Martian Dog

Book One: Space Baby Blues

Chapter 1

The Vacuum Where You Play

"How will we ever explain to our daughter that her birth was an experiment?" Merlita demanded of her husband.

Managing not to appear exasperated, Owen Keen turned from Merlita at the factingrate desk toward the only window in their home. Toward their only child.

Don’t let the UV fry your eyes, sweetheart, he told Melody.

Failing to appear unperturbed, the two-year-old retorted, We don’t have that, Daddy.

Melody returned to her view. Sky of an unclean tan, thin clouds more grey than white. Brown soil like clotted dust. A flat landscape bordering the base of a surge crater with a barely discernible rim. Sunlight made an orange spot sparkle at the edge of vision: Auntie’s shack. Farther: Figgis Mons, registered trademark of Figgis Interplanetary Enterprises, a volcano that seemed a pimple at this distance. The immediacy of the Keen compound lacked geographic drama. In their backyard, the hot core of this globe had not pressed through frazzled tectonic plates to erupt as mountains. Lacking the theater of weather and water, the plain seen outside was not covered with trees and undergrowth. Their home lacked the drama of life.

Beautiful day, Daddy! the girl piped.

Wait till you see Earth, Melody.

And the mother retorted, What if she never becomes accustomed to Earth’s gravity?

Seated at an ostensible desk from mid-fifties America, Merlita ostensibly examined the night’s communiqués from Earth. Of massplas whose finish imitated formica, the data integrator terminal had been bolted down, lest the act of writing an entry into a journal slide the minimum-mass furnishing across the floor. The complas floor, resembling marble, dense but as thin as linoleum.

She’ll be on Mars less than thirty-six months, Owen told his wife. Studies with space babies have shown that even in free fall—

Owen was interrupted by Merlita’s uncle, who entered the room with a plate of steaming vegetables.

She didn’t say free fall, Bern began. Merlita was referring to the relative effects of human growth in Earth’s gravity versus a graviton field. That’s what we’re here to study, Owen. Just because you’re the med doesn’t mean you should be innocent of our research.

In order to take a data page from the desk, Bern approached within two steps of Owen. Considering Bern’s previous words, Owen found the distance intrusive.

Fiftyish Bern was big, not fat, possessing a heft that spoke of security in his mass. Too much mass, Owen felt, to transport forty million miles along expensive space lanes.

You’re missing breakfast, Bern smiled down to his niece, then stepped to the complas sofa, soft as a feather, having similar mass. Bern seated himself, plate balanced on his lap, soft and stiff news sheet in one hand. As malleable as newsprint or as rigid as glass, the data page’s deportment was determined by the bearer’s touch, whether he caressed or pressed the edges.

Oh, I love Rainer’s Martian-greens-and-taters, Merlita crooned, and rose. Coming, boy and girl? she asked of her husband and daughter.

Owen bent to whisper to Melody, I see that your mom’s fear of the fiendish experiments we’re conducting is alleviated by simple hunger. From now on, only one meal a day for her.

I heard that, Merlita said over her shoulder, voice cold enough to chill the dust of Mars.

Melody had her face pressed against the plasglass. She looked to the building’s edge, to the graviton pad’s periphery. All of sparkling malmetals, yards thick, silently absorbing gravitons from the planet’s mass below, transferring the energy as a wave/ray to the building and its occupants.

Owen sighed, Facter, off window, and the wall went opaque.

As Melody ran to join her mother, Bern smirked:

You don’t have to worry about UV this far from the sun, Owen. It satisfies her—why don’t you let her look?

Why don’t you shut up? Owen shot back. If you want to give advice, try it on your wife, the chem sponge. Kara isn’t the reason you left Earth, is she?

I could wish Uncle Bern go away, Melody whispered to herself, upset by the mean speaking.

We’re all family, Bern said to Owen while looking at the viewer. You could begin accepting that.

Though Bern seemed unfazed, the remote page in his hand went stiff, which meant his grasp was rigid. And he bent a corner, alternating the display from text to foto to vid, sound on, sound off. Headline news: Capitalists threatening the Second French Revolution on the steps of the Bastille, a story coming to Owen in parcels of French, then English translation, then mute flashes washing Bern’s downturned face.

