Manchineel

White ethereal shapes move around a Florescent lit room. A bleary face looms in front of me. Liquid drips from a pipet into my eyes. They clamp shut automatically as the saline stings like boiling water. I blink a few times to clear them.

Through the tears, I can see that I’m in the reanimation room on Mars. I can’t move. A flood of panic washes cold over me, my body a sarcophagus.

An image of my daughter sitting smiling on the sea wall as her hair catches the wind flashes into mind. The nausea rises and I vomit as someone turns me on my side.

I remember why I’m here. Eighteen months and I can secure both our futures, but the feeling of loss is unbearable.

As I stand under the warm running water, I start to feel human again. There’s a dull ache in my lower right calf. I smile at the irony. My ghost limb again. Still, I reach down and rub the titanium as I roughly towel dry my hair and look in the mirror. The buzz cut they gave me has grown during the six months of stasis. It looks terrible. I notice a cap in the pile of clean clothes and put it on immediately. It’s better, but the absurdity of being naked in a cap encourages me to dress quickly. I tap my wrist com and record a message for Laura. It will be a few hours before she receives it, but I desperately need to know she’s ok.

I pocket the sunglasses and step out into the base. The harsh light stabs at my over sensitive eyes and I immediately put on the shades.

A few people pass me in the whitewashed corridor, smile politely or not at all. White coated medical staff mainly. I make my way to the transportation bay.

I’m directed to a maintenance vehicle. It’s dark green metal exterior pock marked with dents and covered in orange dust. There’s a small ladder leading to a circular hatch in the roof. I wince as I start the climb. The skin of my stump has softened during stasis.

The driver gives me a curt nod as he taps the controls in front of him, mumbling incoherently into his headset. He sits facing a windshield like an aeroplane cockpit. The hatch slams shut, and the airlock hisses as it secures. The oxygen tanks have been engaged; I feel a cool breeze on my face. It makes me smile; I close my eyes.

For a moment, I’m back on the beach holding my camera and asking Laura to smile. She pulls a face, an exaggerated frown, embarrassed at the scrutiny. I ignore her displeasure. My need is greater. I can’t hold all the images of her in my head forever. She has no idea how beautiful she is.

The rover lurches forward and I’m back on Mars. Two immense doors part, sucking out the air in the cargo bay and replacing it with red swirling dust.

I’m acutely aware I don’t belong here. I’m the alien in this world. This planet is no Mother Earth. It did not nurture me or my kind; it offers nothing to support our existence. It doesn’t hate us but its indifference is terrifying.

The two Martian moons, Phobos and Deimos, are barely visible in the orange sky. They’re named after Mars, the god of War’s horses that pulled his mighty chariot. Their names mean ‘Fear’ and ‘Panic.’ I try to dismiss that thought as I stare through the windshield at the layer of low mist clinging to the ground like steam from a kettle. The atmosphere outside is mainly carbon dioxide, nitrogen, a small amount of oxygen plus a little water vapour, average temperature -63c.

The entire horizon is bathed in a hazy twilight. The sun, like everything else I love, so far away. The vista becomes rockier as we near the Domes’ location with hills and volcanoes extruding from the surface. I hold on to the sides of the rover to steady myself. I hear small prangs as debris hits the metal, the powerful wind rocking us from side to side.

“Apologies for the bumpy ride. We’ve lost radio signal due to the incoming magnetic storm. I’ve switched to Manual.” The driver informs me.

“Is that something that happens often?” I shout over the noise.

“Occasionally, during a sandstorm, but as long as I avoid the craters, there’s not a problem.”

As we increase speed, the dust clears. Nestled in a valley, the outline of the Dome becomes visible on the flat horizon. Two huge mountain ranges loom on either side. It’s much larger than I imagined. Stretching as far as the eye can see.

“How big is that thing?” I ask the driver, trying to hide my astonishment.

He covers his mouth mike out of habit and answers casually.

“10,000 square miles or just under 26,000km, it’s roughly the size of Hawaii.”

Ice covers the entire dome structure; it glistens in the early morning sunrise like a scarab beetle emerging from the desert sand.

I enter from the airlock into a huge cave structure with white porous walls like dried coral. The stalagmites arch skyward to reach a vast ceiling of the same material, forming support pillars. Most of the structure is clear sheets of ice with circular windows extruding. The half bubble domes immersed fully into the red Martian landscape like eyes of an eagerly staring pug. The light gently pulsates and colour shifts, cold hues to warm and back again. I look around for the source but can’t locate one. There isn’t a single straight line anywhere, every surface curved.