Another day in hell

The lights are off

The curtains drawn

I'm trying not to hug the toilet

But the sledgehammer keeps pounding

Behind my eye

And my stomach wants to

Keep the beat

Along with it

I'd lie on the couch, but

There's no comfortable position

I've already told my clients

I won't be available today

That I don't know when I will be

Still, I know I'll try to work because

Well, what else can I do?

Migraines are a bitch

Everything you hoped for

Everything you worked for

Can slip right out

From under you

And there's no way to stop it

From happening

I was told mindfulness

Is an answer

To focus on the moment

Not the pain

To feel yourself

Where you are

As you are

And let everything else go

The trouble is

I'm a writer

More specifically

I write science fiction, so

My head is always filled with

Ideas for new stories

Foundations for new worlds

I could not function

With no thought but

The present

And therein lies the dilemma

One I'm clearly not going to

Solve today

I think I'll just go

Throw up again and

Contemplate how aliens

Engage in the process

Themselves

I've learned that's the best way

To manage such difficult challenges

#migraines #poetry #amwriting #itslit #getlit #challenge

 Lakshmi’s calls to stop echoed throughout the corridor. She was too late. Mendelsohn had already left the space station.

Exhausted, Lakshmi careened to the end of docking bay 913, crashing into the railing and knocking the wind out of herself. The view from 913’s elite location would traditionally have been wondrous. Isolated at the pinnacle of the extraneous Europa Space Station port, the translucent shield doors up above opened into a luminescent view that melded the edge of Jupiter with the dazzling reflections of humanity’s countless station’s that now surrounded the planet. But it was the view of what sat inside the station that drew Lakshmi’s attention at this moment. As Mendelsohn flew off, his private galley left behind a nearly empty spaceport. There was a minimal, disparate assemblage of ships on Europa, each held together by hyper glue and prayer.

Europa was not prepared for war, no matter what claims the leadership of Enceladus had promised to Ambassador Mendelsohn. Lakshmi’s dash had likely come at the cost of her job in the transpo department, but her failure to catch up with Mendelsohn may have cost the colony of Europa its existence.

The hopelessness of the station’s pseudo-fleet left Lakshmi feeling weak. Her selfishness had slowed her down, and now these people were doomed because she had been concerned about maintaining personal diplomatic relationships. She stepped away from the railing, trying to catch her breath. She needed to speak with Rin. Rin would know what to do. She trained her eyes on the mid-levels of the port, searching for any of the entertainer’s associates that she might recognize from Rin’s get-togethers. But as Lakshmi scanned the decks, she was startled out of her thoughts by a metallic pounding approaching from behind.

She turned to find two huge men sprinting down the corridor straight for her, their plodding footsteps reverberating throughout the passageway. Panicked, Lakshmi’s instincts told her to run, but she had nowhere to go but over the railing. At least against the massive men she had a slightly better chance than a hundred yard drop. Lakshmi whipped out a utility tool from her belt as the two men came to a standstill in front of her. Anxious for the men to make their move, Lakshmi’s fingers twitched at her side. But the men just stared, weapons in-hand, forcing her to make the first step. She let out a scream and leaped forward, incapable of waiting any longer.

The men evaded her with ease, and Lakshmi fumbled into an awkward somersault as she dove between them. She lost purchase of her tool and stumbled out of her roll. Now past the men, she saw an opportunity to run and took it.

At the far end of the corridor, a dock worker went about her typical menial tasks. As Lakshmi ran, she tried to call out to the worker, but Lakshmi’s screams caught in her throat as something struck her in the back, sending her body into convulsions as she collapsed on the floor.

In the distance, Lakshmi could just make out the dock worker heading off to the next station, blissfully unaware, as Lakshmi blacked out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lakshmi awoke, curled up in a sweaty ball, surrounded by the vast, blackness of space.

A string of profanities flowed from her mouth as her mind told her she was dive-bombing through nothingness.

Until she realized that she could hear the sound of her voice.

She tried to unfurl herself but she was paralyzed.

Lakshmi looked around to discover that she was trapped in a cell. The room provided just enough space to either stand or lay down, but neither comfortably. Each surface that surrounded her was made of a thin glass, save for the wall she leaned against, which was actually a door, freckled and whitened with age and exposure to light. In the center of the door sat a small black screen.

Lakshmi continued swearing until an abrupt beeping noise interrupted her. She looked up to find that the screen had turned on and a woman was staring down at Lakshmi.

“Good evening, Ms. Sharma.” The woman greeted Lakshmi with a pleasant voice, her harsh suit and loosely styled hair creating a whirlwind of contradiction.

“I… Who the hell are you?” Lakshmi’s confusion and discomfort got the better of her as she managed a meek response.

“Well, I’m glad to see your inquisitiveness has not left you Ms. Sharma, but those sort of questions are what got you into trouble in the first place, are they not?”

The woman paused for a second and Lakshmi turned away, trying to hide her contempt as she ran through the list of who this woman might be. She wasn’t from the transpo department, and wasn’t a part of Mendelsohn’s team as far as Lakshmi knew. Someone from Earth trying to torture her for information? Lakshmi wished Rin were there. Rin knew everyone.

The woman continued, “Who I am is not important here. Our potential shared cause is. Unfortunately, you have put your personal interests in front of the citizens of Europa. Now, with most people, we wouldn’t care. If an ice-picker thinks their gambling addiction is more important than our resources then we need to take care of them, but we do not actually care about that specific ice-picker. We can replace that moron in an instant. But you? Well, your skill set is a little more difficult to replace.”

Lakshmi looked back into the screen with a half-smile on her face, the woman’s verbalization of Lakshmi’s skill giving her confidence.

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at what I do.”

“Agreed. That’s why you only woke up feeling as though you were drifting through space instead of actually doing it. We need you to help us deal with the Enceladus Rebellion. From the inside”

Lakshmi was about to tell the woman she might not even have her job anymore, but caught herself.

“How about you let me out of my cell then? I’d be happy to talk.”

The woman nodded her head, feigning thought before speaking again. “Yes. I will have the guards open the door for you.”

Lakshmi’s upper body smashed into the floor as the door opened, removing her support. Dazed, Lakshmi tried to roll over, but couldn’t. A pair of guards, a man and a woman stood above the sprawled-out Lakshmi.

“We can help with that newly-acquired ailment too.” The woman watched inquisitively from the half-opened door’s screen. “We have already arranged a meeting for you in a couple of minutes. We would prefer that you be able to walk in of your own accord, but if you are not going to cooperate, we are happy to carry you in. It is very important that you earn our trust, Ms. Sharma.”

Lakshmi’s gaze drifted back towards her body as she stared at her helpless limbs. And then she threw up.

Golden chunks all over her stomach and legs, Lakshmi didn’t even have the energy to swear.