Owen entered the hallway of the apparent house. An air-tight, self-sealing research facility and dorm made to resemble a home, the building’s space-spec construction employed materials too modern for even the most affluent on Earth. The logistics were perhaps too modern, Owen felt, nearly knocking Merlita’s smuggled ambrotype of her parents from the wall while trying to squeeze past the partition thick enough to house Rainer’s bio gear. Bern’s foot did not touch the sofa’s leg, but the edge of the lift that would raise Owen’s hospital box to working height.

In the kitchen, Owen saw Merlita seated before their daughter. Melody stood on a thick cable leading from the graviton pad beneath the floor to the kitchen table, a dual-usage ambient gee-senser. The arches of her bare feet rolled, toes and heels alternately touching the floor. The cable could have been a tree root pressing through the ground outside. Not outside Mars.

Not massive, but no dainty fem, Merlita had inherited her uncle’s solidity. But Owen did not notice her shoulders upon staring down as though never having seen her before.

You and Bern have identical noses, he observed. Almost identical. I like yours.

Owen bent to kiss her on the bridge.

I’m sorry, he whispered, and Merlita grasped his hand as though squeezing affection into her husband.

Oh, oh, me, too! Melody squealed, and turned her face upward, available for kisses. Her parents complied, applying multiple lips to the girl’s face and neck. Happy Melody then sang The Lip Smacking Song:

A hiss becomes

A kiss

When a serpent strikes

Your lips!

Removing greens from the multi-cooker and incubator, Owen’s older brother, Rainer, remarked:

Speaking of normal gravity, I felt that I slept on a sponge last night.

You can hear every word spoken in this house, can’t you? Owen offered as though surprised.

It only took you thirty months to determine that? Merlita jeered.

Me, too, Mom and Dad, Melody called out gravely. I slept like a sponge last night.

Talk to the gravity engineer, Owen replied, nodding toward the adjacent room. I’m just the medicine man.

I’m just the mother, Merlita shrugged.

I’m just the spearmint, Melody sighed, shrugging exactly like her mother.

I wish I had a wife and a spearmint, Rainer complained, glimpsing Merlita with an imitation leer.

Big brother, you staring at my woman? Owen scolded. I shall remind you, sir, that indeed you are married, to a fine lady unworthy of the disregard you display.

We’re technically separated, Rainer complained, handing Owen a heaping plate, by about five-eighths gee.

Rainer then spoke to the air:

Facter, is my wife awake?

She is, the fact integrator responded in a voice that resembled barking.

The sound startled all the adults, delighting the child.

Why does the datagrater sound like a dog? Owen wondered.

His wife explained:

That was Melody’s idea.

Because I have a Martian dog! Melody beamed. Do you know what it looks like?

The clay sculpture? her father replied. It’s a beaut, but don’t drop it on your foot. Martian clay is dense.

That dog is the toy one, Daddy. I haven’t made the real one yet.

What’s stopping you? Rainer asked from the room’s far side, which was three steps away.

Merlita waited for the girl’s response. Now Melody had an audience.

I have not made the real one since I have not seen a real Martian dog yet. Have you?

We’re waiting for you to show us, Owen quipped.

Don’t hold your breath, Melody said. Not a good idea where you don’t have any.

That’s why we have vacuum sacks, came Owen’s reply, which made the girl tsk.

Daddy, you interpreted me, she griped.

Go ahead, Melody, Merlita told the girl. Tell us about your dogs.

And Owen added:

Start by telling us how you got the clay to look like real hair. Sort of.

That expression on her little face, not quite exasperation, but there she was having to answer an obvious question again.

Daddy, I pushed it against mine.

It’s still not completely clean, Merlita said.

Kneeling in front of the girl, Owen reached to touch her hair, but she stopped him, grabbing his wrist with her tiny hand.

You don’t want to get clay in your fingernails, she explained.

He pinched her right on the ribs, not hard, and she tried so hard not to smile.

Owen may have seen some remnant grit on her scalp, but wouldn’t mention it. Water was scarce on Mars.

Why did you make a dog? Owen asked his daughter. Why not a—

I’m too young to make a baby.

They all accepted her understanding.

So, tell us about the other dog, the non-toy one, Merlita said.

And Melody shifted into high gear:

The real Martian dog will have two heads because Mars has two moons, and one will have a big eye to better see Mars monsters, uh, monster-ees, uh, Mons Trosities, and the other head will have sharp sharp teeth to bite them with.

Thirty months old and she could talk like that. Her daddy was so proud of her.

Two heads? her mom replied. Will the dog be a girl or a boy?

