Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

The airflow drops to nothing again. After the circulation noises cease, I wait as silence becomes a roaring thing that threatens to drown my mind.
There’s a distant ‘thud’. The noises resume. Feeling cool air against hot sweat, I blot my forehead with a cloth, then stop and stare at the filthy thing in my hand. I reflexively start to cast it aside.
“Abi…”
My hand stops, making a fist about the pillowcase.
Abigail’s dead. I remember using the rest of these in a futile attempt to staunch the blood.
Spilt blood. It astonishes me how much the shade matches the dust outside. Like we’ve already got Mars within us.
What were we thinking?
Were we thinking?
Ever?
All the investments, gems, and gold: accrued for decades by those of us who heeded the warnings. We paid attention to the scientific reports that never made it further than private briefings for a chosen few.
It went so fast. A couple of million here, half a billion there, and suddenly there I was, struggling to breathe as we thundered into space.
There weren’t as many of us as expected, which is why it cost so much. Others stuck with the original view: investing in new science and owning the results would let them survive the heat death of mammalian life on Earth. As billions died, they’d survive within fortified habitats while the scientists they saved dreamed up ways to make the Earth habitable again.
We disagreed. The human-survivable era was ending, and the sheer number of those left outside would inevitably include people with knowledge of methods by which any enclaves could be breached.
So we left. It took five years of ‘tourist flights’ that came back empty for us to gather on the dark side of the Moon. Then our pioneers set forth in four ships to build Mars Base Alpha. After that, the six huge colony vessels made the journey.
From the moment I arrived I’ve told myself that Mars doesn’t care. It’s just another rock for us to live on. It’s an argument I’ve been losing as the unbelievable hostility of the environment kills us. The slightest error is inevitably fatal.
Many of us had never worked in any regular capacity, especially on jobs requiring sustained physical effort. Our joking about replacing gym sessions with essential labouring and energy treadmills swiftly turned sour. Soon after that we turned on one another as pique and denied privilege drove people over the edge.
Then the labour crews revolted. They decided they’d be better off taking their chances back on the Moon. At least the habitats there produced their own food. At first we laughed at them. When all but one of the scientific teams colluded to escape with them on Colony Vessel Six, the laughing stopped.
The colony vessels hadn’t been intended to take off again. The damage done to Mars Base Alpha when CV6 launched was unrecoverable. We retreated to the remaining vessels and soon discovered they’d stolen ninety percent of our fuel reserves and half the rations too.
We’ve been effectively trapped ever since. Which hasn’t stopped us fighting and dying.
I’ve never liked fighting. Don’t think there’s anyone left to fight with, anyway.
I still like the idea of seeing red dust with my own eyes, though. I’d supported the terraforming idea until the scientists said it would take too long.
Maybe a brief walk outside anyway?
Not today…
But soon.