The Martian Inheritance: Book One of The George Hughes Trilogy

By Simon Dillon

From the author of Uncle Flynn and Echo and the White Howl... The first thrilling adventure in The George Hughes Trilogy.

When George Hughes discovers he has inherited the planet Mars, he goes from poverty to becoming the richest boy on Earth overnight.

Accompanied by his new guardian, a mysterious secret agent, and a crew of astronauts, George makes the voyage to Mars to sell land to celebrities wanting to build interplanetary holiday homes.

But sabotage, assassination attempts, and the possibility of an alien threat plunge him into a deadly adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Dillon
• Release date: Nov 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005363536

Simon Dillon

I was born the year Steven Spielberg made moviegoers everywhere terrified of sharks. I lived the first twenty or so years of my life in Oxford, and am pleased to have spent so much time in the place where some of my favourite writers wrote their greatest works (including JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, and Philip Pullman). I like to think I can write a diverting tale, and as a result I have penned a few novels and short stories. I currently live in Plymouth in the UK, and am married with two children. I am presently brainwashing them with the same books that I loved growing up.

Book preview

The Martian Inheritance

Book One of The George Hughes Trilogy

By Simon Dillon

Copyright 2013 Simon Dillon.

Revised 2022, previously published under the title George Goes to Mars.

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Foreword: This is a revised version of a novel previously published as George Goes to Mars. The plot has not changed, but the manuscript has been substantially polished and tweaked, as well as retitled.

Dedication: For Zara, Daniel, and Thomas

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Mars Landing

Chapter 2: The Man with the Trilby Hat

Chapter 3: Mr Stains

Chapter 4: Giles

Chapter 5: Space Pilot Training

Chapter 6: The Voyage to Mars

Chapter 7: Rendezvous with the Holst

Chapter 8: The Holst Reception

Chapter 9: Exploring the Candor Chasm

Chapter 10: The Underground City

Chapter 11: General Grykur

Chapter 12: The Martian Liberation Sisterhood

Chapter 13: Attack on the Holst

Chapter 14: Mr Stains’s Agenda

Chapter 15: The Race to Earth

Chapter 16: Dark Horse

Chapter 17: Crash Landing

Chapter 18: The Battle of Farmoor Wood

Chapter 19: New Management at the Mars Trust

Epilogue: The Debriefing

Bonus Material

Chapter 1 of The Titan War

Chapter 2 of The Titan War

Chapter 3 of The Titan War

Chapter 1: The Mars Landing

‘Today, the human race will land on Mars.’

As far back as he could remember, George Hughes wanted to be a space pilot. He knew everything about the history of interplanetary travel and had followed the Mars mission with avid interest.

The television newsreader continued. ‘United Spacelines vessel Holst will reach geostationary orbit within the next four hours. From there, preparations for landing will be made. As well as Captain David Gull, co-pilot Sophie Miller, and other crew, the passengers consist of businessmen, film stars, sports personalities, pop singers, and two former US Presidents. These celebrities will be surveying the terrain, choosing plots of land, ready for the architects who will build their luxury holiday homes.’

George munched his breakfast as the screen cut to a computer simulation displaying the Martian surface, indicating where the Holst would land and where the passengers could have their homes built. Decades previously, people had questioned the sanity of celebrities who wanted off-world accommodation, but following the huge success of moon colonisation, it was only a matter of time before attention turned to other planets. Martian holiday homes became the latest fad for the stupidly rich.

‘The Holst carried its passengers in luxurious accommodation across space over the last seven days.’

The television showed images inside the Holst. George pondered how much space travel had changed over the last hundred years. The vessel’s interior was a far cry from the cramped, weightless conditions of old NASA shuttles, and instead resembled the interior of a luxury ocean liner. There were expensively decorated living quarters, as well as a large restaurant, bar, casino, dance floor, and cinema.

A simulation outside the Holst revealed the craft resembled an enormous Y.

‘The Holst is the largest spacecraft ever built. Her fuselage is fifty feet tall and over five hundred feet long, by three hundred feet wide. She has been equipped with revolutionary new slingshot rockets, enabling her to travel faster than any vehicle in history. The journey from Earth to Mars was made in less than seven days, averaging between five hundred and seven hundred thousand miles per hour. Until now, a manned voyage to Mars seemed impossible, due to the energy requirements, but water-powered slingshot rockets have changed everything...’

The screen went black.

‘Another power cut,’ said George’s adoptive mother Gertrude, from the kitchen.

‘Typical,’ said, George’s adoptive father Albert, from the bathroom.