Half of him, was Melody’s answer. And one eye will be blue like our home and that’s my favorite color.

Only one eye will be blue? her father asked. The whole dog won’t be blue?

Dogs aren’t blue, Daddy, Melody had to tsk. Martians are blue.

Then what color will your dog be?

The same as Martian clay. Bwown.

Or tan or buff?

I don’t know those words, Melody admitted. Toddlers don’t know all the words.

‘Tan’ and ‘buff’ are types of brown, Merlita explained.

I’ll remember that, Melody gravely vowed.

When are you going to make your new pooch? Rainer asked.

After I become a better skull-ter, the girl explained. And after I learn what ‘pooched’ means.

‘Pooch’ means dog.

Hmm. I may not remember that one.

Would you like to make your dog a painting instead of a sculpture? Merlita wondered. I believe we have paper and brushes.

Painting is too flat, Melody replied. Maybe I’ll wait till we go to Earth. Isn’t Earth flat?

The people who hate this project think so, Rainer replied. But that’s politics, not art.

We’ll go home one day, baby, Merlita smiled to her daughter.

And Owen countered:

For now, Mars is home.

Only to Martians, Melody said.

A sourceless voice then sounded from the air:

Shack here. Did you call, Rainer?

Irene, are you cooking for yourself this morning? Rainer wondered. Greens and taters here.

The air then replied:

I’ve had my fill of greenhouse greens and pot potatoes, Rainer. But I’ll share my rations with you if only you let me in. This shack is like a prison. I miss my family. I miss a solid gee beneath my feet. I miss—

Gee, sorry, missus, Rainer replied, but the research is junked if you jump gravity fields day to day. Only a few more weeks and we’ll let you inside, if you can prove you’re housebroken, like Melody’s dog. Now, do you want me to bring you breakfast or not?

I’ve already eaten, Irene via the factingrate replied, but come over anyway. And come alone. Sustenance consists of more than victuals.

Hmm, I shall see you later, Rainer crooned. And I expect to see all of you. ’Bye, lover.

Don’t talk dirty in front of the baby, Owen complained.

I am a toddler, Melody insisted.

Hey, toddler, after breakfast, you and I are going to toddle to Daddy’s workshop in the bedroom to see how you’re growing, Merlita announced.

You have to sing to me, Melody demanded, or I won’t be your spearmint no more.

Index fingers extended, Merlita began waving her arms as though conducting a one-girl orchestra, singing:

Happy as a clam

Who’s been digging

With a lamb

It may sound rather funny

But that’s the way I am

Oh, oh—wrong ani-mules! Melody squealed in delight. Our ani-mules!

Taking the blatant cue, Merlita sang:

If you ever saw

A Martian dog

It would not resemble

A barnyard hog

Or a lump on a log

Or a flywheel’s cog

Or a slimy bog

Fogged in smog

It would look just like

The average gog

Then Merlita said to her daughter, Singing makes me thirsty—for what? And Melody sang:

Mars for the minerals,

Venus for the view,

Jupiter for the java

Saturn for the brew!

Play in the vacuum, play in the vacuum! Melody urged.

"Oh, do you want to hear Space Baby Blues?"

"Oh, oh, I do, truly!" the girl squealed, and her mother complied, emphasizing the vowel sound at the end of each line:

We all want to be

A space baby

Named Melody

And the rhythm shifted:

Space baby, space baby

Fly away

Through the vacuum

Where you play!

Laughing Melody reached to grasp her mother’s waving wrists, two pairs of big and little arms applying choreography to the air.

I am not a space baby, Melody asserted, I am in-the-plan-of-berry baby.

The meal was finished, at least for Melody, who ran from the table.

I am going for my dog now and we will dance! she called out brightly.

A bit of Martian mustard green was stuck in the corner of her mouth. Melody rubbed it off with a fingertip, and the green piece began falling to the floor, but slowly. It seemed to float, but everyone present understood the aberrations of the experimental art-grav field. Some people on Earth, with the understanding of bigotry or ignorance, considered artificial gravity dangerous, believing that this new science corrupted the very nature of attraction in the universe. Why, when the elemental force of attraction is perverted, what will be attracted?

As the adults began cleaning up the breakfast makings, Melody returned with her clay dog. Big. Too heavy for her to run with.

Lifting the sculpture as high as she could, Melody began dancing, though she could barely move her feet. Dancing, and singing:

Gravity

Said, "Come to me"

Attracting things

Is what I do in life!

