Marsquake! (3 page)

“Depends on how well we get through the winter,” Alex muttered. “But I know one thing: I’m not going back. Not to Earth, not to Luna. This is home now.”

“Home,” agreed Jenny. Sean nodded. His friends were right. Whatever happened, he knew they had to hang on. Somehow they had to make Marsport work. But what if their worst enemy wasn’t the planet that had a million ways to kill them? What if the colonists themselves, with their differences and their arguments left over from Earth, were the obstacle that couldn’t be overcome?

Amanda had once quoted an old, old Earth saying to him: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”

If Marsport fell and faded, it would be their own fault.

Ellman would never have
allowed it, but Tim Mpondo, a younger, more trusting teacher, didn’t mind a student meeting. All twenty of the Asimov Project kids gathered around a holographic projector as Jenny called up a globe of Earth and pointed out the disasters that had occurred. “The supervolcano eruption disrupted the ionosphere over most of the Northern Hemisphere,” she said. “As you can see, vast areas of North America were covered in volcanic ash, and the ash that was blasted into the air caused a volcanic winter—more than eight months of extreme cold temperatures that killed crops and created a worldwide famine.”

On the map a huge swath of the American midwest glowed reddish orange, a symbol of ash deposit. The area around Yellowstone was a brilliant yellow, marking the area of the eruption, where a caldera miles across had been blasted out of Earth’s surface. The bright tones faded to crimson, then violet, marking the places where the volcanic winter had settled.
That included almost all of Canada, all of northern Europe, and half of Asia.

Alex, standing beside her, said, “The demand for food and the old political disagreements led to outbreaks of wars. Here are the areas where the wars went nuclear.” Seven white areas began to glow in the hologram, and around them a sickly green shimmer marked territories contaminated by radiation. Alex said, “Biological wars were also fought. This shows areas of human pathogens—the release of biological organisms that cause fatal human diseases.” Parts of Africa, Asia, and South America began to pulse with a purple glow. “To that we’ll add plant pathogens, which destroy crops and increase famine.” Brownish orange smears appeared in Asia, southern Europe, and Central America.

Sean, the third of the presenters, felt the chill in the room. The Asimov Project kids were all orphans, and none of them had particularly fond memories of Earth, but seeing so much of the planet’s surface wracked and contaminated was a sobering experience. Sean cleared his throat. “I don’t think any of us
know just how bad things are on Earth. Politically, governments have collapsed all across the planet. Parts of the globe have been depopulated—the places closest to the supervolcano eruption and some of the places where the wars have been most intense. The famine has killed billions. Luna’s best estimate is that more than half of Earth’s population has died. Probably more will die over the next fifty years. If things stabilize, Earth may hang on to a quarter of the population it had eighteen months ago. But the survivors will be living in small tribes or tiny nations. There won’t be a world government or anything like it for centuries. Technology has probably dropped back to twentieth-century levels or lower. There’s no going back.”

Elizabeth Ling was crying, and some of the others were sniffling too. “The point is,” Sean said, “that what ruined Earth is at work in Marsport, too. We have to hang on. We have to get rid of the feeling that we’re American or European or Asian. We’re Martians now. We’ve got to stand united.”

From the back of the classroom, Tim Mpondo’s
mild voice said, “And do you have any suggestions about how we do that, Mr. Doe?”

“That’s what we want to talk about,” Sean replied.

Jenny switched off the hologram, but she did not turn the lights up to full. “If the kids of the Asimov Project can get along, the adults should be able to get along too. The first thing is that we’ve got to be role models. I know that’s the reverse of the way things are usually done—”

“Hey,” Mickey said from off to the right, “Mars is a different place. It’s ice.”

Alex crossed his arms. “The other thing is, we need to get the colony busy again. We have too much time on our hands. Everyone needs something to get excited about, something to work for. We want the group to brainstorm on this. If we’re all pulling in the same direction, we’re all on the same side.”

The lights came on, sudden and surprising. Dr. Harold Ellman had just entered the room, and he stood by the doorway. “And what are we doing?” he asked, scowling around the room. “Neglecting our studies?”

“No, Dr. Ellman,” Mpondo said easily. “We’ve just had a joint sociology and history lesson. A group project.”

