Mars had two major train lines: The Equatorial train line and the Meridional. Both lines ran the circumference of Mars and intersected at Mars’ equator and prime meridian. The first settlements on Mars were constructed at the equator because the largest supply of water was believed to be there beneath the surface. Massive automated augers drilled tunnels into the Martian rock, searching for water and precious metals that could be sold on the common markets by the corporations that funded the expeditions. Once Mars had become a generational colony, the lines grew out from the spaceport. As the augers drilled more territory, more colonists made their homes in the tunnels that were left behind. Eventually the lines and the settlements encircled the entire planet.
The crews of these mining expeditions made their homes in the tunnels left behind by the augurs. Smaller, initially informal, train lines were created that branched off the main line along the equator and the meridian. What started out as little more than spur lines for automated mine carts, turned into sprawls of maglev lines transporting commuters to the main lines. The spaceport sat atop the intersection of the two main lines and those two lines created local quadrants. New Santara was nestled in the North East of the spaceport. Each quadrant had its distinct flavor and characteristics.
The professional and corporate offices and housing were just below, and, nestled all around the spaceport in transparent cellulose domes. New Santara was only a ten-minute train ride from the hub so Ratama thought she would kill two birds with one stone. After reporting in to her superiors she would stop by her mother’s house to say hello and see Nenek. She even decided to fasten her hijab in the back with the karambit. It was a small, claw shaped knife with a ring at the bottom of its handle. When wound appropriately through the fabric of her hijab it would tighten and remain fixed, even if she were to run. Most of the women of New Santara and even some from the other sectors wore them, mostly for protection and sometimes for simple fashion. This one had been given to her by her father and so she felt it was an appropriate homecoming adornment.
The corporate sector was busy but not in the way the promenade was. Thousands of suited bodies marched regimentally past her. Some were looking at their holos to get the latest news feeds. Many were having tight jawed conversations about some business matter or other, not even bothering to look at one another. It was all very sterile compared to the “lived in” levels of Mars. These people were important, or liked to think they were. Yet they were transient. Temporary. From administrative executives to resource speculators, these were the true beneficiaries of Mars.
The sound of heels on rock, holo-notifications, and people talking over one another, was dizzying. As she approached the main vestibule of United Earth Authority HQ, all the sounds melted away into another noise. A mass of people had gathered outside. This group was much larger and far more raucous than the one she had seen in the spaceport. None of it looked terribly organized. Someone began chanting and then midway through that chant, someone else in another part of the crowd would start chanting something else entirely and those closest to them would join. Some people scattered about the crowd would jumble the chants so as to be unintelligible. It just ended up being a competition between chants despite having the same message. And it honestly did nothing to make their cause seem legitimate. Several of them had programmed their holos to project picket signs that said things like:
“Unincorporation is subjugation” or “Earth Scabbers Kill!”
As she passed by, a few of the protesters in the front ranks spit at the ground which caught her completely off guard. The she remembered that she was wearing a UEAF uniform. She knew that attempting to explain who she was would only invite the people to call her a traitor. Instead she continued into the vestibule, the other side of which was a thick glass door separating her from a row of security guards in riot gear. One of the motioned to a small scanner at the corner then pointed at his holo. Ratama nodded then passed her wrist over the scanner. The glass doors slid open and the guards let her pass. The interior of the corporate sector was completely different from the other parts of Mars. The basalt rock was completely covered over with sterile but patterned veneers and rather ordinary looking wall art. The floors were tiled in grey and yellow tandem herring bone that made her eyes hurt. A holographic directory was just inside the lobby which she accessed to get directions and it even pinged her when she was about to go down the wrong corridor. When she arrived at her commanding officer’s office, an adjutant was there to greet her.
“Major Yasunori will be with you in a moment ma’am.” It was the first time she’d been addressed as ma’am on Mars and she instantly but momentarily became drunk on her implied power.
When she entered Major Yasunori’s office she was surprised to see another man there. He was wearing an expensive suit and remained seated. It surprised her because she was expecting to receive orders from her commanding officer. Orders she expected to contain potentially sensitive information. Ratama set her briefcase on the table with a small interface facing up as was procedure. Then she saluted the major.
“Lieutenant Abbassi reporting for duty sir.”
