No Return

The crops had failed for the third year running and the soil in the tunnels was so depleted, the chances of a decent crop next year were zero...

Mynos removed his helmet and inhaled, drawing the air deep into his lungs. It smelled of ozone and salt, with a hint of something floral wafting from the shore. The effect was intoxicating, and he would have stayed there longer, if it hadn’t been for Brent prodding him.

‘Come on, Bro, we need to get moving.’

Mynos moved to let him through the hatch. Brent was dragging the life raft and the pump behind him. Primitive technology, but fortunately for them, the shore was clearly visible. The beach, a wide sandy crescent, was fringed with vegetation in such vibrant shades of green it hurt his eyes to look at it. He’d seen satellite images, of course, but there the colours were muted. Nothing like this.

Brent had already gotten to work on the pump. He was the practical one, whereas Mynos was the negotiator. His job was to persuade them they were no longer a threat. The theory being it would be harder to say no to their faces. Mynos wasn’t convinced, but it wasn’t as if they had a choice. The crops had failed for the third year running and the soil in the tunnels was so depleted, the chances of a decent crop next year were zero. Then there was the water, or lack of it, and that was before you even got to the radiation and the failing tech.

Mynos jumped as the raft suddenly expanded, nearly knocking him into the water.

‘Careful!’

Brent grinned. ‘What? Are you afraid of being eaten?’

He was, actually. The old guy who briefed them — the grandson of one of the founding fathers - had talked about the predators they might encounter and how to avoid them; sharks – stay out of the water, big cats – back away slowly, snakes – don’t step on them. None of it was reassuring.

Mynos clambered into the raft while Brent held the rope. He was already drenched in sweat and it was a relief when Brent said he would row. A flock of birds flew low over their heads. There were dozens of them, their wingbeats so loud they drowned the splash of the oars, and then there were the insects that buzzed ferociously around his face. He swatted away a fly as an animal that looked like an oversized fish surfaced next to them. A dolphin or a pilot whale. He had seen pictures of them, but his memory was hazy. There were so many things to remember that at some point, his mind had given up trying.

‘For fucks, sake,’ Brent exclaimed as several more of the animals appeared; their wake rocking the raft so violently, Mynos had to grab the side to avoid sliding off his seat.

By the time they reached the beach, Brent was sweating too. Iridescent crabs scuttled out of their way as they pulled the raft onto the sand, and the cacophony of bird and animal noises coming from the undergrowth made conversation difficult. It was as the old guy had described only, much louder, and brighter, and hotter.

‘What now?’

Brent stood with his hands on his hips, catching his breath.

Their instructions from this point were vague.

Mynos shrugged. ‘Find them and speak to them,’ the old guy said. ‘Convince them it will be different this time.’

He scanned the jungle. A hundred metres away, poking out of the foliage, was the roof of a building. It was probably derelict, but it was somewhere to shelter from the heat and the insects while they worked what to do. Then Brent spotted a sign which was partially hidden behind a tree. All visitors must report to customs.

‘Looks like they’re expecting us.’

This was hardly surprising. They would have been monitoring the craft and its human cargo from the moment they left.

The sign pointed towards a path that had been hacked through the vegetation. Brent took the lead. It made sense because he was bigger and stronger than Mynos. In the weeks leading to their departure, they’d been given extra rations. Grey patties of lab grown meat and two shrivelled potatoes rather than one. Now Mynos looked longingly at the fruit dangling from an overhanging tree and told himself there would be time for that later. Perhaps they had laid on food. A welcome for the prodigal sons. It was a nice thought, but not likely.

The path led to the building and, as they got closer, Mynos saw that rather than being derelict, it looked new. The white paintwork gleamed in the sunlight and a neat sign over the door said ‘Customs’ and underneath in smaller letters, ‘Welcome’. A snake that was sunning itself on the step slithered away as they approached.

‘After you, Mr Negotiator,’ Brent said holding the door open. It was cooler inside and empty except for a few chairs stacked against a wall and a red booth in the centre. The door slammed shut behind them, and Mynos was sure he heard the click of a lock. ‘I guess the welcome committee is in there,’ Brent gestured towards the booth.

‘I guess.’ Mynos said doubtfully.

The building was windowless, and he wished they’d thought to leave the door propped open.

There was only room for one of them in the booth and Mynos slipped inside while Brent kept watch. The tiny space was claustrophobic and this time he jammed his foot in the door. ‘Please use the handset to speak to an official,’ another sign instructed. The handset, which looked like a relic from the twentieth century, was attached to a battered black box, with numbered buttons on the front and a narrow slot marked ‘coins’ at the top. Mynos lifted the handset to his ear.

‘Hello.’

At first, all he could hear was static, then a female voice said, ‘Welcome to earth. How can I be of assistance?’

The voice was neither friendly nor unfriendly, and Mynos realised he’d forgotten the script he’d practiced on the journey. At the other end of the line, tinny music was playing, and he decided to come straight to the point.

‘We’re dying on Mars and we’d like to come back. We’ve learned our lesson and we won’t mess up this time.’

Brent, who had until a moment ago been peering through the glass panel in the wall of the booth had vanished and Mynos felt a twinge of annoyance. They were supposed to be in this together.

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ the voice said flatly.

Mynos tried again.

‘We’ve changed. We know we have to do things differently.’

Of course, both Mynos and whatever he was speaking to knew humans were incapable of changing their behaviour. The propensity to destroy was hard-wired. A hundred years ago, when his ancestors asked this thing they’d created, this superior intelligence, to save the planet, the solution was obvious. An unknown pathogen had eradicated humanity in a matter of hours, and only a tiny colony on Mars had survived.

‘I’m sorry,’ the voice added, and the tinny music started up again.

Brent was slumped on the floor outside the booth, and Mynos knelt beside him. The old guy said the pathogen would die without a host, but it seemed he was wrong. Either that or they’d come up with something new.

‘We’re fucked, aren’t we?’

Blood trickled from the corner of Brent’s mouth, and Mynos nodded. Despite how things had turned out, he was glad they’d come. The earth was infinitely more beautiful than anything he’d imagined and it made him happy to think of all the animals going about their business, untroubled by human greed and cruelty. The voice was right to refuse them. It was better this way.

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