George Martin - Old Mars

“Bastard! Son of a bitch. Like hell you’re going to take her.”

“Stephen.” Noel-Pa’s voice was loud but still placating. “This is—”

But he never got to finish. The older man barreled into him. Noel-Pa managed to keep his feet, but they were locked in anger’s embrace. Stephen was raining blows onto Noel-Pa’s body. The SpaceCom officer was trying to hold him off and not strike back. The half-tethered ultralight was whipping back and forth like the tail of a frenzied scorpion.

Tilda forgot about the plan. She set her radio on emergency channel and screamed out, “Daddy! Daddy! Help!”

It was getting harder and harder to keep the wings level as the wind swirled and howled. Noel-Pa managed to push Stephen away, but he didn’t see the tail of the plane swinging around, propelled by a vicious gust of wind. It smashed into his back and head, and he collapsed onto the sand.

“Papa!” Tilda screamed, and she turned the nose of her plane toward the runway.

She was trembling with fear, and that, coupled with the wind, made it a terrible landing. One wheel collapsed, and a wing dug deep into the sand and crumpled. She pushed back the canopy and scrambled down. She could barely keep her feet as she ran to her father. Stephen stood, hands hanging limply at his side, braced against the wind. He was staring down at Noel-Pa, an expression of both shock and fury on his lined face.

Tilda dropped to her knees next to her father’s still form. “You monster! You hateful old bastard! You’ve killed him. I hate you! I hate you!” Her words seemed to drive Stephen back as much as the wind.

The airlock opened again, and another suited figure raced out. Daddy-Kane reached her side. He was gasping for breath.

“Noel. Oh God, Noel.”

A gust of wind screamed past and sent Tilda’s crashed ultralight tumbling across the sands.

“We’ve got to get inside!” Stephen screamed.

Daddy-Kane grunted with effort, but lifted his husband into his arms, and the foursome clung together and fought their way back to the airlock.

The storm raged on, blotting out the sun and setting everyone’s nerves on edge as the wind screamed and moaned around the dome. Noel lay in bed and didn’t regain consciousness. Henry, one of the hands who had some first-aid training, did what he could.

“He needs to be in the hospital in Lowell City,” he said, but, of course, the storm made that impossible. Henry shook his head and slipped away, leaving Kane to sit next to the bed, holding his husband’s limp hand.

Tilda sat with them. Hours passed and she felt limp with exhaustion. Once Stephen came to the bedroom door.

“Go away.”

“Kane.”

“I can’t deal with you right now.” Kane looked at Tilda. “Go to bed.”

“I want to help. I want to be here,” she said.

“Get some sleep. Then I’ll have you take over and I’ll rest. Okay?”

“You’ll call me if …”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” She stood, came around to his side of the bed and kissed his cheek. He kissed her back, but never let go of Noel’s hand, as if by sheer will he could hold Noel in life.

She undressed and crawled into bed. She hadn’t thought she’d be able to sleep, but sometimes the body can trump the mind.

She was walking through the Martian city, and once again it was filled with Martians, tall and graceful. Among the aliens were two smaller figures. One was very slight with long black hair. The other Tilda instantly recognized. It was Noel-Pa. His arm was linked through the woman’s.

Tilda ran forward. “Papa, Papa!” He released Miyako and took her in his arms. “What are you doing here?” But he didn’t answer, just smiled down at her. “Come on,” she urged. “We have to go home. Come with me.”

She took his hand and tugged, but he resisted and slid his hand out of hers. He then linked arms with Miyako again, and they drifted away. Tilda ran after them, but she didn’t seem to be making any progress, and they got farther and farther away. She looked around and saw a Martian standing at the top of the steps of what she called the temple. There was something familiar about that arrogant face and the set of the faceted eyes.

Ozymandias .

She ran up the steps and stood looking up at him. Unlike the other Martians, he looked down and seemed to see her.

“Where’s my dad gone?”

The music crashed over her, filled with information that she couldn’t process, and she awoke.

She returned to her fathers’ bedroom, where a tense conference was under way. Henry had pulled back the eyelid on Noel’s left eye. The pupil was so dilated that there was almost no blue left in the eye.

“His blood pressure is spiking,” Henry said, “and his pulse is so slow I can barely find it.”

“Meaning what?” Daddy-Kane demanded.

“There’s probably a bleed inside his skull. If the pressure isn’t relieved, he’s going to die.”

“So do it,” Kane ordered.

Henry backed away, palms out as if pushing away Daddy-Kane’s words. “No, no, not me. I don’t have the skill or the training for something like that.”

He fled the room before Kane could speak. Father and daughter stood staring at each other. “A storm this bad will jam the engine on a crawler,” he said. “And it’s a five-day trip to Lowell even in good conditions.” His shoulders slumped, and she watched him accept the inevitable.

“That’s why he’s in the city,” Tilda murmured almost to herself. “He’s dying, and he’s gone to the city.”

“What are you talking about?” Daddy-Kane asked. Anger edged each word.

“I dreamed about Daddy and Miyako. They were in the city together. Ozymandias was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand.” Her voice broke.

“That’s crazy talk. And who’s Ozymandias? And he’s not going to die. I won’t let him die!” He strode around the room as if he could outpace death.

Tilda’s mind seemed to be fluttering in frantic circles. She kept trying to think of plans, solutions, alternatives, but all she saw was Ali’s warm brown eyes and soft smile. Then she realized that he was the solution. “Ali!” she shouted.

“What?”

“He was a scrub tech at the clinic in Bradbury. He’s going off to medical school.”

“They’re on the other side of the canal, and we can’t fly in this,” Daddy-Kane said.

“Zip line. Across the canal.”

Kane considered. “We won’t have a lot of time. A storm this bad can overwhelm a suit too.”

“Then we better do it fast,” Tilda said, and went to call Ali.

It was a testament to the kindness of the Al-Jahanis that they didn’t balk or hesitate. Grandpa Stephen declared the plan insane and ordered that none of the hands were to help.

Tilda felt her fingers curling into claws, and she was ready to launch herself at her grandfather. Any remnant of affection for the old man vanished at that moment, and she saw that something had happened with Kane too. He was chest to chest with his father, screaming into the old man’s face.

“You son of a bitch! You want him to die. Someone will help me. Someone has to hate you as much as I do!”

Daddy-Kane’s words hit like acid, and Stephen seemed to shrivel under the assault. And Kane was right. Several of the hands had come to like both Noel and Kane, and offered to help. Tilda wanted to go with them, but Kane didn’t want her out in the storm.

“Stay with Noel,” Daddy-Kane said, hugging her close. “Keep him with us.” He started away, then looked back. There was a grey cast beneath his dark skin. “And don’t let your grandfather into the room.”

Eyes wide, Tilda just nodded. She locked the door and returned to Noel-Pa’s side.