Chapter 1: Daysea
“Are you sure?” The question hangs in the morning air, her tone making your coffee cup freeze halfway to its destination.
Martian sunrise filters through Unit 3040’s tinted windows, painting everything rust: scattered breakfast dishes, cooling tea, the measured distance between two people at one small table.
Morning light strikes the X-Arama VI housing block at precisely this angle each day, a gift of Hematite City’s equatorial position in Meridiani Planum. Against this unchanging backdrop, another careful conversation unfolds. The upcoming work trip to Alpha Post 3T seems like the topic, but beneath it runs a deeper current: she is still studying while you build a career as a cultural attaché.
“Getting a place on Mars is a great investment,” you say, falling back on practicality. “It’s perhaps the best base for an international career.”
She sets her empty cup on the counter. A waft of vanilla, honey, and tea mix together to create that familiar domestic perfume of your shared life. She looks at you with a tinge of sadness in those wide eyes. “Maybe you’re right.”
You sigh. “I’m sorry. I would rather not be rushing you. It’s just that…” You want to tell her she’s so young, and that she needs to explore life, while you would be happy to settle down and start a family.
“It’s what?” she asks, her arms around your neck now. “That I’m fifteen years younger than you?”
She knows all too well what you are thinking. You have been together for about a year, and ever since the beginning, age has been a factor. Today she is twenty, and you are thirty-five. She has said she doesn’t mind the age gap, and that you look younger, while you behave better than people her age. You enjoy her looks and her wit. Often, she gives you the feeling that she is older than her years, an old soul, but sometimes, especially when you are arguing, you are starkly reminded that she’s still a new adult.
“It’s not that. You know I love you, but I feel like we keep having this same conversation.”
“But that is the conversation, isn’t it? How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care if you’re older than me?” She runs her hand down your chest, and you catch the scent of her hair: like a delicate floral bouquet, mingling with hints of jasmine and vanilla. She is so young and innocent when she says she doesn’t care.
But you do. She is a smart woman, from a wealthy family on Earth, now studying quantum physics at the Hematite Natural University, the best-of-the-best education provider and the hot spot for up-and-coming space engineers. Compared to your work as a cultural attaché, she is on the first step of a career that could make her one of the people that takes humanity to the stars, whether due to faster-than-light travel or a quantum shortcut. And you would rather not stand in her way.
You have ambitions, too. Even if you’re plebeian by birth—a commoner in the Martian caste system—and you never went to a fancy school, you are good with people (except when you have a romantic interest in them) and have a knack for steering negotiations to conclusions that leave all parties satisfied. Now, you are using this skill to help businesses communicate across cultures, but, in line with your goal to challenge yourself, you want to resolve bigger, more pressing conflicts.
“Too bad there aren’t wars anymore,” you say, finishing your thought in audible words.
She pulls her hands off your body, and whacks you on the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”
It has taken humanity until 2235 to reach what is called a permanent peace. But that doesn’t mean there is a lack of conflict. Still, you are talking about disagreements over working conditions and skirmishes at best (or at worst, as any normal, non-conflict seeking person would say).
You smile, and put your hands on her waist. “You’re right, we don’t need to decide right now. We can figure out later where we’re going to settle down. As long as you’re studying, we’re on Mars anyway. But regardless, I need to take that trip.”
She purses her lips. “I just want you to get back soon. After ten hours in the equations, I need a respite, and the virtual games can do only so much, if you know what I mean. And on that note,” she says, considering her words carefully, “I don’t want you to get too deeply involved with your hot thirty-year-old adversary.”
“I wish. You know we’re talking about people in their fifties.”
“I hope so.” Her hands have found the back of your neck again, and she sways her hips against yours.
She is perfect, with her almond eyes, elegant facial features, wavy dark hair, slender arms, petite waist, and curvy hips. And she is smart, way smarter than you. She beats you in every virtual game except the shooters. But she is also young. So young. The more time you spend with her, the more you are sure you’d be a hindrance. If you truly cared for her, you would let her go. You wouldn’t want her looking back in twenty years, wondering about paths not taken.
“Hey,” she says, and shakes you. “Is there something wrong?”
