Bringer of Life, Chapter 41: United Mars Colonies (Weng) Part 1
The next three posts about the future of the United Mars Colonies may feel a bit disjointed. But that’s by design. We’re reaching the end of the journey for Clarissa Kragen and “Sam” Weng. Yet the future of Mars remains wide open…
Weng knew this had been a bad idea. He motioned to Martin to keep his head down, then strained to hear the conversation in the next room. Through a partially closed door in the hydroponics lab, he thought he could catch a few words.
“…didn’t catch that.”
Ah, that would be the head agrologist, Dr. Huynh.
Taking to someone else. The voice was muffled. From the tone, probably one of the Artemis crew. Maybe the geologist who had just tried to call him via intercom.
“…no idea,” Huynh was saying. “Have you called the Overseer’s office?”
Weng couldn’t hear the rest. He waited patiently.
Martin squatted next to him, absentmindedly fondling one of the kale plants in the feeder row. After a moment, the door opened.
“Overseer, he’s gone now. You can stand up.”
Martin said nothing. He continued to caress the plant.
Weng sighed. “Thank you, Dr. Huynh. Have you heard from the others?”
The scientist shook her head. “No. As you heard, colonists are somewhat…apprehensive, shall we say. Rumors are that a very important message was relayed from off world. No one knows what to expect. Or to do.”
Likewise, Weng thought.
In the past few weeks, he had not spent much time with Riss. Or with her crew, for that matter. But naturally it was Riss’s seeming lack of attention to him that bothered him.
At first he assumed that she was simply too busy to talk with him. Or have lunch with him. Or even take a short stroll to—anywhere, really.
He longed for the days when they could walk hand in hand along a lunar pond, staring idly into a space that was filled with endless amounts of stars.
She no longer was that carefree, spirited asteroid hunter he knew. She had turned into a leader.
Was that what bothered him the most?
He looked back at Martin, who continued to run one hand along the tops of green leafy vegetables. No wonder the Overseer—the former Overseer, he corrected himself, no matter if the science staff still call him that—seemed so gloomy.
Riss and Sanvi held daily morning sessions to train settlers who wanted to learn more about the changes they experienced. It seemed unbelievable that the two of them could continue to train everyone, though. Weng was positive that Riss had something in mind, some sort of hierarchy or mentorship system. If she did, she hadn’t confided in him.
But that wasn’t the most concerning issue for the United Mars Colonies.
Roughly one-quarter of the population had somehow resisted drinking the infected water, demanding “natural” water condensed from regolith and reclaimed from deep under the Martian soil. Grudgingly accepting the new state of things—such as the command structure formed by the Artemis and settler faction heads—they agreed to help distribute supplies, provide labor for the regolith plants and assist the 3D printer robos in the construction of more habitats, more hydroponic facilities. In almost no time, two new factions of settlers had coalesced, replacing those run by nation-states on Earth that no longer had the ability to control their supplies, their communications, or their politics.
The Awakened, with increasing power and control over that power.
The Traditionalists, who refused to share food, drink, or living space with colonists they considered “infected” by the alien RNA.
To all appearances the two groups got along, despite the occasional grumbling of people in both camps. It had taken awhile to reorganize the living quarters for the now close to 2,500 colonists, but things seemed relatively calm compared to the initial meeting with the Artemis crew. Even Martin had helped, albeit sullenly. Weng knew the man surely was scheming something.
Riss and her crew evidently were confident that the new Declaration and planetary government they had all worked on would provide inspiration for all, as they prepared to announce a new country, free from Earthly interference.
But Weng sensed the grumblings might be building to something else. Soon.
He checked his wrist.
Text scrolled across it. Ah. Riss had contacted the others and arranged a meeting in the Martian Secretariat’s office.
The message quickly cut off. It was quickly followed by three emoji of monkeys.
He grimaced. They finally suspected.
It was Martin who had asked him if there was a way to keep tabs on the Artemis crew. Weng was no computer engineer, but simple electronic snooping hadn’t been too difficult to figure out.
Initially he balked at the idea, then decided it would keep him in Martin’s good graces. He planned to inform Riss later, but something held him back, prevented him from ratting on Martin.
She insisted on separate quarters for herself and her crew. Resisted Weng’s attempts to woo her into a joint capsule. Smiled but kept her distance. Almost like a stranger to him, he who was her fiancé.
The infection had changed her. It was he who hadn’t changed.
Or had he?
He had helped to construct the declaration they were about to announce. Laid the groundwork for the future Council of Mars. Martin insisted there be a Governor (obviously, himself). Riss insisted there be a rotating Council Minister on a biannual basis. With the long Martian year, that would still be a fairly long time. But Martin no doubt had expected to be in charge a bit longer.
Weng was stuck between them. And he was finding it harder to follow either.
But it was he who had wanted to play the part of the politician. The part of the negotiator and go-between. The mover and the shaker. For their future home on Mars.
Yet Riss showed no interest in him.
Their engagement was off. An unspoken agreement, but true nonetheless.
Is that why he hadn’t opposed the proposal?
“Overseer,” Huynh said, “are you one hundred percent sure that you want to go through with this?”
Martin let his arms drop motionless to his sides.
“Dr. Huynh, we have no choice.”
“I cannot guarantee they will all be undamaged by the procedure.”
“Yes, of course, for the tenth time. I—”
A voice suddenly filled the room. A deep, rich baritone that Weng thought he might never hear again. And once the speech ended, he knew never would.
As Sergey Bardish’s words continued, Weng began to feel a certain numbness. It started in his gut, spread down his legs and across his shoulders, reaching his fingertips.
No tears. No emotions. Just…numb.
Weng remembered the first time meeting the old man. The surprise in Bardish’s face at discovering his adopted daughter’s choice for a husband. He remembered the plans they’d made.
No. The plans that he had made. Clarissa had agreed to marry him, eventually. After one more run. After cementing her place in Hunter lore. After that…
Then he asked Bardish to find a way for them—for him—to move to Mars.
It seemed like years ago. He could still picture the scene in his mind:
Next: Bringer of Light, Chapter 41 (Part Two): Weng reminisces on the past, and what (in his mind) should and could have become…but can’t…)
