Martians Abroad Page 16

  I started thinking that maybe my grandfather and the other colonists had come to Mars because it wasn’t littered with so much stuff.

  Eventually we arrived at the main art museum at the edge of the immense park that filled a big chunk of the island. The guide shepherded us around and lectured about various artifacts that were supposed to be important. I mostly tried to figure out why the big slabs of blue tiles with a yellow animal thingy painted on deserved a whole lecture of their own while the gigantic room-size statues of some other animals with the heads of people didn’t.

  I finally nudged Angelyn. “Can I ask a really stupid question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Those aren’t really real, are they? There isn’t some kind of creature running around in the wilds of Earth with human faces and beards like that.”

  “Um, no. It’s symbolic.”

  “Oh. Of what?”

  She shrugged. “Some kind of myth or religion or something.”

  “… one of the great cities of early civilization, giving rise to the legend of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon…”

  I thought maybe I should be takings notes, then I figured I could just look it all up later.

  The museum was basically a lot of pictures of things, done in a lot of styles, from the last five thousand years, from all over Earth. Five thousand years was a long time, I knew that. I knew I ought to be impressed by the pots and stone carvings and the drawings and sculptures that had survived all that time so we could look at them now. I was supposed to be paying attention to the pictures they showed or the stories they told. I was supposed to be learning how they were made and what that said about society or technology or whatever. I might have cared at some level. But I kept catching myself staring into space.

  Then I had an idea. A good and bad idea at the same time.

  A surprisingly large amount of the art had to do with horses. I knew what horses were, I’d read about them, seen pictures. They had a huge role in human history before the invention of the steam- and internal-combustion engines. But I had a hard time imagining them. When someone said “horse,” I saw a picture from an encyclopedia. Not a real horse. But the instructor talked about horses like he assumed everyone had seen one, discussing the way the painting technique caught the sheen of the coat and the individual hairs. But I’d never seen a horse, and looking at some of the sculptures and pictures I’d have assumed horses had perfectly smooth, plasticky bodies. He said something about the animal’s eyes flashing, as if it were alive. And I couldn’t help but think, What, the eyes light up?

  I wanted to see a horse for myself. A real one. Not some piece of horse-related art that was important for what it said about culture or technological progress. A real live, breathing, eyes-flashing horse.

  As a matter of reconnaissance I had actually done some research on my own. I had to know something about the enemy terrain if I was going to conquer it. Or at least not get defeated by it. And it turned out that Manhattan had horses, right here in the very same park the museum was located in. I decided to find one.

  The guide wound down the lecture on the blue-tile Babylonian thing, gazing up at the piece with awe, obviously expecting us all to do likewise. I knew what would happen next: he’d wave us on, leading us to the next room and the next treasure of Earth to be admired. I hung back, walking a little slower. Let everyone get ahead of me, which wasn’t hard; I pretended to admire the other artifacts in the room, pursing my lips, nodding. Shuffling my steps, I let the rest of the group round the corner, and their footsteps on the floor grew fainter.

  And then they were gone. I slipped back the way we’d come. Just casually walking, not running, because that would be suspicious. I sort of looked around, as if I was noting the exhibits, nodding at them thoughtfully. Only one of the uniformed museum staff members who seemed to stalk the place randomly stopped me.

  “Are you lost?” the man asked.

  I barely slowed down to answer. “Oh, no, I just got separated from my group but I think they’re in the next wing,” I said, pointing. I totally knew what I was doing and had every right to be here.

  “All right,” the staffer said, waving me on. “Have a nice afternoon.” He didn’t even blink at my Martian accent. Did Manhattan get a lot of Martian tourists?

  A minute later, I was out the front door and down the steps. I had escaped. Wasn’t so hard after all. And now I had a city to explore.

  I went around the building and into Central Park.

  It reminded me a little too much of Yosemite. Too many trees blocking the sky, rocks and vegetation piled everywhere. But Yosemite, right in the middle of a city? Earth had it all. I supposed that was the point.

  The park had a few wide main paths, cut across with lots of small footpaths and trails that looped around. They didn’t go anywhere—that wasn’t the point. They were just for walking, around and around. The whole point was to be outside. I still felt naked without my breathing mask. What if the air ran out? However much my brain knew it wouldn’t, my gut wasn’t so sure.

  The horses would be on the wide paths. Mostly, they pulled carriages, though people rode some of them in saddles. I had no idea what that would look like in person. But maybe I’d find out. I picked a direction and started walking.

  I was trying to figure out the difference between Central Park and Yosemite, why one was considered a “park” and one was “wilderness,” when they both had trees, grasses, rocks, birds—nature, in other words. Nature that wasn’t rocks and wind and microorganisms, anyway. The fact that one was surrounded by a city and the other wasn’t couldn’t be the only thing.

  It must have been the people. The park had a lot of people around—mostly school groups like the Galileo students, obvious clumps of tourists, other tour groups wandering around. They were all easy to spot—herds of milling people led by alert-looking guides in the official Manhattan tourism vests, who constantly pointed and talked. Everyone was taking pictures with their handhelds.