George sighed. The power cuts always seemed to occur when there was something interesting on television. But he had to leave soon anyway, or he’d be late for school.

Gulping down his last mouthful of dry toast, George crossed the sitting room to collect his schoolbag. Their tiny flat consisted of one bathroom, one kitchen, one bedroom, and a large communal living area with faded, peeling wallpaper that doubled as George’s bedroom. Against one wall, an ancient-looking brown and green sofa riddled with holes faced the even more ancient-looking television that had been broadcasting the Mars landing. George stared mournfully at the blank screen for a few more seconds, hoping the power would be restored once he returned.

Gertrude strode into the room, flustered and out of breath. Her clothes were ragged from years of wear and tear, and her hair always stood on end, no matter how much she brushed it. Craig Patrick and his gang of bullies at school often said his adoptive mother looked like a witch. This infuriated George, who thought Gertrude the kindest, sweetest person in the world.

‘You ‘ad enough breakfast, George?’

Even though he was still hungry, George knew better than to say he hadn’t eaten enough. Gertrude would offer another slice of toast then there would be none left for her.

‘Plenty, thanks,’ said George.

Gertrude wasn’t convinced. She crouched down and scrutinised George with worried eyes. ‘I ‘ope we’re feedin’ you proper. You’re a growing lad after all.’

‘I’m fine. I’d better go, or I’ll be late for school.’

Albert emerged from the bathroom in his shabby dressing gown, his grey hair sticking out at peculiar angles much like Gertrude’s. ‘George, m’lad! Could you let the power station know our electric’s gone again? I’d go myself, only I’m already late and the roads will be a nightmare when I get out.’

George nodded, thinking, with a stab of pity, just how much older his adoptive parents looked, even though they were only in their late forties. Despite this, their eyes had a sparkle of contentedness that George envied.

‘’Ave a good day dear,’ Gertrude said as George left.

‘Y’never know,’ Albert added. ‘Today could be the day that changes your life.’

Albert often said that to George.

George closed the rotting chipboard door behind him, and strode away from Flat 3, Road 7, DCT District 427; the tiny, run-down concrete bungalow that had been their home for most of George’s thirteen years. He ignored the familiar thick black clouds smothering everywhere affected by the atomic fallout of World War IV, but wished he lived in the nearby city of New Sunderland. At least there, the atmosphere processors ensured it was sometimes possible to see the sky.

George again wished he was a space pilot and could travel to Mars, even though he knew this could never be. Interplanetary travel was prohibitively expensive in the DCT scheme. He couldn’t get within a mile of a spaceport, let alone apply to be a pilot, unlike other children his age, born into rich families. But George refused to let go of his ambition. One day things would be different.

After ten minutes, George reached DCT School 832, which he had attended since the age of five. He stared up at the dreary steel and concrete columns of the school building, groaning inwardly. The mock examination papers had been marked, and the teachers would be angry at his results.

Sure enough, as he sat in the classroom at his internet terminal, moth-eaten Mrs Richards fixed him with a cold glare from beneath shaded spectacles.

‘George Hughes, I’m sorry to say your results are outstanding.’

George sighed, resigned to what was coming.

‘I’m disappointed in you, to say the least. I don’t understand why you continue to defy me. There was no need to get all the questions correct.’

Craig Patrick yelled from the back of the class. ‘Because he thinks he can be a space pilot!’

George glanced at Craig as the other pupils sniggered. Craig was a stupid bully and had a face like a pale spotty camel, yet somehow managed to be the most popular person in class. Mrs Richards let the laughter continue for a moment then motioned for silence.

‘No Craig. Someone as intelligent as George would realise there’s no chance of ever becoming a space pilot. Unless he’s magically forgotten who he is and where he lives. Have you forgotten George? You know what the DCT scheme is, right? Debt Control Tax. Instituted forty years ago to prevent financial collapse after the war. Intended as a temporary measure but became permanent. Every low-paid worker pays one hundred percent tax, to avoid slipping into debt. In return, the government feeds, clothes, and houses you, as well as providing a generous allowance...’

‘Hardly generous,’ George muttered.

‘I’m sorry. What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Exactly what any space pilot application made by you will lead to, George. Therefore, there must be some other reason you insist on attaining marks that will never be of any use to you.’

George’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He hated the way Mrs Richards made fun of him in front of the entire class.

‘Come now George, you could at least have answered this question incorrectly: Calculate the speed of light from a light source emanating from within a spacecraft travelling at one hundred thousand miles per hour. No thirteen-year-old DCT child should know that.’

‘299,792,458 metres per second,’ said George, without even thinking.

‘And what’s all this stuff underneath? Can’t you answer any question simply?’