“God damnit.” Her captor still possessed it though. “Well, I guess you have found a way to avoid meeting our terms. Congratulations, Lakshmi.” Speaking to the guards, “inject her now and get her cleaned up for her appointment with Captain Chong.”

The screen turned black, as Lakshmi continued to stare at nothing in particular, eyes glazed over.

Lakshmi tried to look up as the guards moved in on her, but her eyes couldn’t focus. Lakshmi’s face felt as though a magnet was pulling it through her skull and into the ground. She struggled to stay conscious. Voices rang hollow in the background. Empty words drifted past as she began to fade, her senses all but gone.

And then a jolt to her left temple.

Her hearing came back instantly as a woman’s deafening voice tore through Lakshmi’s consciousness.

“-her up, come on. We’ll inject her again once she’s clean.”

Lakshmi opened her mouth to call the guards off, but the utterances sounded more like a call for help than a threat. Weak, blind, and completely helpless, Lakshmi was hoisted off the floor and into a hard metal seat. Her body slumped over, Lakshmi started to be able to wiggle her fingers and smell the puke all over her. The seat glided forward as the guards took her down a lengthy hallway.

At the end of the hall, they took a hard turn into a small room and the male guard stepped in front of her as the doors shut behind them.

He hit a button and tried to slide back behind the seat, but got tripped up, stumbling onto Lakshmi’s outstretched, puke-ridden legs.

The sudden pressure jolted Lakshmi upright, and despite her blurred vision she decided to make a move. Lakshmi thrusted her body toward the closed doors, just as the room dropped, and the elevator began carrying the trio downstairs.

The male guard slammed into the doors as Lakshmi flipped on top of him. Grunts echoed from both, as the female guard yelled out at them.

Lakshmi flailed her arms, reaching for anything, unable to see clearly in the monochromatic elevator. The now-empty seat lurched down at the base of the elevator doors as Lakshmi was pushed up by the male guard. A crunching sound erupted from below her and a spray of blood spit across Lakshmi’s face. The male guard screamed as he was hammered by the weight of the seat.

The female guard yelled out too, this time in terror at her own actions. Rolling down off the man, Lakshmi pushed the seat back where it came from, cutting off the female guard’s scream mid-exhale. Lakshmi kept pushing, a squelching sound now coming from the woman until a series of cracks exploded from her and the seat lurched back again. Lakshmi crashed back with it, falling face first onto the floor and into a pool of blood.

Lakshmi scrambled, away from the seat and into a corner, where the male guard lay opposite her, whimpering.

Lakshmi sat soaked in blood, puke, and sweat, the world now a red-stained blur. She wiped the blood from her eyes to discover that her visual acuity was finally returning.

And suddenly she wished it wasn’t. The male guard lay in tears, pushed up into a corner, his arms covered in blood, and one of his legs abandoned by the elevator doors.

Lakshmi stared in horror at the limb, not daring to see what had happened to the other guard. And then the doors opened and the one-legged guard opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. He tipped over, mouth agape, lost to shock.

Lakshmi sat frozen until finally she peeled herself off the floor, strands of blood still connecting her to the glossy metal. Her senses all returned to her, she poked her head out of the elevator. With nobody in sight, she exited, taking slow, squelching steps past room after room until she found a dead end with a pair of huge double doors. Lakshmi turned to retreat, but the double doors flew open and a slight man greeted her.

“Ms. Sharma, good evening. Oh…” The man was thrown by the state of her being, but continued nonetheless with a frown now displacing the cheery professionalism of his initial words. “Captain Chong has been waiting for you to start the meeting. If you would please take a seat, the gathered members of the new board can begin speaking on the terms of how to quell this rebellion against the motherland.”

Mendelsohn had done it then. Europa and Enceladus were going independent of Earth and they were going to do it with violence.

Lakshmi stepped into the room, confused and exhausted, but willing to do what was necessary to stop the war.

i. december 1, 20XX

It's quiet here, most of the time. Peaceful. Even in the later hours of the afternoon there exists only the occasional shuffle and murmur of my fellow guardsman -- each repetition becoming less and less coherent as the night falls -- and more often than not, I find myself nodding only out of habit rather than understanding. Murmur. Nod. Murmur. Nod. A loud sip of coffee, and a reciprocating nod before I can stop myself. Here, in this barren, monochromatic, endless stretch of tundra, there exists only the shifting skies and routine patrols to look forward to. And then there are, of course, the monthly rations and supplies sent by the empire, the red and yellow sleds emblazoning themselves shamelessly against the snow. I would imagine the whole outpost to be nearly colorless without them. Noiseless, too. It is said too often that the lack of nearby cities or centers -- or much of anything, for that matter -- stagnate the hearts and mouths of the men and women here, leave the recruits of our outpost wordless, and dissipate the pleasures of food and drink and company as quickly as the influxes of new faces. This, I cannot disagree with. We of the forty-fourth outpost are a humbled and needed people, a refuge to those unable to go directly to the front lines or remain useless at home, and I cannot blame the less conversational of us for being so.

The canteen of coffee sits cold between my thinly gloved fingers, the warmth of its contents having long lost themselves to the frigid air. I shiver, almost reaching for the note tucked into my breast -- before casting a quick, cautious glance to the man seated adjacent to my post.

He hasn't seen anything. Or if he has, he either hasn't bothered to say anything about it or hasn't deemed it important. There are still strict uniform policies here, after all, in spite of the general laxness. While we lookouts are offered greater freedom in selecting our outerwear in comparison to the other officers -- as evidenced by this redheaded man's similarly colored scarf and gloves -- the prohibition of free floating and hidden objects beneath our uniforms still applies, as do the punishments and confiscations to go along with them. And my partner, this lanky, freckled, mumbling apology of a man, would no doubt submit to them before I could ever have the chance to keep the note. Couldn't risk that. He's staring forward at the moment, brilliant scarf masking the freckled nose and cheeks beneath the material, and I sigh inaudibly.

It takes me a moment to realize he's actually speaking.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." I apologize quickly, leaning a little closer in his direction. "Could you repeat that?"

I can almost see the beginnings of his temples blend into the scarf. He stammers incomprehensibly for the briefest of seconds, eyes hesitantly darting between mine and his pockets at least four times, before finally removing his hands from his person and gesturing towards me. An offer of some sort. I shake my head, not quite understanding. He glances down again. Another moment or two of contemplation -- or embarrassment, at this point it could be nearly anything -- and he pulls off the thick crimson pair of gloves, pushes the extra wool away from his mouth. The lined fabric presses warmly against my fingers.

He smiles sheepishly, unsure of what to say. "Y-you, um --" He coughs a little. Clears his throat a little unsuccessfully before beginning again. "You looked cold," he admits, using a free hand to play with the edge of his scarf. "I-I didn't want you to be."