Major Yasunori wasn’t terribly tall. Perhaps a few centimeters shorter than Ratama. He had black hair that had grown out from a crew cut but still within regs, and was swept forward with streaks of gray. His uniform was crisp but he seemed to hunch inside of it in a way that made it look slept in. He looked tired. Deep furrows around his mouth made him look older than he might otherwise be. Though he spoke with a deep and deliberate voice.
“Please.” He said, motioning toward the only unoccupied chair in the office.
“My orders sir.” Ratama pulled up the document on her holo then swiped over it with her hand in the direction of the Major’s desk.
“I see you requested DSE as an S2 intelligence officer. Command is trying something new based on incoming reports from current DSE missions. Mars has the largest spaceport in our system aside from Earth and it is the single largest destination for ore and water from the asteroid belt. You will be assigned to coordinating supply and logistics on Mars with sister installations in the system with the ultimate objective of creating a supply and resupply chain for Deep Space Exploration. Not just resources, but personnel.” The Major noticed her eyes darting between him and the man in the expensive suit with apprehension. “This is Mr. Wiley. He is your civilian counterpart andwill be coordinating efforts between Earth Incorporated Mars and Terran Fleet.”
“Are there any particular issues I should be aware of sir?”
“There is some pilferage by the locals.”
Ratama tightened her jaw.
“You mean Martians.”
Wiley wrinkled his face and exhaled with disbelief.
“Please Lieutenant. There are no Martians. Just Terrans living on Earth Incorporated Mars.”
“I am Martian.”
Wiley looked at the Major.
“Is this going to be a problem?”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here.” The words were not as emphatic as she hoped. Fighting the accumulated tension in her jaw, as well as the impulse to remain pleasant saw to that.
“We aren’t here to discuss the political nuances of the Earth-Mars relationship.” Ratama wanted to press the issue but realized her uniform precluded that. Yasunori stood up from his chair and placed his hand on the interface of the briefcase Ratama brought with her. It chimed and he motioned for her to do the same. When she did, the briefcase chimed again and then clicked and an internal latch popped it open. Yasunori turned the interior of the case toward her then pulled the top completely up. “Your sidearm, Lieutenant. It’s biometrically coded to you. Your access credentials and detailed orders have been uploaded to your biochip.”
Ratama reached into the case and removed her sidearm, a Fleet plasma pistol, and inserted it into the empty holster on her side. It was heavier than she expected. Not its weight. The act of arming herself. And the idea that she was standing on home soil and the possibility now existed that she might have to use it on another Martian. She thought about the angry faces in the crowds outside the vestibule and the two realities collided and formed a dense weight inside her chest.
“Will there be anything else Major?”
“That will be all. Good luck.” She saluted him then about faced and cut her eyes at Wiley as she did so.
***
Ratama took the train from the central hub to New Santara station. She was excited to pass through the promenade on her way to Amma’s, to see how it had changed and how it remained. New Santara was one of the first permanent settlements on Mars, created when the first veins were drilled out by augers. The promenade was like the center of the city, all of the residential and utility tunnels led to it. And at meal times the population swelled with bodies from nearby stations and work sites. Some people joked that the aroma of Lemak or Goreng would follow the trains down the tunnel and draw people from as far away as Olympus Mons. The area was a giant cavern that the train stopped in and when you got out, you were immediately in a throng. Debarking passengers carried you like an artery into a much larger chamber. There were the familiar smells of cooking meat, the strong and fragrant FuFu, and the omnipresent aroma of saffron, ginger, turmeric, and curry powder. Obnoxious barkers pawed at her as she passed, trying to get her attention on their wares or divert her into their restaurants or hawker stands. As she came upon the residential tunnel, she saw the minaret of her masjid carved in the rock face that overlooked the entire promenade. Her heart swelled. She thought about going in to recite a couple of dua’s but there was a grief contained in there that she simply wasn’t ready to face.
When Ratama arrived at her mother’s flat she could hear loud conversation and a bit of laughter in her mother’s voice through the door. She tugged at her coat again with sweaty hands, then knocked. She could hear her mother’s heavy sandaled feet scraping the stone floor as she came closer and as she opened the door, what was once a grin immediately evaporated into neutrality. The transition from happiness to indifference, brought on by her arrival, hurled daggers at Ratama’s heart. Recent revelations had already wrought a heavy anxiety upon her, and this heaped hurt and sadness on top of it. She did her best to prepare for this after her conversation with Tem, but nothing ever really prepares you for the hurt your mother can inflict on you.