‘It was a trick question. The speed of light is constant, regardless of whether the source of the light is in motion or not. However, that is assuming the light is travelling through a vacuum, in the absence of matter. In reality, the speed of light depends on the material the light moves through. For instance, light moves slower through glass than through air…’

‘Enough!’

George fell silent at Mrs Richards’s command. He had launched into a scientific lecture without meaning to, but the speed of light and theory of relativity were such fascinating subjects, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm.

‘If you must answer everything correctly, then at least have the decency to keep your answers free of explanations that are nothing more than showing off.’

‘But the question said to explain…’

‘Be quiet.’

Mrs Richards began to foam slightly at the mouth. From experience, George knew this was a sign that now would be a good time to back down. But he also knew this was a humiliation he would have to endure again. Despite being a DCT child, despite what he knew about his future job prospects, and despite Mrs Richards, deep down he knew someday he would be a space pilot. Therefore, he had to study hard. If that meant endless ridicule for getting high test results, it was a price he would have to pay. Try as he might, he couldn’t deliberately get Maths and Science questions wrong. Why did everyone think it was showing off to use his talents to the best of his abilities?

After school, George didn’t want to face the jibes that would inevitably come his way as he left the building, so he tried to slip away unnoticed. Instead of making his way across the playground, he crept around to the rear of the school, hoping to leave through the back gate. Unfortunately, upon passing the dustbins he was confronted by Craig Patrick and two of his cronies, Dave McFarlane and Trevor Scott. Trevor was tall, pale, and thin. Dave was short and fat.

Upon seeing him, Craig, Scott, and Trevor cut off George’s escape. George’s heart sank at getting caught. At the back of the school there were no surveillance cameras, and no witnesses to the beating up that would inevitably ensue. George was no fighter, and Craig was considerably bigger than him.

‘It’s the space pilot!’ Dave hissed.

‘Think you’re better than us?’ taunted Trevor.

‘Of course, he is!’ Craig pressed his ugly face against George. ‘He’s going to be a great scientist like, like…’ Craig stuttered as his brain tried to catch up with his mouth, before he finally managed to think of a name. ‘Frankenstein!’

‘It’s Einstein you moron,’ said George.

‘Whatever,’ said Craig, punching George in the jaw. His teeth slammed into the side of his mouth, cutting his cheek. Tasting blood, he staggered back but remained on his feet. Knowing he was in for more of the same, George decided he wouldn’t just take it silently.

‘Do you really enjoy this? I mean, surely there’s only a very limited amount of fun in making my life miserable?’

Craig punched him again, this time on the nose. A jolt of pain shot through George’s head and his eyes filled with water. He decided to fall to the ground even though the punch hadn’t been hard enough to cause this. That way, Craig might give up earlier and leave him alone.

Craig, Dave, and Trevor all began to kick him as he lay sprawled on the tarmac. George curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, aware only of blinding pain as blows rained down on him.

‘Wait!’ said Craig. The kicking ceased.

‘Let’s get him a space helmet!’ said Dave.

‘I reckon he’s had enough,’ said Trevor.

‘I say when he’s had enough!’ hissed Craig.

George opened his eyes and saw Craig carrying a large dustbin filled with rubbish over to where he lay. Dave and Trevor pulled him to his feet and Craig placed the dustbin over his head. Cold rice pudding, eggshells, and other waste from the school kitchens spilled down his head, neck, and face. The dustbin covered most of his body.

George couldn’t see a thing. He tried to breathe in and accidentally tasted rotten, stinking cabbage. Coughing violently, he spat it out and waited for Craig and the others to leave him alone.

Eventually, the hysterical laughter from Craig and the others stopped and George heard them run away. After waiting a moment, he pushed himself out from under the dustbin. His back and ribs ached from where he had been kicked, and his mouth and nose were swollen. The taste of blood and rotten cabbage lingered in his mouth as he scraped away the worst of the mess from the dustbin.

When he finally left through the back gate, George thought he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure emerging from behind the other dustbins, but when he turned back there was no one. Dismissing the image as a trick of the light, he hobbled into the road and staggered along the street away from the school.

The grey landscape seemed darker than usual. A rumble of thunder echoed in the skies. George remembered he had to visit the power station on his way home to report the loss of electricity, so hastened his step, despite pain from his bruises. People kept staring at him, and George realised he must look and smell disgusting. He continued to brush himself down, but the stench of the bin clung to him. He longed to be home where he could take a shower.

George noticed crowds congregating around one of the many giant video screens dotted outside around DCT District 427. People were watching with great interest, and George remembered the cause of their curiosity. He rushed into the crowd and stared at the screen. Several people moved away from him, making disgusted faces at the smell.