He stares expectantly at me, in equal parts of both nervousness and shyness. I stare back, albeit out of surprise at having heard his voice for the first time. My smaller hands slide perfectly into the thicker gloves, welcoming the transferred heat, and I return his bashful smile with one of my own. His freckles nearly glow at that.

I realize that this young man should have a name.

ii. december 12, 20XX

His friends would call him Rudy, if he had friends. For the most part, the officers around here call him Rodrick, "boy", and "you over there", and that works just as fine. He's actually only several years younger than I am in spite of his appearance, having just turned twenty in the past month, and he's so embarrassed by his thick, sing-song accent among the northerners at the base that he finds it easier to remain silent. The stammer is more of a nervous habit. And with him standing nearly a head taller than I do, the physical aspects of our record-keeping and shelving duties have never been easier. He tells me twice over breakfast that I've been the first to talk to him so familiarly at the base -- the first to actually tell me, the second to try to correct the statement -- and his youthful self-consciousness is so refreshing that I can't help but laugh into my coffee. He's a good kid. Big family, no money, almost no schooling, but with a decent upbringing. Rudy has two brothers and three sisters to take care of when he gets sent back, and when he gets his paycheck after the four-year contract, he says he'll use it to put the youngest, Ruby, through college. The stammer disappears when he talks about them. We sit so long at the table that the porridge goes cold.

He asks, one day, if I have anyone waiting for me back home.

I can feel the note nearly throbbing against my chest. His cheeks are a little more flushed than usual today at our post, the frosty air kissing our exposed skin with each gust of wind, and I register too late than I've been staring at him longer than necessary. A second or two too long, a moment's give into what could or should be the answer. Rudy glances away almost immediately, features indiscernible. Mutters an apology to hang in the space between us. And then there's the question tugging at the edge of my mind -- if I really do or don't have anyone waiting for me, if the note should mean much of anything out here, if deciding to reciprocate the contents of the note at all should change how I answer this young man's question -- and again I'm reaching for the slip of paper tucked into my breast, wondering. If Rudy notices, he doesn't mention it. I let the question slip into the gust of wind, give a small chuckle, and tell him that I don't, not really.

The relief on his face is genuine. I spend the next two shifts describing the floating spires and sky-bridges of my home city -- pushing away the memories of dark-haired men and letters, crowded trains and old, hand-me-down rings -- and keep Rudy preoccupied enough not to ask anything further. Not to engross my thoughts with anything more than what matters, anything more than our civic duties at the base to protect the empire. The imminent war is priority, I'm aware. The complexities of relationships could be handled later.

I tell myself this more often than I should.

iii. december 17, 20XX

The pen sits too heavy between my fingers, at times. I twist the ring over and over again in the light as I stare at the creamy page, still blank. Still unmarred with what would surely be scribbled and crossed-out lines of apologies and explanations alike. I'd planned exactly one hour to write at least half a page, another thirty minutes afterwards for editing, and all I could come up with were flimsy, dismissive excuses for why I hadn't replied in weeks. My skin was too dusky for the color of the metal, I'd thought of penning at first. How could I ever expect to become a proper married woman with something like that? The looming threat of war would force him into the draft and there wouldn't be a point. My duty was to the empire, not the house. I couldn't possibly afford to splurge on a dress, much less a ceremony. A hurried exchange of a letter on a train was no way to propose.

In the end, the page sits as perfect and unmarked as the minute I'd taken it out. I can't bring myself to do it.

iv. december 22, 20XX

The attendees of the assembly are as fidgety and impatient as I'd expected them to be. No visits to home allowed just yet, in spite of the general dormancy of the rebellion over the past months. The supervisor's voice booms over us in the speakerphone, listing telltale signs of attacks to the base, possible disturbances, and other required topics, such as the correct manner to alerting the central controls of the base in case of emergency. A typical gathering, in other words. After giving a quick glance to the officers around me -- three out of the four are sleeping, the odd one out much too invested to notice much of anything -- I mimic the supervisor's face at Rudy, who, surprisingly, seems just as attentive. He mimics it back, grinning.

v. december 24, 20XX

The base is strung alight with celebration, and I welcome the hushed quiet of the night with gratitude. The note and ring remain unreciprocated against my breast; the page and pen remain untouched. But I don't bother dwelling on it now. The guards on shift are allowed cups of eggnog and hot chocolate as part of the Christmas Eve festivities, along with small parcels of shortbread and chocolate, and I chew on a particularly buttery biscuit as I gaze absentmindedly into the tundra. Rudy takes small, short sips of piping hot chocolate beside me. Makes small, out-of-the-blue conversation here and there: How did your family celebrate Christmas, growing up? What was it like here? Does it always snow during the holidays? Where did they find all the rations for this sort of stuff?

Then, unexpectedly: "What's that plant hanging above us?"

I turn fully towards him for the first time of the night before looking up, curious. And, for once, find heat rising to my face for reasons other than the bitter cold. "Mistletoe," I explain, doing my best to brush off an intrusive thought. "Some prankster must've put it up there."

"Oh?"

"You're supposed to kiss under it," I say too quickly, thankful for the darkness. "Just ignore it."

But his mouth is warm and sweet and briefly pressed against mine all of a sudden, refusing my suggestion, and I could care less about the fact. He pulls away and grins bashfully down at me, an apology already forming on his tongue. I steal the words before they can leave his lips.

I decide, as I secretly allow the note and ring to fall a good several stories to the ice below, that shortbread and hot chocolate make a very, very good combination.

vi. december 25, 20XX

I hadn't seen it coming. Never would I have been able to see it coming. It's quiet here, with half the base dead and the other captured by the rebel forces, and I can't help but glare at the redheaded, boy-faced traitor standing before me. He hadn't allowed me to get hurt -- something of our friendship had meant something, apparently -- but the betrayal stings all the same, stabs just as deep. There's something indiscernible in his expression as he reads the proposal over and over again, the worn paper giving easily to his blood-stained fingers. Disappointed, almost. And then I'm being hauled up by my restraints onto the rebel ship, our shared gaze broken by the movement of my fellow prisoners, and he's barely casting a glance into the closing doors to acknowledge me.

He's holding the ring so tightly it's as if he wants to crush it.

   Indigo once spanned the skies from dusk to dawn. It brightened ever so lightly when the morning came despite the planet’s three suns. At least, that was how the elders described it until the night of the fiery sky. The current generation rarely saw one of those suns through the elusive wisp of a black cloud. They spoke of heavens blackened by the flames trailing the giant metal insects screaming to the surface. Many had never heard these legends, believing their lives always included their oppressors. Then again, upon arrival, the visitors almost entirely eradicated the indigenous population.

  The beings who spilled out of the blazing bug when it landed swept the natural resistance under the rug. Each uprising was mercilessly stomped flat so none could follow in those footsteps. As far as the public knew, such things never happened. Klik was one of the few who knew about revolution firsthand.