Ratama had just spent six years on Earth. The first year she wondered how she managed to score so well on her exams because it seemed as if she spent more time crying than studying. The distance from her family, the isolation and alienation from her Terran classmates, and the early days of the rift between her and her mother made those first months hell. But she came to a point where she accepted that quitting or turning back simply wasn’t an option. And Fleet training was designed to prepare humans for the physical and psychological rigors of space and that meant learning to compartmentalize in the face of extreme danger. Every simulation was about controlling your emotions in order to function in a crisis. Where many would succumb to emotionality, she and her classmates were taught to thrive. Earth fleet took a raw recruit and carved her into an officer of Martian basalt.
But mothers were like water. They knew you. Amma knew all the cracks and crevices. She knew where to begin with the drip drip drip that would seep into her, wind its way through those cracks. That love or judgement would create daylight between the seams of the hardened pieces of her. The compartments. And it wasn’t a shout. Or an overt insult. It was a look. Drip. Sometimes it was an innocuously posed question. Drip. Often it was just a melodramatic sigh. Drip. And then all the crisis training and 1g conditioning was for nothing. Ratama knew she would give into it. She would replay this moment in her mind over and over again in the coming days. But she steeled herself. If she was going to give in, she was going to at least decide when. And that time wasn’t now.
She fought the impulse to react to her mother’s slight then stepped into the door and leaned over her and kissed her on both cheeks.
“Salaamu Alaikum Ammia” She said.
“Wa laikum Salaam.” Her mother stood aside, eyeing her, before closing the door.
“You got dark.” Amma was right. The open air of Earth was disorienting at first, then intoxicating. She’d spent as much time as she could outdoors. Studying in the quad at the academy. At the various beaches between Cape May to Cheng Mai. Her junior year she bought a motorcycle and that became her primary mode of transport when it was nice out. On the weekends and during semester breaks, she would ride hundreds of kilometers to get to some vacation destination. It wasn’t the shade of her skin that her mother was remarking on. Martians didn’t give much credence to those things. Though fairer complexions were still conferred some strange status in small pockets back on Earth. Ratama had to see it to believe it. What her mother was saying was: ‘You look like a Terran.’ Martians, regardless of skin color, tended to be pale. Generations of subterranean living on a planet with half the light of Earth saw to that. And she looked like she’d just stepped off the sun deck of a Terran ocean liner.
It made her think about all the biases surrounding skin color in those small pockets on Earth. Those biases had to have their genesis somewhere. They had to have started centuries ago under similarly arbitrary conditions. “Bakwas terra.” Her mother grumbled almost inaudibly. Ratama wasn’t sure how to take this. Normally there would be a lot more context from which to infer her mother’s meaning from the Martian bahasa. “Bakwas terra” was an insult usually used against recent arrivals from Earth. The Hindi word “nonsense” was prepended to “terra” to imply Earther “nonsense”. But bakwas was also the Hokkien word for BBQ Pork. Her mother might have meant that all that time she spent in the Terran sun had left her looking like a cooked pig. Being likened to an animal that Muslims absolutely detested, compounded the insult. The bottom line was that her “darkness” was an obvious display of status. Only Terrans showed up on Mars looking like this, or those recently returned from Hajj. Which she hadn’t. And now her mother was concerned that she would appear to be putting on airs. As if the Earth Fleet uniform didn’t do that already.
And her mother couldn’t take her eyes off the uniform. Her eyes darted about it manically as if searching for her daughter in the mess of embroidered epaulets and polished buttons. At one point her eyes fixed briefly on the karambit and narrowed. It was another of her liquid daggers. Ratama began to wonder how many there would be but she knew the number could be limitless no matter how short the time. She turned on her heel and walked toward the kitchen.
“I was about to pour some tea.” She said over her shoulder.
Ratama could hear the vid playing in the next room and walked down the hallway toward the sound. When she rounded the corner she saw Nenek sitting on the sofa watching a drama.