“I see,” Ellman said sourly. “Well, it is time for natural science now, Lieutenant, and I have no group projects on board for that. So if everyone will move to a terminal, we will begin. I remind you that examinations are coming up very shortly, and some of you are in dire need of improvement.”

As they went to their desks, Alex whispered to Sean, “I know one thing that unites us all. We’re all sick of Ellman!”

Sean couldn’t hold back a grin.

Amanda Simak sat in
the observation dome listening to Sean. He could see the Martian landscape through the viewscreen behind her. The sun was setting, and shadows stretched long across the ruddy, boulder-strewn hills south of Marsport. The sky, deep blue in
the west, already purple with twilight in the east, was streaked with glowing pink and red clouds, evidence of a heavier atmosphere laden with more water vapor than Mars had known in millions of years.

“I see,” she said with a smile as Sean finished. “And how do you feel about this?”

“I started it,” Sean told her. He walked to the screen and gazed out at the hostile world that was now his home. “For me the hardest thing is the news of biological warfare. A bioterrorist attack killed my mom and dad. It was stupid. It was pointless. But if I can get over that—” Sean swallowed. “If I can … forgive the people who were misled into that, then maybe other people can forgive. Forget. Whatever.”

Amanda leaned forward, her hands clasped. “It isn’t that simple, Sean. I know why the colonists are upset. It’s not just old biases and prejudices, though they have a part in what’s happening. No, the real problem is fear.”

Sean nodded. “Fear of what might happen. Fear of failing. I know that. But we’ve got to deal with it. The only way we’re sure to fail is if we don’t try.”

Amanda rose from her chair and came to stand beside her adopted son. “I agree. You know the exploration of the Olympus tunnels wasn’t supposed to begin for another several months. Working outside during the Martian winter makes big energy demands.”

“We know. But Lieutenant Mpondo says that the tunnels are deep enough so there’ll be some areothermal heating, and the atmosphere in them is heavier than on the surface too. We won’t be able to work without helmets, but we won’t need to use suit heaters all the time. Light is the main requirement. If we can start the program and rotate the colonists so that everyone gets some time outside of the domes—”

Amanda put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve always said you have a gift for leadership, Sean. I think you’re right. When we’re cooped up in Marsport, it doesn’t seem as if we’re making any progress. Nothing much changes from day to day, not even the food. But if the colonists have a chance to get away for a while, to add to what we know, then they’ll have
the feeling that we’re still striving, still coping.” She paused. “Very well. I’ll ask the council to approve an immediate beginning to the exploration program. We’ll have to watch energy consumption closely, but I agree with you. It’s worth the cost.”

“What about the people who’ve been arrested?” Sean asked.

Amanda took a deep breath. “We have nine in the detention dome now.”

Detention dome. Marsport had not been designed with a jail, Sean knew. It had one now. He didn’t know if the need for a jail came from the stress and strain of trying to live on a hostile world or just from human nature, but there it was. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“A tribunal for each,” Amanda said. “It will be a fair trial.”

“Like mine?” Sean grinned. “No, I’m not saying that what happened to me was unfair. I guess I deserved it. But maybe we could let the nine prisoners have an early turn at exploring the tunnels? If anyone
needs to get away from the domes for a while, I think they do.”

Amanda smiled at him. “I will note your suggestion and take it to the tribunals,” she said. “But between us, I think it’s a very good idea.”

Another ancient Earth
Saying that Sean had learned had to do with the best-laid plans of mice and men often going wrong.

The first hint of the trouble came late at night. Sean was asleep, dreaming about flying over the rolling, rocky surface of Mars, when something snapped him into complete wakefulness. He opened his eyes in the dark, then sat up in bed. The bedside sensor detected his movement, and a soft blue-white nightlight came on, making the room visible in a ghostly sort of way, as if seen by moonlight. Sean frowned. What had happened? Something. A feeling, a noise—

There it was again! A long, low rumbling, like thunder in the distance.

Except Mars didn’t have that kind of thunder.