   Human. Klik heard them use that term in an effort to differentiate themselves from the locals. They said it to themselves more than those they repeatedly struck to the same effect with whatever blunt instrument was in hand. Where humans bled red, Klik’s people bled blue. Just another example of that species’ cruelty if you asked him. The two races were easily distinguishable from one another if you looked. Klik knew the term they used when they thought his people were out of earshot. The humans called them bugs.

   Klik had seen it all in action when his father led a great failure of a revolution that had cost the man his life. There was no way he was going to repeat those mistakes. He would restore his family and his people’s honour if it was the last thing he did. Already, unlike his father, Klik had a secret weapon none before him did.

  Deep within the underground catacombs where humanity had forced them, they kept a man. Something about him had made him different to Klik from the moment they stole him away from his people like they had stolen everything from the planet’s inhabitants. By any measure, he was a small man, yet he offered no resistance against his captors’ jabs and strikes. Klik’s brethren were unimpressed by the man’s silence, resolving to heavy blows instead of words. They were more curious about whether or not their prisoner’s blood was blue.

  Klik chatters his mandibles to one of the guards placed on the man’s door. The guard who steps aside to let him in mumbles something under his breath about wasted time. A growing number among them were beginning to voice impatience. It was slightly worrying that some felt emboldened to say it in his presence. He hoped to make his move before any overzealous fool took an eager step to set the plan back.

  Once inside, he learned he was already too late. Red covered the walls and floor around the crumpled heap that had been Klik’s hope. He spun around just in time to catch the flash as the mumbling guard fired at him. As he fell, Klik remembered his father’s glassy stare when he too met his fate.

Alec stood on the bridge of the fleet command ship trying to look defiant, but suspected that he looked just as nervous as he felt. He couldn’t help his wandering thoughts; he wasn’t a military commander after all, he was a colony administrator who had read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War for a class in college. But he was all they had, and he refused to let them down.

“Dek, get me a fleet check,” Alec ordered. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the thought that their small, ragtag group of refitted cargo vessels could be considered a fleet.

After a few moments, Dek spoke. “All ships in position, and weapons prepped. Well, prepared as possible, I guess.”

“It’s a fair point, Dek.” Alec turned to see Clint, his engineer, on a view screen. “The repurposed mining lasers are powerful, but these old fusion reactors are going to have a hard time powering them and the engines at the same time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll try to sit still while we shoot.”

“Provided a plasma conduit doesn’t blow first. These cargo haulers weren’t haulers weren’t built for speed,” Clint chuckled.

“You’re a regular ray of sunshine, Clint.” Alec pressed a key, and the view screen winked off.

Dek’s instruments flashed. “We’re approaching Earth’s outer defense grid. Contact with attack drones estimated in eight minutes.”

“Alright everybody, stay calm,” Alec ordered, silently praying he’d be able to stay calm himself. “This is what we’ve practiced for. Weapons stations, power up the lasers. All scanners set for maximum gain.” Alec sighed. “Dek, open a commlink to the fleet.”

Dek pressed some keys. “You’re on, High Commander. We’re all ears.”

Alec took a deep breath. “Alright, this is it. As soon as we fire on those defensive drones, there’s no going back. Make no mistake, we’re in for a hard fight. Our ships are old cargo haulers with crude armor plates bolted to the outer hull. Our weapons are repurposed laser drills. Our enemies have us outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outgunned. And we will not back down. The tyrants of Earth gone too far. They’ve demanded too much from us, and ignored our rights. They’ve increased our quotas while sending fewer supplies, and treated us like second class citizens. And they think that just because we were born in the asteroid mining colonies, that we won’t fight back. Today is the day we prove them wrong. And though the odds are stacked against us, we have our resolve. We stand today as one, and in righteous fury we will fight. And we will fight until we win or die. And we will do so together!”

For a moment, Alec thought that the speakers on the bridge were malfunctioning, until he realized that the static he was hearing came from hundreds of people cheering aboard the other ships. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as Dek closed the communique; he’d practiced that speech a hundred times.

“Sir, we’ve breached the outer defensive perimeter.”

“How many drones on the scanner?” Alec asked.

There was a pregnant pause. “None.”

Alec whirled around. “None? Really?” He strode to Dek’s console and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were no ships displayed on the scanner. “Wait, what’s that?”

“Some sort of debris field, I think,” Dek replied. He adjusted the controls. “It’s debris, all right. Metallurgy confirms that the components are consistent with unmanned drones.”

“Drones?” Alec asked. “More than one?”

“At least five. I’ve confirmed with the other ships. No contact yet, but more debris fields are scatter throughout the area.”

“Alright, signal the fleet. Let’s push forward, cautiously.” An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Alec’s stomach. He could sense the same trepidation from his crew.

Twenty minutes later, the big blue orb that was Earth loomed on the main view screen. “Still no contact?”

“No,” Dek said. “No ships, no communications.”

“What about the satellite network? There should be several communication and defensive satellites in orbit, where are they?”

“Gone. But I’m picking up more debris fields.” A beep sounded from the console. “Wait, there’s something coming up from the planet.”

Alec turned toward the screen, and watched as an enormous ship lifted itself from Earth. “What type of ship is that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Scanners can’t penetrate the hull, sir. There’s some sort of energy field blocking them.” The strange ship paused for a few seconds, as if considering them, before Dek continued: “Sir, my instruments have gone haywire! Gravitational readings have flown through the roof!” The ship on the screen seemed to stretch before vanishing in a flash of light. Silence enveloped the bridge for a split second before a beeping shook them back to reality.

“Dek, what’s happening?”

“Several ships have powered up their lasers. Comm traffic is a little hectic.”

“Signal all ships to stand down,” Alec said. “Have everyone calm down before someone does something we’ll all regret.” Dek tapped some commands, then nodded. The beeping stopped. “Good. Now let’s figure out what’s going on. I want a full scan of Earth. I want a population estimate, and try to find some sort of signal.”

“On it.” There was a tense moment as Dek worked. What the hell is going on down there? Alec wondered. “Sir, scans indicate about eight billion life forms.”

“Eight billion? It should be closer to eleven.”

“It doesn’t stop there. At least a quarter of the life forms aren’t human.”

A gasp worked its way through the bridge as everyone suddenly realized what had happened. Alec sat heavily in his chair. In a rush of horrible realization, he knew what had happened. “It all makes sense. The demand for more resources. The withholding of provisions. Earth wasn’t oppressing us. They were fighting a war.”

“It looks like they lost,” Dek said quietly.

Alec had hated the people of Earth all his life. But, suddenly, it didn’t matter. They were human, like him. And they need help. He stood. “Dek. Signal the other ships to form a defensive perimeter. I also want maximum scan of the surface, I need to know everything that’s going on down there. Engineering, power up the weapons. I expect we’ll have hostiles coming at us any second.”