  Before too long, someone was going to stop me and ask me why I wasn’t part of a group or taking pictures. So I walked like I had someplace to be and I knew exactly where I was going.

  The park was enclosed—I couldn’t possibly get lost, which was good. However, I could walk in circles all day long without realizing how long I’d been doing it or how far I’d gone. I tried to pay attention to landmarks, so I’d know if I started walking in circles. I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that I was getting lost. I could always check the map on my handheld, I told myself, even though that would make me a wimp. Surely I’d find a horse eventually, and I wouldn’t get lost doing it.

  Benches sat along the path every dozen meters or so. Finally, I sat in one, admitting my feet were tired. My legs were tired. My lungs were tired. This whole planet made me tired. I should have been used to it by now. Maybe if I sat in one place, a horse would come to me. Maybe I should have thought of that earlier.

  I slumped on the bench, grumbly and angry at myself, when it happened. The horse came to me.

  I heard it first, a clomping noise I didn’t recognize. But it caught my attention—it sounded strange, unnatural. Rhythmic. So I looked. And there it was, pulling a carriage, just like in some of those pictures.

  A person sat in the front part of the carriage, holding straps that apparently steered the horse. But I hardly noticed them. I just saw the horse. Even at a distance, the animal looked big—as tall as the cart it pulled. It could fill a room—a small room, but still. And it just got bigger as it approached. Its four legs moved in sequence, a steady beat. Its color was a golden brown, almost like some of the rocks on Mars at sunrise, glinting color when light hit it through the trees. Its head bobbed; its fibrous tail, so long it almost touched the ground, swished. And if its dark eyes didn’t flash, they did shine, and I could tell it saw me, because its ears flicked toward me when I stood up.

  It was just so big, I couldn’t figure out how anyone had decided that sitting on one or making it pull a carri
age or anything was a good idea. I didn’t realize I was moving toward it until the driver tugged gently on the straps, and the animal stopped beside me.

  I was looking straight at its shoulder, where the powerful neck met the round body. It smelled weird—warm, earthy, organic. Straps wrapped around its head, chest, body, attaching the carriage to it. The horse didn’t look uncomfortable, but I wondered what it would look like without all the harness, running all on its own. I could feel body heat coming off it.

  “Would you like to pet him?” I glanced up, startled, and the driver, a brown-skinned woman with long black hair, smiled at me. “Go ahead and touch him, on the neck there. His name is Bunny.”

  I’d just wanted to see a horse. I hadn’t thought this was possible. Raising my hand, flattening it, I almost couldn’t bring myself to touch the animal. But it stood so calmly, it hardly seemed real. My heart raced.

  I touched it, briefly, and took my hand away. I thought maybe the thing would jump, and my muscles tensed, ready to run. But it only flicked its ears again, like they were some kind of radio dish, picking up every little noise. I touched it again, resting my whole hand against it, then rubbing down its neck. I didn’t expect the animal to feel so soft. My fingers tingled with the coat’s softness, and the solidness of the body underneath. And it was warm, like an engine.

  “You’ve never seen a horse before, have you?” the driver asked.

  I glanced at her. “No—I’m from Mars.”

  “You’ve really come a long way, then.”

  I just kept petting that horse’s neck, over and over again, marveling at the warm, solid, shivery skin. The horse didn’t seem to mind. My grin felt wide and silly, but the driver seemed to be used to people being silly around her horse. Bunny the horse.

  Bunny turned his head, just a little, to look back at me with his large side-set eye. I flinched back, not sure what it was doing—but it just shook its head and huffed through wide nostrils. As if I had any doubt that it was alive, really alive.

  “Polly! Polly Newton!”

  Stanton was calling from down the path, hands cupped around her mouth. Even at this distance I could tell she was glaring at me, furious. Oh, well, I knew this couldn’t last forever. I knew I’d get caught. Not getting caught wasn’t the point—the point was, how long could I go before I got caught?

  I’d done what I wanted. I’d seen a horse, and it had been amazing.

  “I think I have to go,” I said to the driver, my smile sheepish. “Thank you—thank you very much. Bye, Bunny.”

  “No problem. And welcome to Earth.”

  She waited for me to step away, then clicked her tongue and murmured a word, and the horse walked on. The steady clomping of its big horny feet sounded friendly now.

  I went back toward Stanton to face the inevitable. She waited for me, because why should she make any more effort than absolutely necessary? Fine by me.

  “Hi,” I said, smiling like nothing was wrong, and stopping when I got to her.

  “You left the group,” she said, and waited.

  “Um, yeah. But it’s not like you couldn’t find me,” I said. “What with security cameras everywhere.”

  “Would you like to explain why you left the group?”