The grumbling, booming sound could be felt as well
as heard, a throbbing low vibration. Something tapped the wall. Sean looked toward the foot of his bed. He had carelessly tossed his pants over his computer chair. They were moving, swaying just enough so his belt buckle rattled against the wall. Then the pants slipped off the chair to the floor. Sean got up, feeling the floor vibrating under his bare feet, and hurriedly tugged on his clothes. He opened the door to find the others in his dorm wing coming out of their rooms, blinking, pulling on their clothes, looking apprehensive.

“What’s happening?” Roger Smith asked, his head buried in his tunic. He popped out like a tortoise coming out of its shell. “Something explode?”

“Nah,” Mickey said, his voice sounding a little more shaky than his grin would suggest. “There’s Sean. He’s not in chemistry class.”

“Sounded like a storm,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes. “But it’s the wrong season.”

Sean said, “Maybe a corridor blew. It could be air rushing out through a hull break.”

Patrick Nakoma was the last one into the common area. “That’s not what this was like, Sean. It felt like
the shocks you get with excavation blasting. But they wouldn’t be blasting at night,” he said. “There’s only one thing it could be. Earthquake.”

“What?” Mickey asked.

“I was born in Japan,” Patrick said patiently. “Trust me on this. I know what an earthquake feels like.”

“We’ve never had an earthquake!” Mickey objected. “I don’t think earthquakes could happen here!”

“Except this would be a marsquake, wouldn’t it?” Roger asked. They all stood listening to the silence for a few moments. Then he gave everyone a weak smile. “Whatever it was, it seems to be over now.”

“They’re usually deep,” Patrick said. “Like fifty or sixty kilometers below the surface at least. It’s rare to have one large enough to feel.”

“Must not have been much,” Mickey said, his voice still a little strained. “There was no general alarm.”

Alex turned on the TV screen in the common room. “If it woke us up, it probably woke up everyone else. There’ll be an announcement,” he said. “You watch.”

The newscaster wasn’t Dina Brandis, but a face appeared on the screen at once, speaking earnestly into
the camera. “I know him,” Sean said. “Chris Wu.”

“Yeah, a seismologist,” Mickey agreed. “Maybe Patrick was right, at—”

“Shh!” Alex was turning up the volume.

“… no cause for alarm,” Wu was saying. “I will repeat: We have just experienced a class four seismic event. Sensors indicate that the epicenter is eighty kilometers north of the colony and twelve kilometers beneath the surface. We have no reports of serious damage to any of the colony’s structures. The crustal movement is possibly related to the changing temperatures. A class four event is enough to produce movement and slight disturbances, but not enough to pose a threat to the colony. We have no means of knowing whether this is the last of the shocks or not, but there seems to be no cause for alarm.” He fiddled with something below camera range and then said, “I am going to continue to monitor the situation, and if anything drastic happens, I will send out an alert. Meanwhile I’ve recorded this statement and will replay it until there’s further news. There’s no need to get in touch with the seismology department at this time. Just
let us do our job, and we’ll keep everyone informed. Thank you.” The screen went blank for a moment, and then the recording began to replay.

Alex switched off the TV. “A marsquake,” he muttered. “As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.”

“I’ve never been in a quake before,” said Roger, who was English. He cocked his head at Patrick. “Is this what they’re always like?”

Patrick made a face. “Sometimes they’re a lot worse. At least the ones on Earth are, I mean. When I was about five, we had a terrible one. My mom rushed us all out of the house into the yard. It was like standing on the deck of a ship during a storm. I remember our whole house sort of leaned to the side, then fell in.”

“Big cracks opened in the earth and swallowed people up, did they?” Roger asked, sounding really interested.

Patrick shook his head. “Not where we were. A bridge collapsed not very far from us. Part of the seacoast fell away in a landslide. It wasn’t interesting, Roger, and it wasn’t pretty. It was scary.”

Mickey stretched and yawned. “Well, it’s three in
the morning. I’ve got a feeling that Ellman wouldn’t put off our lessons even if half of Marsport
did
fall into a crack in the ground, so I’m going to get what sleep I can.”

Nothing else happened, and after a few more minutes of talking, the others went back to their rooms too. Sean kept his pants on and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling until the night light went out. Marsquake. Wonderful. Add one more way to the million ways that Mars had to kill you.