The bridge exploded into action. Determination mixed with fear, and Alec was glad that determination was winning out. Because his rebellion had just become a rescue mission.

I will never forget the day Rancor scaled the summit of Olympus Mons. Our Martian sun, though smaller and dimmer than the shining brilliance of Earth, tenderely kissed the horizon and radiated the simmering red that would become so famous.

Or do we dance with infamy? Do our feet hit the floor with ill-intent? It was Rancor, standing against that radiant red sky, who planted our flag on the top of our Martian world. It was Rancor, his breath fogging the glass of his Earth-made helmet, that gazed into the billowing black smoke of the early terraformers and saw something more than a place for Earth to pillage without thought or consequence. I remember that he turned to me and his black eyes flared with the fiery reflection of that red sky, and I stood in bewildered awe before the first true Martian. Not Hadfield, whose Earth boots were the first to be dusted red by our Martian clay. Not Plyskov, whose terraforming giants first drilled into our Martian bedrock and darkened the sky.

No, it was Rancor, who on the summit of Olympus Mons screamed at the blue jewel in the sky and declared this planet for us, demanded those on Earth that Mars was no longer a thing to be used and discarded so that they may live out their greedy lives. That we, the first Martians, held more value and worth than we had ever been afforded.

When we can back down from the mountain, he gathered us under that red sky. The great Rancor stood apart, the low Martian sun throwing his body into an imposing silhouette, and when he spoke his voice cut through the Martian air like the stinging whiptails that split his back apart when he tried to save his father. As he gazed at the throngs of people standing before him it seemed to us as if he looked into each person, saw the turmoil swirling beneath the surface and with each word he raised us up out of the muck.

"Their best and brightest tore through this land, our land!

*OUR LAND!* We called back to him and pounded our fists against our suits in unison, the Rancor way. The Martian way.

"They scoured and penetrated the heart of this planet, our planet!"

*OUR PLANET*

"Do we not toil? Do we not sweat, and bleed, and ache, and bend, and break? We do not break for them! We do not bleed for them! We but break for her, our Mars!"

*OUR MARS!*

"We are for us, for our wives and daughters, our husbands and sons, our mothers and fathers, our minds, our hearts!"

*OUR HEARTS!*

"Yet we are placid, we are cowering, we are at the mercy of Earth, and for what? Why do we betray the very thing that makes us who we are? For food? For water? For oxygen? We beg and scrape and snivel for what no human should ever have to beg and scrape and snivel for! Are you Earthlings?"

*NO!*

"Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?"

*WE ARE MARTIAN!*

"Then let us be at their mercy, NO MORE!"

And with that Rancor the First, the True, the Great, tore off his helmet and drew Martain breath.

Our world stopped. We stood there as Rancor laughed and cried, taking in the Martian air. They lied to us. Trapped us in their prisons of steel and glass. He stripped off his Earth-made suit and with it any remnant of loyalty to the blue jewel in the sky.

I knew, there and then, as red Martian dust swirled around him and the hundreds of thousands that stood around me stripped off their suits and helmets, that freedom had come to Mars.

Our war with Earth had begun.

I.

“Log?” asked Captain Dekk.

“It’s up to date,” his copilot, Sten, replied.

“Good.” Dekk looked out of the massive front window of his command ship. It was a small ship, but quite effective for space travel. Everyone recognized it for its brilliant red coloration and its marking on the side proudly bearing the national flag, along with the command star and the symbol of the International Space Station.

Sten started reading aloud. “Left the Space Station two days ago, at 3:00, full fuel and supplied with food enough to last us eight days. Our mission was to investigate the heat readings closer to the sun in our own system: coordinates 370, 1040, 27 in standard units.

’Yesterday, 8:00: Narrowing in on heat readings. Our scopes recognize the readings are being produced by a ship, not unlike our own. Fuel at 95% and food still plentiful.

’Today, 8:00: Within 300 units of heat readings, scopes identified life forms. Identified ship is of a different make then our own. Expected approach at 10:00 today. Fuel at 88%, food supplies about 3/4 left.”

“Excellent,” Captain Dekk said. “And now it is 9:00, and the ship can be seen with visual scopes. Life forms have been confirmed. And they’re not like us. They’re aliens.” He adjusted some dials on the control board in front of him. “I do hope they are not aggressive. A space war is the last thing we need, our government is already unstable from the last combat.”

“And we are approaching a planet,” Sten commented. “Not reddish or grayish, and not gaseous, as most exterior planets are, but blue. I am detecting water in the liquid state on the planets’ surface.”

“Well, we won’t land on the planet. We were assigned only to investigate the ship.”

“Right.”

Sten went over to the computer screen, where it showed their ship’s screen relative to the other ship. He noticed something different.

“Captain, you said it would take us about an hour to reach the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Were almost halfway there, in ten minutes.”

Dekk spun his chair around and looked at the screen.

“You’re right! And we’re still traveling the same speed. That can only mean one thing.”

“What?”

“The ship is coming to us!”

II.

Commander Jen piloted his ship at near maximum speed towards the foreign object. His ship, one of the guards for the International Space Station, was painted blue, and was a sleek, large ship, designed for utility, speed, and firepower.

Jen’s copilot, Tel, walked into the bridge room. “How close are we?” He asked the commander.

“Pretty close. And the unidentified object is coming towards us, which speeds things up a bit.” He adjusted the scope and the engine dial, and he also pushed the button that warmed up the main cannons. “I’m detecting life forms. If they’re friendly, we can try to communicate, maybe capture them for analysis, and if they’re hostile, we’ll fry them off the map.” He patted the weapons board.

They waited in silence, watching the ships draw closer to each other on the screen.

"I hope they aren't wanting to fight us," Tel said. "However superior our weaponry is, since we rebelled, we're still too small to fight off major threats."

"Well, we do have our own colony," Jen replied. "But perhaps if we were fighting someone that was a threat to our home planet as well, they would temporarily truce with us until we fought them off."

“Are we going to try to board the ship?” Tel abruptly changed the subject.

“If they’ll let us. Prepare the harpoons and alert our men for possible action.”

Tel went quickly out of the room. Just then, Jen saw a light flashing on the receiver. He picked it up.

He heard an indecipherable combination of vibrations and clicks. Although it seemed orderly, there was no telling what it said, or even if it was a message at all.

“Tel! Come quick!” he beckoned.

Tel came running back into the room. “What is it?”

“That’s my question to you,” Jen said, and handed over the receiver.

Tel listened intently. “I can’t make anything out of it,” he finally said.

“Maybe the aliens are trying to contact us. We should try to talk back to them.”

“I doubt it will help,” answered Tel, but even so he talked through the receiver:

“Hello? We wish to make contact. If you can understand us, try to return an answer.”

There was a long pause. Then an answer was returned, fuzzy and warped:

“Hello? We…contact. Understand…we make answer.”

