Second Generation

By Chris Gregory

Leo's daughter, Demetria is second generation. She learns of a signal from Earth and, with her friends, she plots the exploration of the planet her grandparents left, forty years earlier.
They are not the only second generation...
'Second Generation' is the sequel to 'Seconders,' the story of the colonisation of Mars.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Gregory
• Release date: Feb 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215688984

Chris Gregory

Chris Gregory - writerHello, thank you for showing an interest in my writing.I have been writing stories for over ten years and would like to share them with you.You may be interested in historical fiction or science fiction or, like me, both. Both have the potential to take us on an adventure, a journey to another time. And both allow us to look at our own time from another perspective.You may be interested in why I write and the theme that runs through all my stories: home. If so, please take a look at my website.When I am not writing, I design new and refurbished homes. I am a fencing coach who enjoys helping beginners (the sport with swords, not timber panels!) And I work hard as head of staff, looking after my creative writing director (my cat).

Book preview

Second Generation

by Chris Gregory

Published by Chris D Gregory at Smashwords

Copyright 2023 Chris D Gregory

Smashwords Edition, License notes

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 are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

*

Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world.

Today I am wise, so I have begun to change myself.

Rumi, Persian poet.

This story is dedicated to everyone who asked for it. Including Poly, Neil, Ben and Sarah.

*

The Colonists

Verena Meier – architect and Elder

Jan Wojcik – miner and explorer

Markus Eckenweber – engineer and Elder,

Johanna Einarsdottir – geologist and joint discoverer of Einarite

Stefanie van Rhoon – astronaut, pilot and Elder

Sam Grayson & Trish Sharpe – physicists, astronomers, Elders and partners

Sofia Philippou – Doctor of Medicine, & partner Sunil Patel – meteorologist

Hannah Huynh – Captain of Third Martian Colonist Team

Debbie Starczewski – technician, Georges Fillioud – food scientist

Bhanu Bahmani – agricultural advisor and official Tithonium gossip

First Generation

Leo Meier – astronomer, first born on Mars to Verena Meier & Cathal Delaney

Georgia Philippou – biologist

Feng Huynh – engineer and son of Hannah Huynh

Lena Meier – architect, Hal Meier – explorer, both siblings of Leo Meier

Phoebe Grayson-Sharpe – physicist, daughter of Sam & Trish

Ursula Johannasdottir – AI technician and Lena Meier’s partner

Katya den Arend – astronaut and pilot

Bingwen Huynh – Katya’s partner

Gabriela Hunter and Diallo Adugna – members of the selection committee

Second Generation

Demetria Philippou – medic, youngest senator, daughter of Leo Meier & Georgia Philippou

Chen Huynh – technician, son of Feng Huynh

Samaira Ferreira – meteorologist

Bimpe Coulibaly – biologist

Peter Grayson – mathematical physicist

Pawel Starczewski – engineer, son of Debbie Starczewski

Hadiza Hubert and Uwe Wojcik-Meier, members of the selection committee

Prologue

Regeneration 1 – Earth

Night or day?

A purple aura radiates from the eastern horizon. It reveals silhouettes of broken peaks and barren twisted skeletons that may once have been trees. A long time ago. The careless canvas of velvet sky is splashed with stars, with a rent across its middle. A shining arc. The arc glitters, reflecting all colours of the spectrum. Tiny frozen crystals of water split the light from a hidden sun and bend it back across the parched seabed they once came from. Something shimmers at the far edge of the ghostly barren land that was once submerged beneath rolling waves.

Some water remains.

A narrow ribbon glistens, sliding between rocks and brittle banks of soil. Its surface is oily with dust and rainbow colours from the shining band overhead. It oozes slowly across the dry seabed, drawn down the imperceptible gradient by gravity. Towards the shimmer of water.

The wings of a dragonfly sense a fraction more moisture in the air. A hint of warmth. They slowly unfurl, each a perfect silken web of veins and waxy membranes that sparkle with starlight. The dragonfly stretches its legs and extends its wings, now quivering with motion. It lifts effortlessly into the air and follows the oily ribbon of water on its journey to the new shoreline.

As the water flows it broadens. The brittle banks soften and the cracks in the empty seabed heal. A worm pushes a perfect cast of itself up through damped earth to lie upon the mudflat, which now glistens with moisture. The dragonfly pauses to watch the coil of soil emerge into the growing light, then flies on. It can hear what it wants. The shoreline ahead is buzzing.

