The Lion of Mars: Chapters 7–12

After quickly assessing my injury, Sai helped me into the Yellow Submarine.

“You’ve fractured your clavicle,” Meems told me, studying the handheld X-ray device. “That’s your collarbone.”

“And I’m concerned you may have a concussion, too,” she said.
"What’s that mean?”
“It means your brains got rattled around. I will be waking you up every few hours tonight to make sure you’re okay,” she said.

“It was very collegial. The railway was a joint project between all the countries. It was an incredible achievement. For engineering. But even more so for cooperation. We joked that such a project would never have happened on Earth because of all the red tape.”

The lack of humidity on Mars made skin dry and itchy. Meems had dubbed it “alligator skin.”

I spent hours poring over the animal book.

How could I not love the big cats? They were social and lived in a group called a pride. They helped each other and raised their cubs communally.

We were young and bouncing off the walls, so she gave us a gigantic piece of paper and told us to draw a map of our ideal settlement on Mars.

Most of our inspiration came from Earth digi-reels.

There was a castle with a moat and drawbridge, skyscrapers, a racing track for rovers, a monorail, and dozens of other things we thought a perfect Mars needed. We’d added sections over the years, so that now it sprawled over a huge area of the wall.

“We never did add that tree house,” Trey said almost wistfully.

Sai gave us the same boring speech about safety once a year. No one really paid much attention to it. But after the alien/meteorite crash and the rover incident, Sai was now on a personal mission to make sure everyone was up-to-date on emergency protocols.

If a piece of clothing could perfectly describe a person, this sweater was it for Phinneus. It was fuzzy, with fraying threads and two missing buttons. But it was soft and comforting and always made me feel safe.

“Next time,” he said ominously, “move faster.”

Meems wouldn’t let me do anything strenuous. No heavy lifting. No bending for hours in the farm.

The dust on Mars was fine and got into everything. It stung eyes and burned skin and caused dust cough. So there were filters to collect the dust in the air vents. They needed to be emptied every day. It was tedious but necessary.

“That’s the wrong node for that air scrubber, Jelly!”

“You’re hopeless,” Eliana said with a wry smile. “What am I going to do with you?”

My stomach was growling—it was nearly lunchtime—so I stopped reminiscing and got to work emptying the filter.

Could the aliens have survived the crash and somehow gotten into the tunnel? Were they even now infiltrating our settlement? Would they eat us or turn us into mushrooms or something even worse?

Then Sai took a deep, labored breath but didn’t open his eyes.

“How come Bell gets out of harvest?” Trey asked, a mutinous expression on his face.

Salty Bill had modeled the kitchen after the one on a submarine he had worked on for years. It was long and narrow, with a walk-in storage closet at one end. Every bit of space was used as efficiently as possible.

“They gave me some and a basket of baguettes!”
“What’s a baguette?”
“It’s a really long loaf of bread,” he said, holding his arms out wide.

That night after supper, we kids gathered in the recreation room to watch an Earth digi-reel. We had amassed a large collection. Detective stories. Dramas. Romances. Mysteries. Horror. Cooking shows.

“You can’t believe everything you see, Flossy,” Vera scoffed.

“What is that food they’re eating?” Albie asked, leaning forward.
“Ooh! Ooh! I know! That’s a quiche!” Flossy said.
“That looks delicious,” Vera said. “What’s it made of?”

“What about me? What kind of baby was I?” I asked.
“Probably an annoying one,” Trey said.
“Trey!” Meems chastised.

Meems always made us kids write thank-you transmissions for the supplies from Earth.

“Just one mouse?” Flossy wheedled, her brown eyes wide. “Pleeeease?”