“What can it mean?” Tel exclaimed. They understand our language?”

Tel spoke again: “We wish only to discover your intentions. We do not mean to harm you.”

A voice spoke back, a little clearer: “We return discover…intentions. Do not…harm us.”

“It doesn’t make sense!” Tel exclaimed.

A light flashed on the ceiling. “We’re approaching the ship. Launch the harpoons,” Jen told Tel.

“But…”

“Just do it!”

Tel launched the harpoons, which floated swiftly through space for about a mile, and attached to the other ship. Jen’s ship swung around, and the two ships were locked in a gentle spinning motion as they both orbited the planet.

“I’m receiving a life scan,” Jen said. “It will take a few minutes, but we can then have an analysis of the aliens’ body structure.”

A voice was heard over the receiver: “You…harm us.”

“No,” Tel replied. “We are attaching the ships so that we will not float away. We will not board your ship, unless you let us or if we have to.”

“Do not attaching…us. You harm board…let us away.”

“Jen!” Tel cried. “They understand our language! They’re copying every word that I'm saying!”

“Just a minute,” Jen answered. “The life readings almost done.” And then he leaped back from his chair and cried, “Save us!”

On the screen was a creature of horrific structure. It’s body was a solid, black orb, about two feet in diameter, and it had almost a hundred glowing green tentacles protruding from it’s body on all sides! It used these tentacles to rotate, to stand, to control the ship, and to move around.

“Aliens! I never expected them to look like this! How can they survive? It looks like an enormous bacteria!”

“What do we do?” Tel asked.

“Keep talking,” Jen replied. “Perhaps if we can keep them calm, we can reel in the harpoons and capture them.”

“But…”

“Do it!”

Tel said over the speaker: “Please stay calm. We will not harm you.”

“Please…stay away. You board…we harm.”

So the deadly debate continued, as the two ships danced around each other, attached only by three thin cables, orbiting the massive blue planet.

III.

“I’m beginning to understand the essence of their language,” Captain Dekk said coolly. “Not the words, of course, but I can understand what they mean. The same way I can understand you without actually being next to you. Mental communication.”

“I think they mean to hurt us,” Sten said nervously.

The voice from the other ship spoke again. Sten and Dekk could not understand the words, but this is what they said:

“If you harm us, we will harm you.”

“I think they mean to return harm if we harm them,” Dekk said. “I’ll keep talking. You load the gun. It’s time to go on the offensive.”

Dekk replied, with some difficulty: “If…you board, we harm you. Do not attaching. Do not attaching.”

“I think I told them to back off,” Captain Dekk said. “Sten, fire the blaster, but don’t hit the ship.”

A pale blue streak of laser shot past the blue ship on the scanner.

Quickly the voice spoke: “We will detach the harpoons if you come with us. Otherwise: we attack.”

From the blue ship to the red ship came a burst of fire and a rain of metal objects. Dekk’s ship vibrated with the impact.

“No,” Dekk replied to the voice. “Sten, fire at the ship.”

The blue bolt hit the ship with deadly accuracy, causing the whole ship to be shocked with electric power. Soon after, the harpoons detached.

“We not…come,” Dekk said. “If you not go, we…attack.”

Dekk could only use the words he heard them use, but he seemed to make his point clear. The voice spoke again:

“We will go back to our planet if you go back to yours. We will not harm you.”

“Wait… you mean they actually live on the planet?” Dekk asked Sten.

“It looks like it,” Sten replied. “Quick, answer them.”

Dekk replied to the voice: “We go back. We not harm. You go. Let us go.”

“Good,” the voice replied. “And if you come back, you will die. We have more ships. We do not live on the planet. We live in a space station above the planet. We are a rebellion. But if we call the planet for more ships, they will truce with us until you are destroyed.”

“We have…more ships,” Dekk replied. “We go.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

The ships sped away from each other into the empty darkness, the blue ship, towards their planet, the red ship, towards their space station.

“That was close!” Dekk said. “I’m surprised we didn’t start a war on the spot!” He adjusted one of the dials with a green tentacle.

“But it explains a lot,” Sten added. “We haven’t had an encounter with other aliens because we have been looking in the wrong place! The blue ship people- they have been looking for us among other planets, because that is where they live. How do they survive in such powerful gravity?”

“And we have been looking for them among the asteroids all this time! We should have known!”

“But I’m glad it’s over, and that no harm came of it,” Sten said. “What course shall we set?”

“Back to our International Space Station, near asteroid 11657K.”

“Very well.”

“By the way, did we ever get a reading on the aliens’ body structure?” Captain Dekk asked.

“As a matter of fact, we did. I’ll project it on the main screen.”

Dekk leaped out of his chair. “Save us!”

On the screen was an alien of horrific structure. The whole alien was a brownish hue. It had five jointed appendages, two sets sticking down, one of the sets touching the ground, while the other set dangled in the air, and a round fifth appendage sticking straight up in the air, with several holes and knobs on it, and a fluffy object on the top. The lower four appendages had five knobs each protruding out of the ends.

“Aliens! I never expected them to look like this!” Dekk cried.

“It’s so strange! How could they survive?” Sten added. “Without tentacles, how do they absorb food, like we do? How do they even move around? They must by very clumsy creatures.”

But after Dekk got over the shock, he decided it would be best to bring the information to the government of his asteroid colony as soon as possible, so he altered his course.

Humans would always be the aliens to him.

He never really considered what it looked like, 3 thousand years of war. 3 thousand years of death by unnatural causes, a life expectancy of 37 for men and 39 for women. Flicking through history books he could see the trends of life expectancy and how they correlated to wars, from the early ages of humanity where it was predicted to be around 40, all the way to a slightly varying peak of 120 to 130, which was supposedly but never proved to be down to experimental drugs prolonging or shortening life. From that grand age, to stagnate for 1 thousand years, but then to drop to below 50 in 100 years, 2 thousand years of progression destroyed in 1/20th of that time.

He was 74 today, twice what the expected was for a male human now, but half of the expected from 3 thousand years ago. A commissar to the imperial cause, a soldier to the King and Queen, a servant of an empire, the order of importance of these mattered not to him, for he wanted it all to end, and if it was to be done by force then that was how he would do it. "Crush the rebel men underfoot, tear down their emplacements, and exterminate the populace of ECXIV" That was his mission assigned to him by the King personally, in those exact words.

It was a wondrous thing to him, how he thought of these things every time he went into the warzone that was once ECXIV, perhaps it showed some past humanity left in him, his compassion for his ancestors, but perhaps his vile disgust towards his own generation and those that will follow. However, it is a trait of humans to fear death in their most primitive instincts, drilled out of him and his fellow soldiers by their millions.