We could dance, Daddy, the girl requested, now pulling her hard dog close while looking up to her father.

Though that tan lump wasn’t his favorite, Owen could not resist its angelic creator.

Despite the impediment of that awkward clay wad, he lifted his daughter, effecting a rudimentary dancing pose, babe in arms.

Ooh, you’re getting so heavy, sweetheart, he told her. I’m sure that’s you growing and not art-grav pulsations.

Instead of helping with the self-cleaning dishes, Owen twirled around with his daughter. No one objected. Melody giggled.

After a long Martian minute, Owen set the girl down, and she didn’t complain. Not until the dog slipped from her grip and smashed against her foot.

Melody began crying and falling simultaneously. So did everyone else.

As the dog hit the floor, so did weeping Melody’s butt, while the other people reacted: not to the girl’s tears, but her gravity.

Melody had been pulled to the floor not by the dog, but because she found herself unable to support a sudden sixty pounds with her muscles accustomed to thirty.

Feeling his weight instantly double, Owen reached to grasp the countertop near his brother, whose knees bent. Both men remained standing, staring to each other with surprise, and ignorance. Seconds later, their weight returned to normal, the norm of one-gee Earth artificial.

No longer weeping, Melody looked up with sad, tearful eyes, rubbing her foot. Merlita walked to her immediately, kneeling to examine that injury. Probably just an ouchy. While massaging her daughter’s foot, Merlita looked up to the men.

What in the? Rainer asked his brother, who shook his head.

Some type of spasm in the art-grav field, Owen suggested. But Rainer countered:

The pad can’t instantaneously double its graviton output.

I’m not the gravity engineer, Owen said.

Still holding Melody’s foot, Merlita called out loudly into the adjoining room:

Uncle Bern, what happened?

Feeling better, Melody stood, mouthing the word Ouch as she took a step. Upset, she considered kicking the dog, but, uh, no. She spoke to her mother:

"Was that what a spearmint truly is?"

Merlita lifted the girl, waiting for a reply from Bern, which did not come. The factingrate spoke next, no longer sounding like a Martian dog.

Notice, an event has transpired.

Catastrophic? Owen immediately asked.

Curious.

What caused the gravity surge? Merlita asked the data integrator.

The cause is yet to be determined.

Facter, when you said event, were you referring to the gravity spasm? Rainer wondered.

No. A mass differential has occurred.

Specify, Owen instructed.

The compound is down approximately ninety kilograms mass.

Uncle Bern took the trash out, Melody suggested.

Tangible mass? exasperated Rainer griped to the factingrate, which replied:

A gravity packet.

What’s the difference? Owen had to ask.

A quantity of matter versus the graviton influence it wields.

Bern will have to explain that, Merlita said.

Then she stepped away. Everyone in the kitchen followed. Into the small living room, no uncle present. Seating herself at the factingrate desk, Merlita activated a data page, holding the mobile sheet in her hand as graphs and numbers came.

The building lost some ninety keys of mass immediately after that grav spasm, Merlita described.

Could that be a fluke in the reading due to the field’s being a tiny bit too low now? Rainer wondered.

The field is pulling accurately, Owen saw over Merlita’s shoulder. The facter compensates for small fluctuations when reading mass.

Why are we trying to figure this? Rainer proclaimed. Where is the gravity engineer?

Merlita looked around the room as her husband muttered:

Ninety keys, ninety keys. Facter, how much does Bern typically mass with clothing?

About ninety kilograms, the fact integrator replied.

Facter, where is he? Merlita demanded. Where is my uncle?

I don’t know.

Did he exit the structure? Merlita asked.

The airlock has not been activated, the factingrate reported, and the structure has not been damaged or breached.

I’m going to look for him, Merlita asserted, and began searching the building, the home.

Facter, is Bern outside? Owen asked.

He is not within my sensers’ ability to read.

And you have no record of his having exited the structure?

I do not.

What happened to him?

I don’t know.

Rainer’s eyes went wide.

Facter, to Irene. Irene, are you all right?

Yes, Rainer. Why do you ask?

We had a strange gravity spasm here. I wondered if a quake caused it.

Everything has been normal here. Was anyone hurt?

Rainer looked to his brother.

Uh, Irene, is Bern there? Rainer asked.

No, was he on the way? Are you saying he’s outside?

Uh, let me get back with you, Irene, Rainer concluded, shaking his head to his brother.

Merlita returned to the men. They knew by her face.

