The mattress on the bed was wider than any I’d slept in for a long time. I wanted to lie down but worried if I did I wouldn’t be able to get back up again. I grabbed a fresh T-shirt, pushed my locker under the bed, and went back into the corridor. With my flashlight I found what appeared to be a central module, with a small galley and a laundry. The portholes were larger here and the sky a dark blank outside. It was oddly quiet. The Sundew was always full of sound, whirring and blowing and beeping. The vents here were nearly silent. Cool, moist air drifted from them without a sound.
In the corridor next to the galley I opened doors. All the modules behind them were empty, except for one, a workshop that contained a large table and shelves full of tools. Strewn across the table were pieces of something—
The suck and hiss of an airlock came from down the corridor, and I moved quickly in the direction of the sound, back toward the cargo bay where I’d started, at least I thought so. James stood at the end of the corridor. He was climbing into a suit, slimmer and more compact than the one I’d worn here and the ones I was used to on the Sundew.
Where are you going? I asked.
South solar field.
There were more suits hanging on the wall. One was smaller than the others and I grabbed it from its hook. I’ll come.
I’m fine on my own. Stay here.
I’d rather work.
He held his helmet against his broad chest and looked at me, and again I had the strange feeling of being pinned in place.
I’ll be handier than you think, I said.
He pulled on his gloves, secured them at his wrists. I see you haven’t changed.
So you do remember me.
I remember a scrawny girl who used to sit reading books she didn’t understand in Peter’s lab.
I remember a man with short hair and clean clothes.
He smiled slightly and put on his helmet. I did the same. He opened the airlock and I followed.
I understood those books, I said, my voice tinny inside my helmet.
33
Inside the rover James pressed some buttons and the cargo bay door opened onto darkness. He turned on the headlights—they made the ground outside sparkle—and the rover rolled forward onto the pink silt. Our seats were close and as the rover bumped over the uneven ground I held my body straight, my helmet in my lap.
He accelerated toward a ridge and the wind picked up. There was complete darkness in every direction except for the one the headlights were pointed in, and it seemed as if we were climbing up and down the hills of silt nearly blind. How did he know we weren’t about to fall off a ridge or drive into another? I looked at him. His beard was patchy and uneven; there were dark circles under his eyes. Amelia had thought it was a good idea for me to come here, but now I wasn’t so sure.
Silt hit the windows in waves, buffeting the rover to the left and then the right. I secured my restraints. He left his off. The sound of the wind was low and loud, SHOWWW, SHOWWW.
How far is the field? I asked over the muffled roar.
About thirty minutes.
What else does it power? I held on to the side of the rover as we skidded across a rocky plateau. In the distance was a dark shape.
Gateway, satellite station.
That’s it?
Agricultural outpost’s shut down.
The headlights reached the shape—it was a disintegrating lander, its portholes like dark eyes in its dented white sides. More shapes appeared. Two wind-battered rovers, their legs splayed like injured spiders. A rocket engine half-buried in the silt, its insides exposed.
What happened to all the testing facilities, the labs?
Gone. Shut down.
Why are you still here?
Because I don’t want to study anything or test anything.
We accelerated over the crest of a ridge and I held on tightly as the rover skidded forward. For a split second we were airborne and then hit the ground with a crushing thunk that made my back molars ring with pain. I blinked, moved my body in my suit. He kept driving.
Then what’s all the stuff on the table in the workshop? I asked.
He didn’t answer. We were climbing an even steeper hill now and the rover’s tires bumped and slipped over the uneven ground. When we got to the top the wind was one long roar. It seemed we would tip over; the rover started beeping. I held on.
I tried again. Amelia said you’ve been working on the fuel cell. She said you were close to a solution.
He shifted his body opposite to the wind, and his elbow bumped my side. Not anymore.
Because Theresa left?
He looked at me. No.
Why did she leave?
He veered around a wedge of rock. Ahead there were more shapes: a huddle of wind-battered satellites, the metal spine of a probe. A faint rosy glow came from the horizon and they glinted in the light.
She hates this place.
So you’ve been working alone—
This is what I’ve been doing. He gestured ahead to an expanse of glass that mirrored the brightening sky. Clearing silt from panels, hauling water tanks, flushing water pumps. That’s all.
The rover lunged and skated toward the field and when we bumped to a halt he put his helmet on and locked it in place. I did the same. He opened his door and stepped onto the pink rocks, but when I followed I stumbled. The ground was soft in some places and hard in others, and my boots sank immediately into the hollows. I squinted at the ground, my breath loud inside my helmet, held my gloved hands out in front of me, and tried to stay upright.
Up ahead he had already gone into a small outbuilding and pulled out two brooms. He handed one to me and then walked to the nearest solar panel and began to brush pink silt from its tilted surface.
It was something to see it up close, the solar field I’d heard so much about as a child. But I was confused. Why do we have to do this? I asked. With some effort I swung my broom onto a panel. What’s wrong with the cleaning mechanism?
Broken, and they don’t make the parts for it anymore. His voice came through inside my helmet.
The sun was brilliant now and turned the cleared panels into mirrors. I tried to keep pace with James and began to sweat, felt my underclothes cling to my skin inside my suit. He moved on to the next panel, and I did too. We kept working, moving from panel to panel, row to row. He gained on me and was soon several panels ahead.
Found the row that’s out, he called.
I kept going and finished three more panels. My arms ached and my eyes stung with sweat.
The wind picked up again. Grains of silt hit my helmet like a hundred tiny pinpricks. I watched with a feeling of desperation as the panels we’d just cleared were slowly being covered again.
This is pointless in this wind, I said.
It’ll stop, he said.
The ground thickened and swelled. Silt covered the tops of my boots. I set my broom down and walked to the next row, bending my body into the wind as the dust tapped furiously against my visor.
What are you doing? I called.
Whole row’s out because of one panel. We’ll take it back with us.
Wait, I said. Let me help you.
There was a pause and a crackle inside my helmet. Then, God damn it! And a groan.
I wove through the panels, around their sharp corners, my boots clumsy on the uneven ground. The thickening clouds of pink dust made it impossible to see more than a few inches in front of me. Then, the glint of his visor—maybe.
I kept moving and finally my foot hit something. It was him, on the ground, nearly buried in silt. His leg was pinned beneath a panel, he was trying to push it off but couldn’t get enough leverage. I got down on the ground next to him.