A technological difference was apparent and very clearly shown by the gear worn by either sides of the conflict, the imperial soldiers would wear heavy body armour or mechanised suits of nigh on impenetrable poly-armours, whereas the rebel fighters would wear what they could scrape together or old outdated armour, the occasional elite unit would be well armed, but their quantity was small comparatively. Perhaps this would signal the war coming to an end, and the inevitable destruction of the populace of ECXIV.

As the lightweight poly-armour fastened to his chest, arms, and legs he glanced over towards the troops he was dropping with today, clearly hardened veterans, though maybe not even out of their 20's yet, and nor would they make it out of them in the most part, as he rolled his eyes round the room he felt the familiar slight pain of the chest piece running its electrical checks through the ports in his body and then it sharply fastening into place ensuring no air gaps that could depressurise the suit. Slowly doing a limb check with basic movements the commissar was satisfied with the fit and reached for his personalised helmet, often considered a relic with its gold leaf pattern covering across the cheeks, but also recognised among both imperial and rebel soldiers for its crest upon the forehead signalling his position, it resulted in some fools who would challenge him, and other fools who would run from him.

The system check was quick as it only checked for basic functions upfront and passive functions in the background, the visor dropped and sealed in place bringing up the yellow tinted display, happy with his suit he moved to the armoury for weaponry. A knife, a handgun, and his own personal rifle, battle-scarred and chipped from countless combats, but equipped with an old style X717 scope which he was more than comfortable to look through unlike many others who relied upon the automatic aim of their suits and focus systems, offering a small prayer to the royalty he boarded the SCZ dropship and fastened himself to the transport area in preparation for the heavy cannon fire they would encounter on the way down.

The SCZ hurtled towards ECXIV from the "Lords Prayer" King class battleship, and much to the commissar and his fellow troops surprise there was seemingly no anti-spacecraft fire, however in this singular moment explosions erupted around them, quickly assessing that the rebels had waited for that lapse in guard the commissar grimaced as the SCZ shunted sideways and collided with another ship, the hull was torn and 3 suits were torn from their harnesses, they would live if they weren't hit and soon be picked up by a retrieval ship after astro-combat subsided once the raid party landed, as the SCZ approached the DZ it was hit directly and the front end was blown clear of the rest of the hull, killing both pilots instantly, the rest of the ship hull spiralled and plummeted towards the ground. "RELEASE!" Screamed the commissar as he ripped his harness off commanding his fellow troops to do the same, he then leapt from the hole previously made in the hull moments before the wreck plunged into the ground and exploded in a rebel minefield not cleared for landing, as he landed his suit protected him from most of the impact but the left arm which he had used to soften the landing was malfunctioning and there was an air leak in a crack made in the breastplate, he staggered to his feet reeling from the impact and quickly assessed his surroundings, briefly doing a radar check for his unit, only 6 of the 18 original suits responded and they quickly headed to a central location. Upon reuniting the unit quickly recorded minor damage and lacking in combat ability from usual standards, their ability from a full size unit was already dropped by 66%, and the damage sustained incurred a further 15% reduction from the remaining suits damage status reports. Despite this the commissar decided to push on with their mission to engage frontline enemy troops and break through the defensive line, so the foot-troops can march through their broken lines.The 6 suits moved quickly up towards the peak of a nearby hill to overlook and scan for weak points in the defence, upon reaching the top the rapid realisation of the continued competence of the rebel commanders showed through with few if any weak points that would require immeasurable accuracy and precision to penetrate and cause any serious damage without heavy casualties, which they already couldn't afford with their few and damaged suits. The commissar ordered the troops to load full explosive ammo and radioed for an artillery strike from the "Lords Prayer" He was denied the strike due to his proximity to the co-ordinates, "Enter code R:C:6029" he spoke into the radio, after a pause the reply came through and the strike was confirmed. Upon this he ordered 3 of the suits to wait on the hill and dig small holes to shield from the shockwave, while he and the other 2 would head towards a nearby bunker towards the lower part of the hill on the rebel side, sprinting down they quickly broke the weak and damaged walls to use as a small shield from the debris that would come from the strike. Moments later the first blast hit the rebel location sending debris flying, the second disintegrated a tank and the men beside it, continuous shelling resulted in a much weaker target with fewer walls and no armoured targets that the suits would struggle to deal with.

Once the shelling stopped he ordered the suits to charge and the 3 on the hill to provide heavy long range explosive cover fire, which was firmly granted as explosive fire ripped into the rebels who tried to fire upon the advancing suits. They reached close fire combat and as the commissar rounded the first corner through a doorway he was shot in the shoulder by a rebel, his suit compensated the rebound and within less than a second he was aimed and took his shot into the rebel blowing his insides onto the wall behind with his small explosive anti-infantry round. They were rapidly moving from room to room shrugging off the occasional shot and killing all who stood in their way, but as they approached the next guarded building a large calibre shot hit the suit on the commissars left and pierced the face visor killing the occupant, before raising his gun to return fire the commissar was hit in the chest and knocked backwards stumbling to the ground, he was winded from the impact so took a second to realise where the enemy was, fortunately he returned fire and shredded the portion of the building the shot had come from before he got hit again. Offering a quick prayer for the fallen suit he moved on quickly and regrouped with the other 4 remaining suits and systematically cleared through buildings in close proximity.

Unit MS:1048 took the point they targeted and allowed for the general infantry to follow through, the casualties on that one day accounted to 18,572 imperial soldiers, the day after would be the bloodiest of the battle for ECXIV, as it would be the one to crush the backbone of the rebel army and would result in a much shortened war on the rebels.

Dear past,

     I am sending this letter back in time. I shall spare the details of time travel, just let it be known that small inanimate objects can be sent through time. The past, however, cannot be changed; every time-jump is just a loop of sorts. Because of that, this message is somewhat in vain. There is nothing you can do to change the future. I guess I am writing this because I want somebody to know what happened to Earth, it makes me feel less lonely.

                                                                  ~~~

     I am one of the last people left standing on Earth. The Blue planet, as it has been fondly called, will be destroyed in just two short years. The Council of Solaris 1 has decided that Earth is more trouble than it is worth.

     Oh where did it go wrong? Earth was at an almost complete world peace in the year 2030. We had solved several of the greatest problems. At the top of the list were creating safe nuclear power, and permanently stopping terrorism. Oh of course our Utopia wasn't completely perfect, and some people grumbled. But our greatest thinkers put into action a good format for a Utopian world, and earth was at peace.

     I think the problems started anew when we decided to pursue space colonies. The idea itself wasn't a problem, but Dr. Stephen Johnson, the man who spearheaded the effort, decided to promote utter independence from earth. Almost nobody agreed with him to begin with. But after our solar system was completely settled and we started looking at inter-solar travel, the idea grew in popularity.

     In the year 2100, when the Pluto fleet, Star Hopper, set out for Proxima Centauri, a council convened between Earth and Mars. It was decided that Earth would no longer hold sway over other planets. Our solar system would be ruled planet to planet.