Common house-flies drone between tiny green shoots emerging from clumps of moss. Staghorn mosses push branch-like tendrils above the carpet of shoots. The dragonfly settles at the head of a tall wavering horsetail. The stem glows luminous green from the light that continues to creep across the horizon. The tiny legs of the dragonfly tremble as the horsetail generates new growth. Growth so fecund it can feel this primitive fern rising beneath it. The dragonfly launches into the air again, following the buzz of tiny wings which sound loudest at the water’s edge.

Lazy backwaters are scattered with lily pads. Their hearts open to the first rays of sunshine now piercing the far range of jagged peaks. White petals shine in sunlight as the galaxy of stars recede, smothered by a cloud of flies now descending on the sweet nectar within.

The dragonfly darts in, seizes a fly, then swerves away to find another fern to perch. There it greedily engulfs and devours the succulent juices. Sated, it lounges on the fern head, looking up. The rainbow arc still sparkles in the brightening sky, yet the stars have all but faded. All but the brightest, including a pale reddish speck of reflected light.

The dragonfly warms itself. Filled and rested, its wings blur with motion again, lifting it over the bay, now shrouded by mist. The cool moist air evaporates in the low sunlight and drifts in swirls over the surface of the water. One tendril of mist lifts to reveal a dim red light that appears then disappears then reappears from the depths below. The dragonfly circles then hovers, fascinated by the winking red light. Life? Food? Whatever it is it remains out of reach.

The dragonfly is unaware of the electromagnetic waves that pass through its delicate wings and travel on, up into the sky. The sky is now a deep blue, magenta at the edges and brightening every moment. The invisible waves reach out in all directions, towards every remaining star that fades before the rising sun. The bottom of the fiery disc has now cleared the broken horizon.

It is day.

Another day. So many have already passed.

The sun has risen over this planet for four and half billion years. For most of that incomprehensible time there has been life below the waters. For less than a quarter of that time it has struggled onto land and clung to it with the ferocity of the burning sun. A very short time ago, only a heartbeat of Mother Earth, life was almost extinguished. But it persists. Stubbornly.

And it calls to its distant sister on the far side of the solar system.

Mars.

1

Little Earth

The Observatory, Tithonium City, Mars – Leo Meier

Hello Earth, whispered Leo as he peered through the telescope. Hello Earth. With just one hand, held up high, I can blot you out, out of sight.

Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo, little Earth, murmured Sam beside him, and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Leo enjoyed the rare opportunity to surprise his mentor. That’s Kate Bush. I’d have thought the song too old for you to know. From another time.

Leo gave a small smile. It’s a classic. Popular again now among the younger generations.

I suppose we’re standing in the right place for it, mused Sam, looking through the glazed oculus at the top of the observatory dome. After so many have stood on Earth and peered at Mars through a telescope, it still seems odd for me to be standing here on Mars peering at Earth.

You’re lucky to have done both, said Leo, wistfully.

Am I? asked Sam. His voice sounded far away on the other side of the solar system. For a moment the physicist looked as old as he was.

I think so. You knew Earth when it was alive.

Sam sighed, You know that Trish and I were the first on Mars to find Goliath.

Leo nodded, wary now, but not the first on Earth to make that discovery.

No. They hid it from us… They lied to us, Sam added bitterly.

Leo knew the story. Every living soul on Mars was taught the fate of the planet where humanity had evolved. Would you have done anything differently?

Sam looked at the dull sheen on the resin floor of the observatory, then back at Leo, No. Heaven knows I’ve been over it enough times with Trish and others. There was nothing else any of us could have done. Though I wish there had been. I thought the passing of time would make it easier. It hasn’t.

Leo put a comforting hand on the shoulder of the greying physicist. There was no way he could begin to comprehend what Sam and the other original colonists had experienced. Leo’s generation felt indebted. They owed their existence to the original colonists, their mothers and fathers from Earth. Would you go back?

What for? asked Sam, his voice flat and empty.

We’ve seen how the clouds have parted over the last decade. We can see blue. There’s still water on Earth, so there must be life.

And what life would you expect to find there now, after Goliath?

Leo hesitated. Whatever he said next would be a guess, unsupported by any scientific evidence. Sam and Trish were rigorous tutors. Every assertion needed evidence, and without it the best you had was probability. It is statistically unlikely that the meteorite strike would have killed every living creature on Earth.

