S Morden - No Way

He didn’t like taking anything for the pain, for… reasons. But sometimes, lying there in the almost-dark, he’d bite his blanket in order to stop himself from crying out. He was pretty certain Fan wouldn’t have minded being woken up—Frank had a standing invitation to do so—but so far, he hadn’t taken the lifeline offered to him.

In the cold light of day, he wondered why. Yet during the night, he stuck it out. The pins and needles. The random shooting pains. The steady throb. The bone-deep itch. Hurt was now his default. He’d thought it would be better than this. Disappointment added to his discomfort.

The things that Frank couldn’t do without two hands—almost everything except greenhouse work and carrying light things—Jerry would do. Frank couldn’t go outside. All he’d seen of Mars for the last month was through the little window in the airlock, and yes, it might be an airless red desert where nothing would grow in the toxic, frozen soil, but he missed it. The simple act of suiting up and stepping out, and having a sky over his head rather than a low ceiling, would have been a relief. But there was no way he could do that, and still have the possibility of a working arm at the end of it. Jerry ran his chores, using Leland’s suit.

It kept the M2 man busy. It kept him from killing himself, and Frank was no Leland. He could listen, but he wasn’t so hot on advice. Jerry’d talk to Frank about who he was and how he’d ended up on Mars. About the people he had waiting for him back on Earth. What he’d wanted to do, and how his idealism about taming a new planet had slowly desiccated in the fine red dust until it was a dried, twisted caricature of what he’d dreamed of before.

There was no emotional attachment. Jerry was a project: they were both survivors of their respective missions. Frank had arrived on Mars already a criminal. Mars had turned Jerry into one. Frank didn’t know how he felt about that.

The greenhouse was the only place he didn’t feel like a spare part. He could top up the nutrient tanks, take readings, record heights and weights and volumes, and carefully harvest the produce. He could pollinate with a paint brush, move lights higher and lower, plant seeds and, mostly, anything else that needed doing.

It also, incidentally, meant that he spent a lot of time with Isla.

Not that he talked to her much. She had her experiments, which she decided that she had to start again from scratch due to the partial depressurization and atmosphere changes in the hab, and she concentrated on those while Frank carried on the grunt work of growing food.

But she was there, in the background, a presence. A welcome presence. They bumped along together. He knew where stuff was kept and, despite his inertia when it came to learning new things, he’d gotten knowledgeable about the plants he was tending. Mineral deficiencies, mutations, drip rates, germination conditions and harvesting times. She asked his advice. Whether she needed it or not, it made him feel less useless.

Neither of them mentioned that night in the shower.

All the same, it was a memory that Frank treasured. It had made him feel human again.

Yun’s days were spent doing what Jim should have been doing. Collecting rocks. Surveying. Digging. Lucy had taken Jim’s hammer from Justin. Yun wore it in her utility belt. Frank’s utility belt. His suit was a better fit for her than Leland’s.

The rule about pairing up had gone out the airlock along with so much else. The worst had already happened. In the spirit of her dead colleagues, she was going to collect as much data as she could, while she could. At some point, someone was going to have to go back up to the outpost, and further still, as far as M2, to retrieve what was left there. Not just the equipment, not just Station seven: the bodies. Whatever remained of Jim. But that was in an undefinable future, not now.

The one time they were all together was at dinner. That wasn’t so strange for Frank. His crew had done it. Even Jerry was expected to be there, though he didn’t talk much. What does a man say to the friends of someone he’s helped eat?

And just when he thought things had settled into a new normal, the greenhouse airlock opened and there was Lucy. She stood there for a while, not catching Frank’s eye, nor Isla’s, just checking out the health of the hab and its contents. Frank was busy with the nutrients, swapping out nearly empty syringes with full ones. He had to use his teeth to remove the flexible hose, and the C nutrient especially tasted bitter. Isla was taping the seams of a new atmosphere-controlled experiment. Both of them carried on working, expecting to be interrupted at any moment.

It didn’t come. Lucy climbed down the ladder to the lower level, and Frank raised an eyebrow at Isla, who shrugged back.

Frank finished the tomatoes, and walked around to where he could see through the grating. Lucy was leaning over one of the tilapia tanks, wafting her hand through the already stirring surface. Her sleeve was dangling, and had wicked up the dark, algae-rich water as far as her elbow.

“You OK?”

She looked up at him, and then shifted her gaze back to the tank. “They want me to call it, Frank.”

“Call what?”

“Stay/No Stay.”

He was aware of Isla behind him, listening.

“I didn’t think the MAV was ready yet.”

“Mission Control have calculated that with a reduced crew, the MAV already has enough fuel to make orbit and rendezvous.”

A reduced crew, she’d said. That didn’t include Jerry. Or Frank. He’d not asked before about that. It looked as if someone somewhere—probably several someones—had made a pronouncement and, well: it wasn’t like he was unused to bad news. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Things have been happening back on Earth. Serious things. Seriously legal and political things. It’s a hell of a mess. There are lawyers and federal agents all over this, and I’ve tried to insulate everyone here from the shitstorm that’s broken out. But they want me to call it, Frank. Today, tomorrow. They’ve left it up to me.” She looked up again. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I guess you’ll do whatever you think best. For your crew.”

“We’re in uncharted territory, Frank. I’m not going to lie, part of me wants to have nothing more to do with this planet. It’s taken two of the best people I know. Then again, I’ve never run away from anything before.”

“No shame in calling it quits,” he said.

“You won’t be left behind,” said Isla, softly enough that only he could hear it. “I won’t allow it.”

He felt her hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging into the skin and muscle beneath his overalls. A fierce grip. It was almost painful, and that was good. She meant it.

“I need to talk to everyone,” said Lucy. “I can’t make this decision by myself.”

Frank swallowed. “OK. Let me know when you’re done.”

“You need to be there. Five minutes, kitchen.”

She lifted her dripping sleeve and squeezed out the water, then climbed the ladder. She might have given the tableau of Frank and Isla the side-eye before she left, but it was difficult to tell. She seemed to have closed down completely.

Isla squeezed tighter, then let go. He’d be bruised there later, to go with all the other bruises.

“If she tries to make us return without you, there’ll be a mutiny.”

“Whoa. Just think about what you’re saying.”

“I know what I’m saying.”

“You’re on Mars. The MAV is it. If it’s leaving, you should be leaving with it. We don’t even know, after this, that they’ll ever send another.”

“All of us, or none of us.”

“What if she orders you?”

“Then we disobey her. We have space on the Prairie Rose for you. Even for Jerry. We can wait for another month, two months, and then we can all go.”