George’s heart thumped with excitement as the screen displayed the Holst spacecraft on the surface of Mars. Sophie Miller was about to become the first human to set foot on the surface. She had already put on her spacesuit and had emerged from the hatch, walking down the ladder to the ground. The Holst utilized the latest digital cameras to beam pristine pictures back to Earth; a far cry from the fuzzy images of the 1969 moon landing.

George expected Sophie Miller to come out with a snappy one-liner similar to Neil Armstrong’s legendary one giant step for mankind quote. However, she could only manage an uninspiring but understandable ‘Wow!’ as she set foot on Mars and stared across the bleak red landscape.

At this, people began to move away from the screen. George couldn’t understand why. He wanted to clap and cheer, but his enthusiasm for space travel wasn’t shared by these people whose only thoughts were of their own troubles. Yet although his dream of becoming a space pilot seemed further away than ever, George couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that elevated him above his miserable day. Mankind had landed on Mars. Although, he didn’t know why, he knew it was the beginning of a new era that would change the world forever.

Chapter 2: The Man with the Trilby Hat

A few minutes later, George reached the power station office; a stark, grey building staffed by low-level power company officials who oversaw the distribution of electricity to DCT districts. Because of the frequent power failures, George was used to coming here. Upon entering, he joined the queue that led to the flimsy plastic booths set up for DCT customers. Some people glanced at his dirty clothes and moved as far away as possible to avoid the smell.

Whilst waiting, George had an uncanny suspicion he was being watched. By whom, he could not say, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right.

He glanced around at other customers (doubtless, also there to complain about power outages), but couldn’t see anything unusual. Yet George couldn’t shake off the feeling of someone or something staring at him, watching his every move.

At the back of the queue, he caught sight of a man in a long black trench coat and matching trilby hat. This struck George as odd, especially since most people in DCT districts could not afford matching clothes, let alone a trilby hat. Such headwear was rare, and prohibitively expensive even for those not on the DCT scheme. He couldn’t be part of the DCT community, but in that case, what was he doing here?

After reporting that his home had no electricity, George hurriedly left the plastic booth. On the way out, he sensed the steely gaze of cold grey eyes observing him from beneath the trilby hat.

Unnerved, George headed home as quickly as he could. The encounter had disturbed him, and he wanted to get back safely before darkness fell. He told himself he was being silly, that there was no danger, and the whole thing was his imagination. But who was the man in the trilby hat and what was he doing? Was he the same shadowy figure he thought he had seen hiding behind the dustbins at school?

Thoughts of this odd man evaporated as George reached his house. Gertrude was out, Albert wouldn’t be back for hours, and the room felt chilly. The power was still off, so any shower he took would have to be a cold one.

Deciding he couldn’t wait, George peeled off his stinking clothes and plunged under the cold water. He gasped and shivered, but at least he was able to get clean. He washed quickly, not wanting to stay under the water longer than necessary. The last thing he needed was a cold in the middle of winter.

George dressed quickly then sat and read his physics textbook by torchlight. Ten minutes later, the lights came back on. George put the textbook down and switched on the television. He turned to channel 42, which broadcast uninterrupted coverage of the Mars landing. David Gull had joined Sophie Miller on the surface, and they were conducting a geological survey with three other members of their crew. George stared at the glorious red and bronze landscape, longing to be with them.

The click of a key in the front door indicated Gertrude had returned. ‘Did you ‘ave a good day, dear?’ she said, as she entered the sitting room.

‘Fine,’ said George. ‘Except on the way home, I tripped and fell into a pile of rubbish.’

Gertrude looked puzzled. ‘How d’you manage that?’

‘Slipped on a banana peel.’

‘Well, them clothes’ll need washing. Try and be more careful George. We only ‘ave limited funds for…’ She fell silent and shook her head. ‘Never mind.’

Later that evening when Albert returned, he had bad news. The marshmallow factory he’d worked in all his life was reducing its workforce and he had lost his job. Gertrude worried about what would happen to them. Unless Albert could find another job in the next week, they’d be out of DCT accommodation and on the streets. Despite this, George’s adoptive father remained cheerful.

‘I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best,’ Albert said, as he finished his bowl of cabbage soup. ‘Never did like working there anyway.’

‘You told me you liked working there, when my parents worked there,’ said George.

‘Yeah, well, what I meant was, I liked your parents. Terence and Anne were my best friends. It’s why we took you in, after the accident at the factory when they…’ Albert didn’t finish his sentence.