“Bubu.” She said. Her grandmother, who had her leg in a cast which was extended out in front of her, looked up and smiled. She had dense cheeks that rolled upward when she smiled, like a small tidal wave of cinnamon flesh, eclipsing large brown eyes. Ratama leaned over and hugged her and felt her laugh with delight into the fabric of her coat.
“Sit lah!” She said. A peppery aroma filled the air every time she spoke. Ratama knew that scent. Though she’d forgotten it until now, it brought her home. Nenek was chewing betel nut with some clove and cardamom. Rather it was resting between her cheek and gums and she would stop intermittently and chew it. Likely Auntie Isma was still growing it in her spare room to sell to all the Neneks on this level. She turned the vid off and took Ratama’s hand in hers. It felt comforting that someone was genuinely glad to see her. Bubu held her hand up to her mouth as if trying to prevent someone else from hearing what she was about to say. “I would have come to meet you when you arrived but…” She pointed at her leg. Then she shrugged and giggled a little.
Amma came in with a tray with three tins on it and looked at both of them as if trying to determine what mischief they were up to. She set the tray down on the coffee table. Ratama took one of the tins and handed it to Bubu. Then took another and passed it to her mother before taking one for herself. She raised the drinking tin to her lips and made the conscious effort not to wrinkle her nose. She could smell the pungent mildew-y odor even before taking a sip. All the water on Mars smelled like this. She was initially suspicious of water on Earth because it didn’t. She wondered if this was going to be her life; trapped between two worlds. On Earth she missed everything about home. And now that she was home she missed everything about her life on Earth. Perhaps it was a blessing. Being trapped between two worlds, by definition, kept you from taking them both for granted. Yet the possibilities for romanticizing both worlds were endless.
Nenek didn’t say anything. She just chewed her betel nut and sipped her tea while looking at her adoringly, and occasionally patting her hand. When she did this Ratama could see Amma rolling her eyes in the periphery of her vision. This went on for several minutes and Ratama could no longer resist the need to say something.
“I work for the Intelligence Directorate, Mama. I make maps. Well, it’s a bit more than just making maps…” She trailed off when she realized her mother had stopped paying attention and feigned disinterest.
Mercifully there was a knock at the door. Amma didn’t bother to get up. She heard the door open followed by footsteps. A few moments later her sister, Raia, strolled in holding her daughter on her hip. Ratama stood to offer her greetings but her sister just gave a high-pitched “salaams” and waved dismissively. She remained
close enough that Ratama could touch the tiny body mounted on her hip.
“And who is this?” It was obvious but her niece had been born while she was away. And since her sister didn’t bother to vid and managed to be absent when her brothers did, her only interactions with her niece was photos.
“This is Mona.” Raia finally said. As she did, Ratama noticed some hastily applied make up around a bruise on her eye. “Say hi Mona.” Mona seemed to be about two or three. Big enough to extract her hand from her mouth and wave but still small enough to be carried. “How long are you staying?”
The whole visit was starting to feel like an ambush. It seemed odd that her sister was suddenly so interested in seeing her. Then it occurred to Ratama that her mother had called Raia while she was in the kitchen pouring tea or possibly the person she heard her talking to through the door when she first arrived. The fact that she didn’t seem surprised by the knock at the door was further evidence of this. And now her sister was just smiling awkwardly. It wasn’t an ambush, just a spectacle.
“Two years.”
“Wow. Two years…” Raia’s voice trailed off and she bobbed her head in fake approval. “Well now that you’re back-”
“Not sure if I’ll have much time for socializing.”
“Big surprise.” Amma huffed.
“Cut it out!” Bubu was visibly aggravated.
“It’s ok Bubu. I’ve got to get going.”
Ratama stood and pressed her forehead to the back of Nenek’s hand who patted her on the back of the head then kissed her forehead as she rose. She wasn’t sure if her mother or sister would even permit this at this point but it didn’t matter. The forms of respect had to be observed. Neither of them made a big deal over it, though Ratama could see a small smirk on her sister’s face as she extended her hand.
“Ma’salamah.” She said before walking out.
She walked quickly back toward the promenade and took a deep breath as she arrived, looking back down the residential tunnel from where she came, as if it were going to collapse. She was horrified that this might be the way of things between her and her mother and sister for the duration of her stay. It felt constricting, claustrophobic. At least she managed to maintain her bearing. She felt drained, and angry, but she didn’t show it. And that was the important part.
