“I can’t wait to get back to Earth,” my passenger said. “I don’t know how you can live here.”
We were cruising along the red plain in my big treader, pulling a trailer of produce I was bringing to Market Dome. I’d intended to take the small rover because it was faster and used less battery, but I got the request to pick up some tourists so they could catch the tram back to the spaceport. The first was a middle-aged woman waiting at Gibb’s water plant. I guess she’d wanted to see how water was made. She’d been there three days and Gibb was hot to have someone come get her.
Next was an older couple at Sim’s place. Sim took people out on hikes to look at rocks and the automated builders constructing the new monorail spur. Sim was nowhere around.
“He said he had to go check something,” said the taller of the two men.
“I don’t know how he does it. I could barely breathe in my suit,” said the shorter one.
“We spent half a day looking at rocks,” said the taller.
“I now hate the colour red,” said the shorter.
“Where are you from?” asked the woman.
“San Fran,” said the taller. “You?”
“London.”
“London is amazing! We should go there next year.”
“I thought you’d want to come back to Mars,” said the shorter.
“Ha!”
Read more science fiction from Nature Futures
Next was a younger couple who’d splurged for a small rover and camper, but the rover’s battery had died. I hitched the rig up to the back of my trailer. I could breathe just fine in my suit, but maybe I was just used to it.
“You saved us,” said the young woman when I cycled through the airlock and removed my helmet.
“I thought we were going to run out of air and suffocate,” said the young guy.
“It was your stupid idea to come here,” said the young woman. “Let’s go to Mars!” she said that in a mocking voice. “We should have gone to Antarctica. At least they have penguins.”
“Hey, driver, were you born on Mars?” asked the taller man.
“I was born in Minnesota,” I replied.
“Why’d you move to Mars?”
“The clean air,” I replied with the old refrain.
“How long you been here?”
“Fifteen Earth years.”
“I don’t know why anyone would want to live here,” the middle-aged woman said again.
“Do you like it?” asked the younger man.
“I love it,” I replied.
“What’re you hauling?”
“Lettuce, spinach and kale,” I said. “I have a farmstead.”
“It’s all like under a dome, right?”
“Everything’s under a dome, you dummy,” said the younger woman. “Nothing grows on Mars.”
“You ever miss Earth?” the shorter of the two men asked.
“The idea of Earth.”
“The idea of Earth? What’s that mean?”
“What Earth was like before humans messed it up.”
“Even with all the pollution and flooding and everything, it’s still waaaaay better than Mars,” said the young woman.
“That’s for sure,” said the middle-aged woman.
“We’re gonna make a little detour,” I announced, and angled the treader in a new direction.
“As long as we don’t miss the Earth–Mars transport,” said the middle-aged woman. “I don’t want to spend another three months here waiting for the next one. I’ll die.”
“You won’t.”
An hour later, I pulled up alongside the entrance to Lou’s and extended my airlock tube to connect with that of the building. The light turned green, I opened the hatch.
“Everyone out.”
They filed out, and I followed.
The place was empty, or had been until we walked in.
“Who wants a drink?” I asked. “On me.”
“Is there wine?” asked the shorter guy.
“Is there beer?” asked the young guy.
“Beer, wine and liquor,” I said. “Usually whisky, vodka and gin.”
“Sherry?” the taller guy asked.
“Sherry?”
He smirked.
“He’ll have what I’m having,” the shorter one said.
“Is there coffee?” asked the middle-aged woman.
“I’ll make some.”