I could argue against that, but I’ll humour your conjecture. What do you think could have survived the largest meteorite to hit Earth since life began almost four billion years ago? Not to mention the amount of sea and air thrown into orbit around it, the months of firestorms and three decades of ash and acid rain from the cloud cover that followed.

Sea creatures. Deep-sea creatures who don’t rely on sunlight.

They do rely on dead fish from the shallower waters above, and those rely on sunlight.

So, the deep fish would have had a feast.

Sam raised his eyebrows again. He seemed amused by the challenge of arguing with Leo, despite the grim subject. What about the land?

Leo frowned, Insects? Some can lie dormant for years before hatching, like mayflies and dragonflies. And burrowing creatures. Plenty of rodents live underground and hibernate.

For thirty years? I’m not a biologist but I wonder what they would eat?

We don’t know that all the sunlight was blocked out for the whole three decades. Some may have seeped through and allowed plants to grow again. Mosses, lichen, maybe even ferns.

Sam gave a thin smile. Ferns. Not much for our rodents to live off.

It would be enough. Life is tenacious.

Sam shrugged, True. Jan and Johanna found Einarite on Mars. Einarite was a strange hybrid of plant and mineral discovered in the moist atmosphere of the deepest Martian caves. Life is indeed tenacious. Here we are, almost five hundred of us.

Five hundred and one. Kalina Wojcik-Peters had twin girls this morning.

Sam smiled. Five hundred and one Martians. Pretty impressive on a planet that tries to kill us every day.

So, life on Earth is possible, insisted Leo. Even likely.

But not worth returning for. Not in my view.

Why not?

Would you risk your life to bring back bugs and a starved rat to Mars?

It’s more natural life than anyone born on Mars would have seen before.

Sam nodded, But is it worth dying for? You can’t talk to a rat.

Leo looked back at little Earth. I would risk my life to hold a mayfly on my finger, he said quietly.

Why?

Because it might give my life some meaning.

Sam regarded Leo, sadly. You have studies to make. A scientific role here, with us, he said eventually.

Leo gave Sam a sideways look then turned back to little Earth. There are plenty of people who are disappointed in my life here so far. I’m one of them.

Only you are disappointed. And you know Verena loves you.

She hardly knows me.

Georgia and Demetria love you.

Georgia and I have been estranged for three years. Martian years. And Demetria thinks I’m a loser. She’s right.

Now it was Sam’s turn to put his hand on the broad shoulder of the forty-year-old man with dark red curly hair. "I understand it must be hard to be the firstborn on Mars, but you put too much pressure on yourself. Do what you believe needs doing, not what you think others expect of you."

My mother designed every structure we now rely on for our lives and my younger sister, Lena, is her understudy for the expansion of Tithonium City. Leo tried to control his frustration. What the hell can I contribute to that?

Don’t try. You have other skills.

Such as?

Your keen astronomical observations.

Hah! What will that do to help the other five hundred Martians?

It will broaden their understanding of who and where they are. And you have hope of new life on Earth.

What good is hope?

Hope is what kept us all alive here for the last forty years… twenty, Sam corrected himself, after all this time I still think in Earth years not Martian.

The observatory door opened and a tall young woman with dark-red hair in a ponytail stepped through. Her skin was a rich red-brown and her eyes were rimmed with amber. She was striking. Dad? Nanna wants you.

Leo sat looking at his daughter and his shoulders slumped. She bore a summons from his famous mother, whom he could never measure up to. Did Verena say why?

Demetria shook her head.

Do you know why she sent you?

She shrugged, ’cause you never listen to Mum?

Go talk to Verena, said Sam. She usually says something worth listening to.

Unlike me, said Leo.

Demetria turned away to hide her reaction.

Not true, said Sam. Go. Earth will still be there when you get back.

Tithonium City, Mars – Demetria Philippou

Demetria strode ahead, along the crystalline corridor linking the observatory to the funicular at the cliff edge. When she paused and turned, she saw her father loping slowly after her. His movements appeared lethargic to her. Slow and reluctant, as if he were one of the original colonists who had learned to walk on Earth, not Mars. Leo seemed to have changed even in the moment he stepped outside the observatory. When she arrived, he had been sitting at the telescope, deep in conversation with old Dr Grayson, almost like a learned elder himself. As soon as she called him away, Leo’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes had emptied of life. Demetria’s father frustrated and saddened her.

Hurry up, Dad. We haven’t got all sol.

I’m surprised the great Verena Meier can fit me into her busy diary.

Demetria sighed, Don’t do that, dad.

What?