      Many people who had stayed on Earth were somewhat upset. I think they must have been jealous as well. Humans were exploring beyond our solar system while Earthlings seemingly sat at home. To make things more complicated, we were expanding beyond just 'race'. We now had an interplanetary discrepancy to face. The Utopian method Earth had employed, to great affect before, started to crumble.

      A murmur of war started somewhere on Earth, and soon there was a cry for vengeance. Why exactly, I'm not sure. Earthlings felt left behind.

     Mars, the closest planet, felt Earth's hate first. We had out grown atomic bombs at this point. Bombs of that kind were a sort of child's play. Not because their destructive power had gone down, humans simply had got that much meaner. We used Negative Matter. (Technically not truly "negative", it was thus named because of the black hole like destruction it left behind, or rather didn't leave behind.) The greatest atrocity to ever take place in our solar system happened on April 11, 2107. Earth launched two, eight megaton Negative Matter bombs at Mars. The first bomb sucked over half the planet into oblivion. The second one, hitting only seconds after, left just a ring of dust particles, and just like that, an entire planet disappeared. They had no warning, and nobody was confirmed to have escaped.

      The other five planets summoned an emergency council. Earth had amassed several space frigates, rigged for war, and was planning on regaining control of her lost subjects. The other planets declared immediate retaliation.

     Fourteen years of fighting ensued. Earth did not want to give up, and the other planets did not have the luxury of backing down. If they did, they would be ruled by a tyrant of a planet. At this point several million people fled Earth. Most were turned away, only 2.3 million were recorded as accepted on the planet Venus. The rest were doomed to wandering space. They had deserted their planet, and no others would take them. Another key thing that happened during this period was the creation of the Council of Solaris 1. So named because we had already started a massive colonization of several other solar systems. Most notably among them, Proxima Centauri.

     In the year 2121, Earth was beat into submission. All her natural resources had been spent, and water existed only in sparse locations near the poles. Earth was finished. The Council of Solaris 1 sent most of the inhabitants of Earth to prisons spread throughout the solar system. Only four hundred or so people were left on planet Earth.

     The year is currently 2125. The Council of Solaris 1 has condemned Earth to the same fate as Mars. I will be leaving Earth for the final time in just a few days.

     Earth's fate is a sad one, but I think it is a just one. Humans are spread out over fourteen solar systems in all now, and we have yet to find any other life. We have grown much bigger and farther then most people ever imagined and yet we are still tiny little blips on the map of the Milky Way Galaxy.

     Unfortunately this will be the one and only letter I can send. To put things back in time, you need to place them in the exact physical spot you want them to appear. We will be losing more then just a planet. We will be losing a portal to the past as well.

~Alice Ryans

by Jeremy Pasternak, Editor-in-Chief

     With the dissolution of the Mars Colony Project Security Command and the summary suspension of all those involved with academic investigation of all things Martian, one has to wonder what the Nations-of-Earth has in mind. Its liaison, Denton Walsh, who now calls himself Director, and who has offered most of those dismissed a paycheck asylum in the newly created and quite suspicious Prestige Society, is strangely reticent, which seems antithesis to a liaison.

     Equally enigmatic is this Prestige Society’s Mission Statement. This publication ponders the “New Mars Tradition of Excellence” and finds worrisome the implementation of “the best Earth has to offer.” Also worrisome, even ominous, are rhetoric such as “appropriate and comprehensive programming” and “successful reintegration.” Into what?

     This publication ponders the loss of due process at the colony management level. This Publication ponders Denton Walsh and his motives, which bask a good three to eighteen months away from any Earth-rescuing physical intervention.

     The heads of the different sections of the former Security Command should also ponder. They should ponder, while awaiting disembarking from Lagrange 1 to Earth, their own response. Or have they made their response, already silenced? At the very least, they should expect an explanation from the Nations-of-Earth directly, since its liaison is not forthcoming.

     And this publication—the Fourth Estate, the only remnant of checks and balances—demands this before our disenfranchised representatives leave Lagrange 1.

From Jeremy Pasternak, Editor-in-Chief, The Martian Colonist

     Everybody saw it.

     The afternoon of the publishing of the editorial, an official response came from Denton Walsh and the Prestige Society:

     Ponder this: this reply to your editorial is not for publication, as also applies to your entire publication, in perpetuity. Effective immediately. Report to Lagrange 1 at your earliest convenience.

--D. Walsh, Prestige Society.

     “Not for publication! Cease and desist?” the Editor-in-Chief shouted. He slammed his desk drawer shut and jammed a thumb into a clip. “Open new galley, titled, ‘Editorial Response to Editorial Response.’ And do publish Walsh’s response as a prelude. Begin content:

     “Mr. Walsh has single-handedly—”

     “Please stop, Mr. Pasternak,” the interactive floater instructed him. “Floater input is now closed.”

     “On whose authority?” he demanded, astonished.

     “It is authorized by the Prestige Society, under the provision of Martian Law.”

     “Martian Law? That’s a joke, right, on Martial Law? A bad pun at the very least.”

     “Nevertheless,” the floater read aloud to him.

     “Nevertheless? What have I told you about antomata using conjunctive adverbs?”

     “Nevertheless,” the floater continued, reading aloud to him and his small staff of half a dozen shocked copywriters and assistant editors, “it has the force of law.”

     “Anybody?” Pasternak asked his staff with urgency, searching the stunned silence for any help. “Anybody know if we can hardcopy print and distribute instead?”

     “How?” asked a woman layout editor.

     “By hand! By courier! By ferropods if we have to!”

     “Sorry, Mr. Pasternak, but printers are off –grid.”

     “Then by fucking crayons!”

     “That’s pretty funny, Mr. Pasternak,” said the automaton, it's Personality Accrual Circuits well versed in all things Pasternak.

     “You’re fired!” he screamed.

     “So are you, it seems, Mr. Pasternak,” the automaton replied calmly.

     “And I’m taking my personality back. Hand it over. De-accrue.”

     “Gladly,” the automaton said.

     “You could do a lot worse!” Pasternak fired back.

     The Colonist didn’t have to print a response. The sudden cessation of publication after the editorial was response enough. This response-by-omission, however, paled when compared with the declaration of “Martian Law” that filled the floater of anyone who tried to retrieve any Colonist content:

     With the financial rout suffered by all colonists due to the ṺberCollider failure, it is necessary to completely revise Earth’s goals for even being here; and in the interest of preventing a purpose-shock that would only amass further financial collapse, it is necessary to funnel all related interactions through the kindly prism of Martian Law, so decreed, effective immediately.

–the Prestige Society.

     Anyone disagreeing is free to present an opposing view for consideration. Only those views that are signed and which include the names of those with whom you have discussed your opposing view will be considered.

—Director Walsh. All for Mars and Mars for All!

Excerpt from ♂: The NOVEL