He’s not inside. He’s not anywhere in the house.

Did you check the air suits? Owen asked.

Yes, none is missing. Only Bern is missing. Owen, he disappeared, Merlita said with nearly a moan. My uncle vanished.

The men stared at Merlita a moment, and Owen began moving, followed by his family. Since Bern was no longer present, they had to find his ghost.

Chapter 2

Home To The Ghosts

Owen proceeded to the airlock, which resembled an entrance foyer. The door held a knob, evidently metallic, that would never receive a patina from years of human touch. It also held a childish marking: this way to dirt, a ragged scribble that would never be washed away.

Owen stepped to the peephole connected to complex optics of the exterior reveal. His broad, deep view was of the building’s front, the edge of the gravity pad, endless dust.

The adults had accompanied him, Melody following as though attached with a string. She was too frightened to speak.

How far could he get without a suit? Rainer asked his brother.

What are you saying? Merlita moaned.

Owen understood.

Merlita, some factor might have ruined Bern’s senses, driving him from the structure. If he left only a minute ago, we’d be able to save him. But he wouldn’t get out of sight. I don’t see anything.

Owen stepped away, and Merlita took his place, staring at the door reveal, changing the angle of view, the vantage, seeing completely around the house, seeing only morning on Mars.

Factingrate, protocol toward determining Bern’s whereabouts, Owen instructed.

I already did that, Merlita said dully, her attention removed.

Owen, I’m worried about Irene, Rainer proclaimed. I don’t want her to be alone out there.

He then asked of the data integrator, Facter, is Irene present in the mineral shack?

She is.

Anything abnormal occurring there?

Everything is normal in the removed facility.

But Rainer insisted to his brother, I want her with us.

Perhaps she should remain, Owen advised. If Irene is fine in the shack, why should she come here where things are putrid?

Facter, Rainer instructed unnecessarily, inform me immediately of any variant in the removed facility.

Affirmed, replied the air.

Merlita quickly stepped away. The men did not follow, only looking at her back. Melody did not know where to go.

I don’t want to see a Martian dog, the girl moaned. I don’t want to see a Martian dog.

The brothers looked to each other.

I’m considering going outside, Owen said. I don’t think we should depend on perceptual and informational intermediaries. I don’t trust the factingrate, or any viewer. I want to see with my own eyes.

So do I, Rainer replied. I’m going to put the food away, then examine every inch of this interior. I think we should do that first. After all, if we find Bern inside, we can help him. If we find him outside, it’s too late.

The men agreed with only a shared look. Rainer stepped to the kitchen, Owen proceeding to the data desk, where Merlita was heavily reading data integrator feeds.

Where could he have gone? Merlita fumed. The house is only a thousand square feet.

Stay with your mom, Owen smiled down to his daughter.

That smile did not convince her. She wasn’t that young.

Owen strode to his brother in the kitchen. But the kitchen was not occupied.

The air could not explain:

Notice. An event has transpired.

What? Owen croaked. Facter, where is Rainer?

I don’t know.

What happened now?

A mass differential has occurred.

Come on, tell me, dammit.

Rainer is not present in the building, nor is he outside. The structure is down a gravity packet equal to Rainer’s mass parcel.

Peering through the doorway, Melody moaned, The trash took Uncle Rainer out. A Martian dog took Uncle Rainer out.

After futilely looking left and right, up and down, beneath the table, Owen stepped past his daughter. Merlita met him halfway. Melody clung to her mother’s legs.

Rainer, too?

This has to be some sort of gag, Owen remarked. Bern is pulling an asinine joke, and has instructed the data integrator to comply.

No one could play such a foolish game, Merlita insisted.

Your uncle can be rather the fool, Owen countered.

Well, I am not part of any fool joke, Merlita fumed, and I’ve looked everywhere for Bern. What happened to Rainer?

He went to the kitchen, but wasn’t there when I entered. But I saw him step through the doorway. He could not have left without my seeing him.

Merlita walked past her husband, searching the kitchen. No cabinet or counter was large enough to conceal an adult. Melody remained with her father. Seconds later, Merlita turned to Owen. She could only shake her head.

It’s time to panic, Owen announced. Let’s call Earth.

What can they do there that we can’t do here?

That’s why it’s called a panic.

The problem with being so magnificently remote, Merlita complained, is that help is weeks away.

I’m contacting them now, Owen determined, and turned, stepping away. Melody followed one baby step behind.

