I became aware of light on my shoulders. I tried to raise my head but it was an incredible immobile weight.
Then the light went away. And came back. I blinked. Someone stood in the window.
James.
But it wasn’t James. It was a man wearing a patched suit and a helmet with a discolored visor. He tapped on the window and motioned for me to put my helmet on. I couldn’t move my head. My face was numb; my cheek felt like it had adhered to my arm.
He tapped again. You have to move, he said, his voice muffled behind the glass. He tapped over and over.
I raised my head an inch and the sunlight was cruel. My head throbbed; a wave of nausea moved through my body. I forced myself to move my arms, and then my legs. Vomit stole up my throat and I swallowed it. I dragged my body sideways, felt for my helmet. I lifted my head more, two inches, enough to get my helmet on and lock it.
I stared out the window dumbly.
The man—who was it?—gestured to my chest. I looked down; my suit was unzipped, the strip of exposed skin red and raw. I fumbled to secure the zipper, my fingers numb and my grasp clumsy. After a few tries I managed it, and he opened the door and pulled me out. My limbs buckled, and he held me up.
Silt popped loudly on my helmet; sunlight bored into my eye sockets. I tried to see past the milky haze that obscured his visor but could make out only the shape of his head, the curve of his ears.
He helped me around the rover and into the passenger seat. He got in too, repressurized the rover, and helped me take off my helmet. Silt fell to the floor. I shook off my gloves; my fingertips were red and fat, the nails a sickening gray. He held out a bottle of water but when I raised my hands they began to pulse with pain. He brought the bottle to my mouth.
I gulped the water. Slowly, he said and his voice was soft and precise. It was my uncle’s voice. He pulled the bottle away.
I leaned back in my seat and the rover began to move smoothly over the ground. It felt as if we were gliding. There were no jolts or bumps, only gentle dips and sways. Light flickered across the windshield. A structure appeared in the distance, domed white modules against the pink sky. We slid toward it.
I ran my scratchy tongue over the roof of my mouth. I wanted to say something.
The man’s suit was faded blue and covered with a fine dusting of silt. You’re not real, I said.
His hazy visor reflected my face.
I squeezed my stinging eyes shut. I wish you were real but you’re not.
When I opened my eyes the rover was still and the light was different. The sun was low in the sky. Shallow pink hills surrounded me. Directly in front of the rover was a module with a round top and an airlock in its side.
I looked at my red fingers in my lap.
I looked at the steering wheel and touched it. I was in the driver’s seat. I turned my head sharply and there was no one in the rover but me.
I pulled myself out and stumbled to the domed module. The airlock opened. My body wanted to drop to the floor but I stayed standing; my eyes wanted to close but I kept them open. On the other side of the airlock was a dark corridor followed by a series of modules. I pushed through a plastic-draped door and found a greenhouse full of withered plants. Soybeans, I thought. The next room was full of dried-up wheat. I was in the agricultural outpost that had been recently shut down. I kept going and opened doors until I found the equipment room. I needed to find the oxygenator, and when I did, I sat down on the floor and moved by rote.
When I was done I crawled to a life support monitor, pressed buttons, and took off my helmet. The air was warm and still and full of a sweet, fetid smell. Down the corridor I found a module with beds in it. The one closest to the door had a blue blanket and a single flat pillow. I pushed off my boots and wriggled out of my suit. It seemed to take forever, but when I finally got myself out I sank onto the bed. The pillowcase was smooth against my raw cheek, the mattress soft under my hips, my elbows, my heels. I reached my throbbing fingers out so nothing touched them but air.
I dreamed I was with James in his bunk, the air warm and close, his skin damp against my own. His face loomed, his hair a dark tangle. He made a sound near my ear, low, insistent. His arms wrapped around me—
I woke covered in sweat. I blinked; I threw my covers off, got out of bed. My cot was a damp rumple of gray sheets and blue blanket. I pulled the covers to the top of the bed, smoothed them down, tucked them tightly around the edge of the mattress. Then I shook out the pillow and laid it flat.
I went to the equipment room, my socked feet sore on the rubber floor, my fingertips smarting, and ran a systems check. All the status bars lit up green. Then I checked the water reclaimers, made a tour of all the modules and airlocks. I found toilets, a shower room, and a laundry. Inside the food lockers were enough supplies to last for months.
I picked up a bag of dried fruit and then a packet of instant potatoes and asked myself if I was afraid to be here alone. If something went wrong there would only be me. But I wasn’t. I asked myself if I wanted James to come looking for me, and I didn’t. The supply capsule Theresa had taken was already gone, and another wasn’t due for several weeks. For that span of time there was nothing to do but wait. When I thought of waiting in this place alone—without anyone to answer to, without having to explain—I felt intense relief.
At the end of the corridor was a narrow plastic module with sinks and shower stalls. I went inside and the soft sound of silt, tppp tpppp tpppp tppped, came from the ceiling. It was cold; condensation on the sinks had a sheen of ice. But when I turned the knob in one of the shower stalls lukewarm water came out.
I found a stack of thin towels and undressed quickly, stepped into the water, and yelped when it hit my chest. There was a container of soap in the shower and I washed, the sensation of my frostbitten fingers against my skin tender and strange. I dried myself, cautiously patting the skin on my hands, chest, and face.
I didn’t want to put my clothes back on—they were stiff with dried sweat—so I just pulled on my underwear and wandered. In the kitchen I filled a mug of water and drank it. In the laundry room I found a pair of sweats—they were a men’s large but soft inside—and I put them on. In another room, a T-shirt with a European football insignia on it. It smelled clean and I put it on too.
In one of the greenhouse modules I opened the motorized shades—the room was made almost entirely of transparent glass. I’d seen the Pink Planet only through tiny portholes, the silt-dirtied windshield of a rover, and the tinted visor of my helmet. The color of its surface wasn’t uniform like I’d thought—the silt was full of different hues. Rose and peach and coral and fuchsia.
I went to the kitchen. I found plenty of food but no ready-made meals like at the Gateway. I found oats, heated some water, and reconstituted some milk. When the oatmeal was done I added a spoonful of sugar, and then since the container was huge, I added two more. I poured some of the milk into the oatmeal and some into a glass. My mind was a blank as I spooned the sweet liquid into my mouth. I didn’t think or make a plan. I just moved my spoon and tipped my glass to my lips until the food and milk were gone.