“Quite the opposite,” you say, and squeeze her waist. “You know, I’d like to stay here with you the whole day.”
“I bet, but I’ve a busy day ahead of me. I’ll have to get going.” She detaches herself with a quick kiss.
“Wait,” you say. “What about that exhibition space by the university? Did you get a chance to look at it?”
She pauses. “I did. It’s perfect: close to the physics department, good light.” Her eyes light up despite the early hour. “I already have ideas for the opening piece—something about quantum entanglement made visible through art.”
“My quantum physicist in the making is becoming an artist.” You can’t help but smile. “Just don’t forget about your studies.”
“Never. But maybe there’s a way to combine both? I’ve been thinking…” She glances at the clock and sighs. “But that conversation will have to wait until you’re back.”
“It’s all right, I need to pack as well. I’ll send you a message when I get there.”
“Promise?” There’s something in her voice that makes you look up.
“Of course. Why?”
She shakes her head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just… come back to me soon, okay?”
“I don’t want to be there any longer than necessary,” you say, and get a flicker of a smile in response. She peels off her robe and tiptoes naked across the room, then disappears into the bathroom. You fight an irrational urge to call off the trip, as your chest tightens with competing desires—the need to protect her future and the selfish wish to keep her close. The coffee grows cold in your cup as you consider the decisions that feel increasingly inevitable.
You have to pack for the trip to Alpha Post 3T, but your shuttle won’t leave until the afternoon, so you refill your coffee cup and take a seat by the kitchen table.
You moved here on September 14, 2234, and tomorrow, you will have been living together for six months. The place is small, and you pay the rent. Your job pays well, and you have a nice nest egg from your old apartment, which you sold to live with Daysea. Her income is zero, and though her parents are wealthy, she wants to remain independent, and this is only temporary. The location is perfect, close to the university, and a short train ride to the Meridiani spaceport.
It seems as if everything has happened so fast, but it is almost a year since you met. That date was April 4. You would be back from the station by then.
Your meeting was by chance, or destiny, as she likes to say.
You ran to catch the train to an event your agency is hosting. Dressed to impress, every detail perfect, and a citrus scent flowing over you, you were running late, whizzing through the crowd at the station. Your phone pinged. It was your boss, Mr Stanton, wanting to make a small change to the schedule, and as you read his message, you bumped into someone.
A young woman, her pad flying with your phone. You try to avoid falling down, but as you catch her arm, and she catches yours, you both tumble to the floor.
You say, “I’m so sorry,” or something like that, checking to see if she is hurt, but only find her smelling like flowers and looking absolutely adorable. She wears a white collared shirt and a blue floral skirt. You clamber off to the side. “Are you all right?”
She rises to sit, and pats dust off her side. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking.”
“Me neither. Sorry,” you say while getting on your feet, feeling a blush on your cheeks as people part around you like a stream around stone. On the side of that island, you spot your phone and her pad, and pick them up. Your phone is all right, but her pad has a crack in the corner. You shove the phone into your pocket and reach out to help her up.
She grabs your hand, and you pull her to her feet. She remains standing there for a moment, holding your hand. “I’m Daysea, as in opposites of night and land.”
At that moment, you don’t get what she means. You think she is Daisy and that she is quite peculiar. Part of it must be her sparkly eyes which, without exaggerating, are the most beautiful you have ever seen. Perhaps it is the combination of everything about the situation that ends up making you blink your eyes at her as though your brain is in slow motion. In your confusion, you don’t even tell her your name, but just say, “Nice to meet you, Daisy. I’m in a crazy hurry, but I do want to make up for destroying your pad. Perhaps, if you’d share your net-address with me…”
“How are you planning to make it up?”
You are thinking of sending her the credits to cover the cost of repairing the screen, but her expression suggests she has other ideas. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”
“Yes,” she says. “Take me for dinner tonight.”
You hadn’t expected that, but your brain is back online, using its full processing power. “Dinner sounds great. Lavonia at eight?”
She smiles. “My favourite. You’ve pretty eyes.”
You have never gotten that compliment. “You too.”
“Well, see you there.”
“See you.”
END OF PREVIEW
