Then, as it hung there in mid-air, it came about and gently lowered itself to the tarmac.
The greenish vehicle looked like nothing Sal had ever seen before, and if she hadn’t just watched it land, she wouldn’t even have guessed it was a ship. It was sixty meters from one end to the other, and only marginally aerodynamic, shaped something like the head of a squid. The segmented surface was covered with overlapping scales in some places, while other parts were smooth as pearl, and it stood on five insectoid feet. Mist rose from its every crevice and cavity.
“I can tell you right now Blade didn’t build that. What on Earth is it?” Kazuo asked. The phrase wasn’t common among long-time colonists.
Sal had no idea. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably never been on Earth at all,” she said.
“And I’d believe you.”
She waved her people forward with a dreamy gesture and they marched on toward the strange ship, rifles at the ready. They moved slowly, apprehensively, at any moment expecting some savage race of aliens to explode from within and eat their faces. Much to their surprise, the attack never came.
When they were about six meters from the ship, a rounded structure on the side melted away like a hot tar bubble popped in slow motion. Sharp light came from inside, and when it subsided, Sal could see four people wearing standard white GAF pressure suits. The person at the front of the group gave a friendly wave.
Sal waved back.
The ship produced a ramp, and the four occupants stepped down it, moving with surprising comfort in Mars’ low gravity. Newcomers were always uneasy walking on Mars for at least a few weeks, but these were surefooted. Sal didn’t know what to make of that.
Their leader walked right up to her and looked her suit up and down in amazement. He looked small, but everyone did from inside a MASPEC. He was a black man in his thirties with a strong chin and a good spattering of grey in his hair. An orange device was barely visible through his face mask, attached to the side of his head and similar in style to his ship. It looked like a mechanical spider. The man was smiling.
“That suit is really something,” he said, his warm voice coming in over her crackling headset. “What do you call it?”
Sal blushed. “MASPEC. Mechanically Augmented Support Platform, Environment Controlled. It’s my own design.”
“You’re very talented,” he said. “Techs back home have been trying to build powered suits for ages, but they never got this far. Never anything this elegant. They killed plenty of test pilots in the process, too.”
“I know. I was planning to patent the design once I got all the bugs worked out, but… well, I guess that’s not going to happen now.” She pointed to him and furrowed her brow. “You’re Marcus Donovan, aren’t you?”
“As I live and breathe,” he said. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’ve been waiting all my life to say this. I come in peace, Martian. Take me to your leader.”
One of his men buckled over in laughter, while the other two shook their heads. Right then and there, Sal realized she was in for a strange day, and she’d need to find that aspirin soon.
Chapter 23:
Becoming Caesar
When Marcus Donovan was a child, he spent countless nights staring through his uncle’s rusty old telescope at the tiny reddish speck that was Mars, all the while imagining a fantastic world over-run with jungles and weird, ancient ruins. It was a world of adventure and unending surprises where dozens of savage species warred for supremacy. Somehow, despite Mars’ best efforts to the contrary, the fantasy never completely left him.
As he grew older, he collected images from all the unmanned probes which had been sent to scout the red planet. The old guard of space exploration—venerable names such as NASA, Roskosmos, JAXA and ISRO—had produced thousands of images from orbit and later from the ground. They uniformly described a desolate landscape interrupted only by rocks, but Marcus’ dreams plodded on unimpeded.
When he was thirteen, his parents let him stay up late to watch the first Mars landing live on TV. Six years later during his first year at university, he stayed up for two straight days watching the Ares Colony’s daring drop from space. He failed two finals because of it. Even then, with the reality revealed on a constant video feed, he continued to believe that Mars was the most interesting place in the universe.
Now he was sitting in a conference room perched on top of the colony’s main dome, surrounded on all sides by a three-sixty view of the Martian desert, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t how he’d imagined it all those years ago, but he realized he hadn’t been fair to Mars. He hadn’t accepted her for what she truly was. The stark emptiness held its own alien beauty, whispering a long story of solitude, while hinting at an exciting future yet to come.
Amira Saladin—the woman with the striking eyes who’d met them in her powered suit—was the administrator’s daughter and the colony’s chief engineer, and Marcus found her just as intriguing as the planet she called home. Considering her age, he’d normally have assumed her rank was the product of nepotism, but he’d seen evidence of her talent first hand. The colony relied on technology more than a decade past its prime, but she kept it running and upgraded to the latest spec. She could probably build a radio out of two rocks and a seashell if she had to.
Ms. Saladin had given Marcus and his team a quick tour of the facility before bringing them to the meeting room, and when she was finished, he asked her to stay. She looked confused, but with a little coaxing, she obliged.
Then they waited. Marcus would’ve hated the wait if not for the view.
Faulkland and Juliette were seated to Marcus’ left, and Rao to his right, while Ms. Saladin was half-way around the large table. Marcus thought her choice was a safe one, like taking a seat in the back of a class.
“Your father must lead a very busy life,” Faulkland said to her after a bit.
Marcus was looking off toward the eastern horizon, trying to find any hint of Olympus Mons in the distance, without luck. “No,” he answered for her. “He’s the type to make his guests wait. Gives them a chance to reflect on how important he is.”
Ms. Saladin didn’t respond, but her smirk told him he was close to the mark. “That’s alright,” Marcus added after a moment. “I’m not sure how many important people we have left. A little reflection couldn’t hurt.”
Another minute passed in silence, and then the administrator came through the door, flanked by a pair blue-suited advisers. Administrator Saladin was the absolute image of a statesman, dressed in a fine graphite suit with a red-and-white sash across his barrel-chest, decorated with dozens of medals accumulated during his long career. He was a heavy set man, and had no doubt been exceptionally strong and stout even as a youth. The weight had since become ornamental, but he would probably still place well in an arm-wrestling contest.
Everyone stood. Marcus took a long stride forward and shook the administrator’s hand. His grip was firm but not crushing, and he had the same penetrating eyes as his daughter.
“Administrator Saladin, it’s an honor to finally meet you, sir.”
“And you, Doctor Donovan. I’ve always heard you’re a surprising man, but the rumors hardly do you justice.”
Marcus smiled through his embarrassment. “I must apologize for our rude approach to your planet. We’re still learning, Mister Administrator.”