Sarcasm.

It’s something I’m good at. Seems we all need to be good at something here.

Demetria bit back a smart reply. Trish and Sam say you’re a good astronomer, she said instead, trying to encourage him.

Anyone can stick their eye against a telescope and gawp.

They say you know where to look and what to look for. You make useful, analytical observations. Demetria opened the door to the funicular that was resting at the head of the track and stepped in before her father could make another morose retort.

Leo caught up and stepped in beside her. He stood sullenly with his back to the view. Like anyone else, Demetria was drawn to the great panoramic window overlooking Tithonium City and the chasm it was named after. Rust red rocks sloped away on either side, glowing in the sunlight. The far side of Tithonium Chasma was over fifty kilometres away, shrouded in dusty haze. Demetria knew the far northern edge of the chasm rose a kilometre above them, yet it seemed level from where she stood. In most places on Mars the horizon shrank around you because of the tight curve of the small planet, but here the vista was immense. The chasm stretched out of view to her left and right, lost in the same haze. Five kilometres below her, sunlight reflected off the bubbles of life that protected the citizens of Tithonium City. Forty elongated domes, arranged in staggered pairs, each of them a thousand metres long. Forty. Two for each Martian year that human beings had lived on Mars.

She could see the sinuous pair of dark lines that weaved through the domes, threading them together like the spine of a living animal. One was the monorail that transported people and materials to the far ends of the great domes. The other was The River. The open channel that drew life from the ice, deep underground, and flowed through the veins of Tithonium City.

As they descended Demetria saw one of the domes nearest to her clouding over. It was raining. The sprinklers were drawing water from The River and spraying it out over the crops. Sometimes Demetria would just stand there, among the sheafs of barley, allowing herself to be drenched with sweet raindrops. A semi-random programme determined when it would happen. To her and the other Martians, it was weather.

A smaller dome poked out the side of the larger one that was raining. Unusually, it looked a little like an afterthought. Demetria knew it was the first one to be erected in Tithonium Chasma. The dome that saved the lives of the colonists who fled here after the disaster at Pavonis.

The funicular car passed its counterweight car mid way. A young couple smiled and waved to Demetria from the rising car, and she waved back. Leo stubbornly kept his back to the window. As they drew near to the dome roofs, she saw sunlight reflecting and diffracting off their air cushioned surfaces, conjuring hundreds of tiny rainbows. She giggled involuntarily and pushed up on her toes so that her feet left the floor of the car. Instinctively she reached up and caught hold of the rail at the top of the window. When the car slowed within the smaller dome, she allowed herself to be drawn gently to the floor again.

The doors opened and they stepped out. The translucent air cushions rose in an arc overhead, each laced with swirls of solar PVs that looked like leaves blown by the wind. Pink sunlight filtered between them, dappling the floor. The centre of the dome was filled with the luminous green shoots of young potato plants, while an incongruous scattering of dusty old habitation cabins, or habs, lined the edges. A family were showing their boys around one of the shabby habs.

And this is where Verena Meier lived while she planned our city, said the father.

And this is where the first Martian was born, enthused the mother, right here in this hab. Do you remember his name, boys?

Leo, said the younger one, perhaps about four Martian years. Eight Earth years old. His elder brother looked bored.

Well done! cooed the mum.

Demetria glanced at her dad who, as she expected, was looking the other way, trying to keep her between him and the family. Go say hello, she urged. It’ll make their sol.

Leo ignored her and carried on in his reluctant lope, trying to keep up with her nimble gait.

Go on, Dad, it won’t kill you to be sociable for once, urged Demetria. Sometimes she despaired that he hid away in the observatory, distancing himself from his family. Though she reflected that she had chosen her mother’s family name rather than her father’s. Was she distancing herself from him too?

Don’t want to keep The Architect waiting, do we?

Demetria rolled her eyes. She knew how much Verena hated it when people called her that, especially when it was Leo. The title was often used in an overly obeisant way or, in her dad’s case, sarcastically.

They slipped through the airlock into the next dome. Airlocks between domes were held open, yet they were ready to close instantly if there was a leak. The first dome had seemed large. The second was immense. The same air cushions soared up and over their heads, drawing their eyes to the light. This was the Central Park dome. A rim of rock like the edge of a crater circled a flourishing space full of fruit trees, lawns and pools. Glazed slots were cut into the rocky rim, some lit, others curtained or dark. Several of the glazed slots were slid back to reveal their families chatting, eating, hanging out clothes to dry or simply leaning on the glass balustrade and watching those below them take a walk in the park. Those like Demetria and Leo.