I am not letting you out of my sight, Merlita said.

Maybe it’s crazy for us to think it will happen again, Owen said over his shoulder to Merlita. But his wife was not behind him.

The ignorant air offered no solution:

Notice. An event has transpired.

Shut up! Owen shouted to the factingrate as he turned in every direction fiercely enough to hurt his neck. No wife to be seen. Are you telling me that Merlita has disappeared?

Merlita is not present in the building, nor is she outside. The structure is down a gravity packet equal to Merlita’s corpus.

Something was crawling on him. Owen looked down to see his daughter, arms lifted, grasping his legs.

I want my mommy, I want my mommy.

Owen lifted the girl, holding her as Melody squeezed his neck with an embrace. Though Owen wanted to comfort her, he could not possibly smile. Lying was easier.

She’ll be right back, Melody. Let’s not worry too much. We’ll go for a walk instead.

Owen held his daughter as he searched the building. Living/data room, kitchen, bath. In Uncle Bern’s room, Melody noticed his gold plumb bob, which she had never been allowed to touch. She felt no desire to play with it now. Empty bedrooms for the parents, for Rainer and Irene. A clay canine in Melody’s room—her most successful sculpture—but no person. The house was too tidy of design to retain nooks and crannies sizable enough to conceal adults. Into the growroom, a bright chamber all of light and greenery and a healthy smell of life. The sweet smell of blossoms. A grapefruit tree grown from a seed, planted at Melody’s birth, blooming as a baby tree, encouraged by hormones and plant neurology. No human life within, except the pair who entered.

Damn, I sure wanted to find somebody in here, Owen grumbled.

I want my mommy, I want my mommy.

By the way, Melody, here is an important lesson. Try not to use profanities when things go wrong or you’re angry. Cussing displays a lack of culture. Furthermore, try not to become angry or remain in an environment where things go wrong. Well, those last two are probably not possible. And it’s not right for me to order you not to swear. Please don’t swear until you’re adult, then it’s your choice.

I promise not to cuss, Daddy. I want my mommy.

I’m here.

I already promised not to cuss, Daddy. I want my mommy.

Then a woman spoke in the air:

Rainer, hello. I haven’t heard from you in a time. How are things going?

Irene, this is Owen. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m having the datagrater apprise you of what’s occurred. I can’t understand it.

A moment later, Irene replied, Owen, is all of this accurate?

As far as I can ascertain. I’ve searched every millimeter of this place. I can’t find a trace of any of them. Three people vanished right beside me. I don’t know what to do.

Have you called Earth yet?

That’s what I was going to do when…. I was walking to the facter when Merlita disappeared. She was two steps behind me, Irene. Geez, I cannot believe this.

I’m coming right over, Owen. We can’t be worried about my experiment.

Irene, I did not personally inspect the compound’s exterior, Owen professed. Take a look on your way over.

I’ll drive around the pad in the car, Owen. I’m on my way.

Melody shifted in Owen’s arms, achieving a more comfortable pose. He looked down to her. The girl’s head lay against his shoulder. A terrifying notion then struck him, that Melody would disappear as he held her, that the girl would vanish from his sight and his life if he looked away from her. Yes. No one had been looking at the others when they vanished. Owen repositioned his baby in his arms until she lay high against his chest, so that he could not see beyond without also seeing Melody.

Facter, anything new on the disappearances?

No. I’m checking everything.

Owen considered time. How long between vanishings?

Facter, tell me of any pattern to the disappearances. Determine respective positions of personnel within the house or in spatial relationship to the other occupants. Can you ascertain a schedule? That is, did the personnel vanish at the same interval? Can I therefore make any sort of prediction about further disappearances?

No.

Thanks. Thanks a bloody damn lot.

Don’t cuss, Daddy, his daughter whispered.

Sorry, sweetheart. I promise not to cuss any more.

Is Aunt Irene coming home, Daddy?

Yes, she’ll be here soon.

Is Mommy coming home? I want my mommy. I want my mommy.

I’m not sure when she’s coming home, Melody. Try not to worry too much.

Next worry: Irene. Was she due yet? Only a couple of minutes had passed, and she was driving around the pad in the Marscar. Searching for bodies.

Facter, contact Earth. Tell Raymond Raye personally what has occurred. I don’t want to do it. I am already sick of trying to explain, of hearing the story in my head, of experiencing this, this madness.

Affirmed. Complying.

How long would this take?