Page 116 of The Mars House

It was settling on him slowly, like a bolt of silk thrown up into the air, that if the Consul’s praetorians found them, they were going to die out here. It seemed mad, and he couldn’t get his head round all the corners.

“How can they just—decide to murder us?” he asked, and then realized it had happened aloud. “I mean . . . people will ask questions if you just die, surely? Half of Tharsis wants you to be Consul, it . . .”

“It won’t matter, as soon as the ships from Earth arrive,” Gale explained. They didn’t seem confused about any of it all. “I’ll be very surprised if there isn’t a legion of soldiers from Beijing on one of them. It will have been one of the Consul’s conditions for letting them come.”

“Soldiers from Beijing to . . . ?”

“Enforce the election result that China wants. A second term for Song.”

“But that’s a military dictatorship. The Consul—why would they want that? They don’t . . . all right, confession: I’ve met them, and they’re not a horrible person.”

Gale was quiet for a second. “I think Consul Song really does believe that the best thing to do is bring half of Earth here and let Tharsis as we know it die. And I think they believe people who disagree aren’t just different, but . . . evil. It’s faith. To attack it is heresy. They’re fine with killing me because I’m a kind of witch.”

January wanted to say he couldn’t imagine feeling that right about anything, but it would have been a failure of imagination. If he were living in one of those parts of Earth where women had fewer rights than guns and anyone like Gale who didn’t do the whole “he” and “she” business was likely to end up in a mental hospital, he would sure as hell have wanted to stamp that off the face of the planet, because anything would have been better. A nuclear hole in the ground would have been better.

Which, now he was thinking it, was a terrible thing to think. It was a very Consul-y thing to think.

Gale met his eyes, just briefly, for all the world as if they were nervous of what he was going to say.

“There are evil things, though,” he said at last.

Gale nodded. “Sure. I guess the problem is when you don’t realize that someone who agrees with you can be doing something evil, and someone who’s at total odds with you might be doing something good.”

January had to stare at them for a little while, because they had just articulated what he’d been trying to for months. He was at odds with Gale and Gale was a good person. He agreed with the Consul, and . . . they weren’t. It was that simple.

He wanted to say, How are we going to get out of this? But that was useless. Either the internet came back on and everyone became functional enough to move, or it wouldn’t and perhaps in five minutes from now, perhaps in five hours, they would be rounded up and shot.

He was bleeding again. He could feel it soaking through his jumper.

“Look,” said Gale.

He looked. They were holding an egg; it was frozen perfectly, still egg-shaped even without its shell, just a clear oval with the round yolk in the middle. Speculative, Gale dropped it in the boiling water and they both leaned down to see what happened. Almost too late, Gale got the lid over the little pan before the egg exploded. They both laughed.

There was rice and vegetables, a rich broth, and even meat, which wasn’t normal here.

“Calories,” Gale explained, and held out a chocolate bar. “Keep eating.”

“You as well though?”

“I don’t need to. The first generation of children born here were modified with . . . mm, no. You’re never going to let me live this down, I don’t want to say.”

“You have to now,” January said, aware he was being baited. He still couldn’t tell how he felt about the story Gale had just told everyone. He had a sense that he should probably be scrutinising the right and wrong of it more, but he just—wasn’t. Scary as it was, it sounded like a pretty sensible thing to have done, if you knew you had titanium nerves. Nicer than sending Real Aubrey to prison. Probably better for House Gale. Bonkers, but actually, typical Gale. They didn’t let weirdness get in the way of an efficient solution.

Gale sighed. “Tardigrade DNA.”

“The—super-cold-resistant microscopic bears that live in water?”

“Yes.”

It did not matter that it was baiting. “That is the best thing you’ve ever said,” January said. “You’re right, you never will live it down. Are you okay with that pan, can your tiny paws cope?”

“Just get it all out at once—”

“Are you radiation-resistant? Could you survive nuclear holocaust? Vacuum of space? Moreover, when it’s the full moon and you revert to your true form, how do you wear shoes—is it back two legs, all eight, or back six?”

“Yes, no, no, back six,” Gale said. They sparkled at him, looking for all the world like they didn’t at all mind the roast.

January reflected that he was the easiest person in the world to distract. Gale threw the chocolate bar at his head. He ate it slowly, watching the pan simmer, because even when it was obligatory, it still felt like luxury. Outside, the dust shushed over the tent walls. The horses were talking to each other, seeming not to mind the cold—perhaps they were part tardigrade too—and ambling close to the tent. He let himself tip sideways against his bag, woozy and hazy again. Keeping so still, he was cold again after a minute, but he didn’t want to move and fetch his coat. Gale gave him a cup of the hot stew.