‘…when they fell into a vat of liquid marshmallow and drowned,’ said George. ‘Such a stupid, pointless way to die.’

‘They loved you. That’s what you need to remember.’

George couldn’t understand how Albert maintained his relentless optimism, but was glad he did, as it meant he was never unpleasant to be around. However, even Albert’s irrepressible cheer was sorely tested that weekend, as he hunted for another job. George and Gertrude helped him as he searched the internet and local newspapers, but it was no good. There simply weren’t any openings for someone of his social status. By Sunday, Albert was more miserable than George had ever known him to be. He tried manfully to remain good-humoured, but from his voice, George could tell they were staring at the wrong end of an exceptionally harsh reality: Unless Albert found a job within twenty-four hours, they would all be homeless.

To keep his mind off the prospect of living on the streets, George watched the ongoing coverage of the Mars landing. All the Holst passengers now had an opportunity to explore the surface and were busy picking spots where their homes would be built. The idea of celebrities arguing over property on Mars amused George, and he idly wondered what it would be like to be a Martian estate agent.

The following morning, a gloomy atmosphere lingered at breakfast. Only a few hours were left for Albert to find a job. Trying his best to be cheerful, he smiled at George and said what he always said.

‘Today could be the day that changes your life.’

George didn’t reply, as he realised today could indeed be the day his life changed – for the worse.

Later at school, Mr Harding the PE teacher announced there would be a cross-country run that afternoon, instead of the usual football training. George hated cross-country runs, especially as their local so-called countryside consisted largely of dead trees and toxic rivers. Damage from the atmospheric disrupters on warheads fired at the northeast of England meant the land would not recover for decades.

Nothing grew in the fields, and rivers were contaminated with lethal toxins from the deadly chemical waste nearby factories poured into them.

The boys in George’s class changed into shorts and T-shirts, and began their bitterly cold, miserable run from the school gates, along the roads in DCT District 427, and out into open country. Endless black clouds swirled overhead. A swathe of drizzle stung George’s face as he ran along the muddy track that led up Farmoor Hill. Puffing and panting, he was struck by the pointlessness of these running exercises. How could Mr Harding possibly believe such exhausting experiences were character building?

By the time he reached the top of the hill, George had fallen behind. The rest of the boys were over a hundred yards ahead, running across a ridge overlooking a desolate countryside covered in dead grass, which eventually descended into Farmoor Wood. The wood was filled with petrified trees; like a graveyard commemorating an era where the countryside once flourished. Beyond the wood to the south lay empty fields that had once been used by local farmers to grow wheat. Now all they contained were a pair of electrical bunkers; two ugly grey blobs that looked strangely out of place even in this bleak landscape.

George didn’t know the land around Farmoor Wood well, and for that reason wanted to stay within sight of the other boys. He made an extra effort to catch up, but glancing back, he saw the only boys behind him were Craig Patrick, Dave McFarlane, and Trevor Scott. George groaned. They wouldn’t need an excuse to beat him up again, if they got the chance.

Pushing ahead as fast as he could, George stomped through puddles of mud. The curtain of drizzle escalated into full-blown rain, and before long he was drenched. All the time, the other boys got farther ahead. Behind him, Craig Patrick and the others drew closer.

George leapt over a wooden stile and plunged into Farmoor Wood. He could still just see the backs of the other boys, running ahead between the blackened trunks of dead trees. The great dark branches loomed over him like the hands of some huge evil beast. George shivered and tried to ignore his surroundings. Twigs and roots crunched under his feet. He kept imagining he was running over a sea of severed fingers, their brittle bones breaking beneath his shoes.

After another ten minutes, the ground rose sharply. George ran along a path next to a steep embankment. Shattered remains of an old shopping trolley lay strewn across the ground, and he leapt over the various pieces of twisted metal. Far below, he heard the rushing of a stream. He had managed to keep the other boys within sight, but was tiring, and knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost them completely.

Glancing back, George saw Craig Patrick looming closer. He had picked up a large metal pole from the ruins of the old shopping trolley. George tried to speed up but before long heard Craig yell.

‘Out of the way, space cadet!’

A tremendous blow crashed across the side of George’s skull, and he fell. A wave of blinding, intolerable pain washed through his head, and everything went black.

George didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious by the time he woke up, but there were no longer any sounds of running boys. Craig and his cronies were long gone. The rain was more persistent, and as he pulled himself up, he could feel large, icy cold drops running from his nose.

When the water dripped into his mouth, he realised the rain had mingled with blood. He put his hand to the side of his head, discovering his jaw swollen where he had been struck. A bloody gash ran across his face to just below his left ear. His head pounded