George Martin - Old Mars

Blinded by tears, she ran for her bedroom; she heard Daddy-Kane say defensively, “She’ll have a cry and be over it by tomorrow. Kids are resilient.”

Noel answered harshly, “You’ve broken our daughter’s heart! I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

When Noel slipped into her bedroom, he discovered that she had fallen into an exhausted sleep. The soft shush of the door sliding didn’t wake her, and he had to give her shoulder a gentle shake. She sat up, clawing the hair off her face. The skin around her eyes was swollen and red, and she winced as light hit her tear-burned eyes when Noel switched on her bedside lamp.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and she flung her arms around him. “Can they really keep me here until I’m twenty-one?”

“Yes. Martian law controls in this situation, and they’ve always been pretty old-fashioned.”

“And you’re going to tell me to be patient.” The joy and youth had gone out of her voice. She sounded like an old woman.

“No. I’m not.” He nervously pleated the edge of the sheet between his fingers. “There is a way around the age of majority. It’s a case where Martian conservatism actually works for us.”

She bounced up until she was kneeling on the bed, hope kindling in her eyes. “Okay. I’ll do it. What is it?”

“Whoa. Wait. Hold on until I tell you. You might decide that Lowell College’s school of agronomy is preferable.” He paused, gathered a breath. “You enlist. You can enlist at seventeen with just the consent of one parent. Then you apply for the College Commissioning Program—Green to Gold. You’ll serve a year enlisted, but with your test scores, discipline, and with the recommendations from flag officers who owe me favors, you’ll get in. Cambridge is holding a slot for you already. You’ll be attending university, and just have to meet the year-for-year commitment. And you’ll be an officer.”

She frowned, chewed at her lower lip. “Will I have to study what SpaceCom tells me to?”

“They don’t care about the degree. Just about the process and achievement.”

She sat with the idea for a few minutes. Noel wondered if she was picturing herself in one of the blue-and-gold uniforms. “You taught me to shoot.”

“I did indeed.”

“Is another war likely?” she asked.

“It’s hard for me to answer that. I don’t think so. Since the Belt Rebellion, the politicians on Earth seemed to realize that they need to talk to the settlers rather than bullying them. Hopefully, that will continue.”

“And that’s what you hate about this,” Tilda said, gazing up at him. “You think we’re being bullied?”

He hugged her tight. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“Okay, I’ll—”

He placed a finger against her lips. “No, I want you to think about this carefully. Remember, there’s no guarantee this will work. Plans can fall apart. Let me know in a few days. But whatever you do, don’t let Stephen get a rise out of you. If he thinks you’re rebellious or going to be mulish, it will make it harder for us to get away. If you should decide to enlist.”

She took three days to consider. She watched war movies and documentaries about the Belter Rebellion on her ShowSim. Could she stand basic training? Probably. She was in good shape and liked to be active. Guns didn’t scare her. Dying did. But how was that different from any other person currently living?

Tilda had followed her father’s advice and not pitched a fit. Stephen read her silence for acquiescence and absolutely fawned over Tilda. Each time he hugged her, he threw a triumphant glance at Noel-Pa as if saying, see, she’s mine now . Toward his son-in-law, Stephen became even more horrid.

On the third night, the three of them sat in the living room. Noel-Pa, seated on the sofa, mended one of Kane’s shirts while Kane flipped through a seed catalogue that he’d brought up on his ScoopRing.

“With Tilda going off to school, I think I’d like to get out of the housework and join you in the fields,” Noel-Pa said.

“I’d like that too, but maybe not right now. Dad likes working with me.”

“Why can’t he work with both of you?” Tilda asked, but it was more a challenge than a question.

Noel-Pa shot her a warning glance, and Kane looked bedeviled and irritated. “Look, this might not be the best moment. Let’s all just stay …” His voice trailed away.

“What? Stay what?” Tilda demanded.

“I’m going to bed,” Kane growled, and stomped off toward the bedrooms. Tilda noted how Noel’s eyes followed him and how sorrow had etched lines into his face.

“Take a turn and look at the stars before bed?” she suggested.

Noel nodded and followed her out of the house. The dome softened the brilliance of the stars and gave an almost rainbow hue to Phoebus rushing overhead.

“I’ve decided. I want to enlist. And maybe once I’ve gone, Grandpa will have to accept you and stop looking to me.”

He brushed her hand back with a gentle hand. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s get you onto a SpaceCom ship.” He threaded her arm through his, and they walked out into a field, where they could see anyone coming and wouldn’t be overheard. “Long-range forecasts show a hell of a dust storm coming day after tomorrow. It’s heading toward Lowell City, and we can run before it.”

“And Daddy and Stephen won’t be able to follow, because by the time they’ve discovered we’re gone, the storm will have grounded them, and the crawlers are too slow to catch us.” The sense of secrets and plots was exciting.

“Exactly right. Go out with Ali tomorrow and pack what you want to take. Remember, pack light. SpaceCom footlockers don’t hold much. Then just leave it in the cockpit of your plane.”

Tilda almost quailed at the size of the storm. It was a monster, bulking on the southern horizon, the dust roiled into fantastic shapes by the force of the winds. At the moment, it was a low-level hum that set nerves on edge and had everyone snapping at one another, but when it arrived, the sound would be the howl of a thousand banshees.

Kane and Stephen were ordering the hands to check the various domes in advance of the storm’s arrival.

“Tilda and I will check the ultralights,” Noel-Pa called as they walked past the huddle.

“Wait!” Stephen began.

“Look, Dad, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to lash down a plane. I tied down enough fighters in my day.” Noel-Pa didn’t wait but took Tilda’s arm, and they hustled to the airlock closest to the ultralights.

The wind hit them the moment they stepped through, and Tilda staggered. Noel-Pa grabbed her around the waist and steadied her. Hunching against the moaning gusts, they rushed to Tilda’s ultralight. Noel-Pa wrestled with the canopy and got it open. He boosted her up, and she scrambled into the cockpit.

He pressed his helmet against hers and shouted, “I’ll unlash you, and you get airborne.”

“How will you—”

“I’ll manage. Be ready.”

He pulled the canopy forward and dropped to the ground. He then unlashed the ultralight. She felt it begin to sway. Once he was clear, she went taxiing down the runway with the wind buffeting the craft and setting the long wings to vibrating. She managed to get into the air, and circled, watching as her father ran to another ultralight and pulled back the canopy. He dropped back down and un-tethered one line.

The wind was getting worse and worse, and dust blotted out the sun, creating an unnatural twilight. Tilda fought the controls as her father ran to the next tether. A shaft of light spilled onto the red ground as the airlock cycled open.

A suited figure ran out and charged at Noel-Pa. Too short and broad to be Daddy-Kane. Tilda switched on her radio and heard her grandfather’s voice raging in her headphones.