The park was busy. It was a Sunday. Despite living there for twenty Martian years, the Earth names for the sols of the week had persisted. It gave their time a structure. Sols for work and sols for rest and play, though there were still many at work on any sol of the week. Demetria was often one of them. She was studying at the Tithonium Hospital to become a fully qualified Doctor of Medicine, like her other grandmother, Sofia. Demetria plucked an apple from a low bough and passed it to Leo, then picked another for herself. She was always on call but was enjoying a sol out of the wards. Sofia continued to advise Tithonium Hospital though she no longer practiced. Grandad Sunil occasionally lectured on Martian and Earth meteorology at Tithonium University, but he needed help to get around now. Old age and cancer treatment were taking their toll. Demetria knew she would be lucky to have Sunil around for another year.

Hello young Demetria! called an elderly woman in a sari, sitting on a bench beside her friends. Teaching your dad to be sociable, are you? she smiled mischievously.

Oh, Bhanu! Behave, said a grey-haired woman wearing a terracotta-orange jumpsuit beside her. The jumpsuits were fashionable, yet practical. They symbolised a willingness to get down to work while remaining smart, no matter how much red dust might be rubbed all over them. Bhanu’s sari almost looked frivolous beside her.

We see so little of him, Debbie, said Bhanu. Like your son, Pawel, he hides himself away.

Demetria recognised Debbie Starczewski, one of the first team colonists, and her friend, Bhanu Bahmani who had arrived later in the Armstrong with the third team. Like most Martians, she knew all the surviving original colonists by sight and most of them by name. There were few left alive.

Debbie scowled angrily at Bhanu, You know why Pawel shuns company, Bhanu.

Poor lad can’t do anything about his deformity, argued Bhanu. It’s not his fault and everyone knows and accepts that. He should get over it and realise people don’t care. He’s not unique.

I don’t think that makes it any easier for him, said Debbie. You know how he is.

Bhanu waved her head from side to side. She knew.

Demetria knew Pawel Starczewski too. He was one of her patients. Several first-generation Martians had been born with withered and deformed limbs because of their mothers’ exposure to radiation. It was one of the great fears of the colonists. Mars had no magnetosphere to deflect the harsh solar radiation. Their old habs had weak protective screens but they relied on the shelter of solid rock which their new homes provided, giving better shielding. Building them took time. Time in which the radiation took its toll, mutating cells, starting cancers, altering and slowly taking people’s lives. Demetria and her generation were lucky. The only time they were unshielded was if they stood in a suit outside Tithonium City on the bare Martian surface. Sure, some got through. But it was a tiny fraction of what hit Mars, even during the solar flares.

Debbie had alluded that Pawel’s withered arm was not his only challenge. Demetria knew that some of his behaviour was obsessive-compulsive, hovering on the edge of Asperger syndrome. He found social exchanges hard work and tended to minimise them, preferring the absorption of his work.

Perhaps Mademoiselle Demetria wishes a little quiet time with her father, suggested a stooped little bald man at the far end of the bench. Georges Fillioud. He had arrived in the second team. With Verena.

I’m taking Dad to see Nanna, said Demetria.

Ooh! exclaimed Bhanu theatrically, Better be on your best behaviour!

Nanna’s a sweetie, said Demetria.

She is until you piss her off, said Debbie. I know.

Verena is everyone’s friend, said Georges, thoughtfully, And no one’s.

She has to be, admitted Debbie. I don’t envy her. She still carries so much responsibility.

While us old biddies get to sit on a park bench in the sun and cackle at the young things passing by, smiled Bhanu. Give our love to Verena when you get there.

I will, said Demetria, smiling back.

The people of Mars had evolved in three strata, laid down like fresh rock over time. The colonists: the elders who founded this city and made life on Mars a reality. Their sons and daughters who made up the first generation. They expanded the city. And their grandchildren, of which Demetria was the first. The second Martian generation took life on the red planet for granted. It was their birth right.

Now they wanted new challenges.

This was no normal society, so there was a gap between Demetria and the youngest of the first generation of about four years. Eight Earth years. Not much, but just enough to separate her from them sociably. She in turn was the eldest of her second generation. The gap was tiny, barely half a Martian year, but it was there all the same. She too was well known. She liked it, unlike her father who shunned anyone who mentioned his status as the first-born Martian.

Don’t they irritate you? asked