  Not really … I had so many potential reasons I could give her, after all. “I thought seeing a real-live horse would be more educational than just seeing a lot of pictures of them. And since I didn’t see Central Park or a zoo or anything on the schedule, I … I took some initiative. An independent study project.”

  Her expression—anger, suppressed—didn’t change. I hadn’t thought my rationalization would actually work. But it sure sounded good. I didn’t let my expression change, blinking back at her innocently.

  “Come along, Newton,” she said, and turned, and marched away. I followed, scuffing my feet.

  My hands still smelled like the horse’s warm coat.

  19

  When we left the park, Stanton put me in the very first seat on the bus and made me stay there while she collected everyone else from the museum. When the rest of the group filed onto the bus and saw me, they stared at me and bent heads together, whispering. Again. Apparently, I’d caused a bit of a sensation. Again. Make that a bit of a panic this time. I’d disappeared, I’d gotten lost, I’d fallen down a hole and was hurt or dead and no one would ever see me again. It was Angelyn’s fall all over again, and our field trips were cursed. Or at least I was cursed, and people squeezed as far away from me as they could when they walked past, like they didn’t want to get cursed by association.

  Charles, however, didn’t care about stuff like that and slid into the seat next to mine.

  He kept looking straight ahead when he said, “So, what did you?”

  “I escaped,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Not very well, obviously.”

  “I wasn’t trying to escape permanently. I just wanted to see a horse.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So mission successful.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t say anything else. Just looked straight ahead while everyone behind us talked and chattered and rustled. I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, if anything. Twin telepathy failed, yet again. He didn’t even seem to feel my stare boring into him.

  Stanton put me on restrictions for the rest of the trip. I would stay at the hotel assigned to us, or on the bus, but I would not be participating in any activities with the rest of the group. Everyone else was going to see a play tonight—Manhattan was historically known for theatrical productions. I would not. I couldn’t say I was all that disappointed. I’d have done it all over again for the chance to run my hands down the horse’s neck.

  When we got back to our hotel, Ethan pulled me aside in the lobby. I was about to get angry because I thought he was going to be all pitying and sympathetic, looking at me like I was crazy. Or dangerous. That was the weird thing, the way people looked at me like ducking out for the sole purpose to seeing a real-live horse was somehow dangerous. Upending the social order or something. Whatever. But Ethan didn’t do that.

  “I’m sorry you can’t come to the show tonight,” he said. And he really did seem sad, or disappointed, or something.

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. You guys can tell me about it later. Not a big deal, really.”

  “Well, it kind of is.” He pressed his lips together and his dark eyes glanced away. Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what, so I waited for him to just say it. “I guess … I was kind of hoping this could be like a date. I know a field trip can’t really be a date. But … well. I figured I’d ask anyway.”

  I had to look up at him, he was so tall, even though he seemed kind of slouching and chagrined at the moment. Sheepish, I think was the word. I had tried so hard to not care about the play, and now all of the sudden, when it wasn’t going to a play for school but going on a date with Ethan, it sounded so much more fun.

  And why couldn’t anything on Earth work out the way it was supposed to?

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling. Grinning, maybe. Kind of silly-feeling. “I’d like to go on a date. I mean, if I wasn’t grounded again. But yeah.”

  I took a chance. Another chance. You’d think I’d be cured of that by now. But I took his hand and squeezed. We stood there for a moment, hand in hand, just looking at each other. And it felt … nice.

  “Um. Great,” he said, then after another long moment he glanced over his shoulder. “I suppose I don’t have to go to the play—”

  “No, it’s okay, you should go,” I said. “You don’t want to miss out on all that culture and learning and privilege-to-be-here stuff. Go get ready, I’ll be here when you get back.”

  He smiled, gave my hand another squeeze, and went off to the elevators and rooms.

  * * *

  I still had my handheld. I could read or watch a vid from the comfort of my bed. Or soak my near-blistered feet. Higher gravity even made blisters worse.

 
Before leaving with the rest of the group for the play, Charles managed to slip a note in the room I was sharing with Ladhi.

  POLLY’S EYES ONLY

  Keep an eye on the lobby for me. Think of it as anthropology, and pretend that you like anthropology. There’ll be a quiz later.

  Why did he have to be so hyper?

  Technically, I was supposed to stay in my room, but Stanton didn’t say specifically I was supposed to stay in my room and not wander to the hotel lobby. Mostly, she implied it, but she also didn’t leave any chaperones behind to supervise me. She should know better by now than to trust my good graces. The hotel had security vids, and presumably she’d told building security staff not to let me out of their sight. If it was me doing the restricting, I’ve have put security locks on the doors and elevators and disabled my key code from getting me through anything. Would Stanton have thought of that? Even without Charles’s note prompting me, I decided to test her, just to see for myself.

  My room was unlocked. The lift door let me pass. I didn’t have to show my ID pass or anything. The trick was just like back at the museum: keep walking like I was allowed to be here and wasn’t doing anything wrong. Chin up, all the way.

  The doors to the lift slid open and I entered the lobby, with its wide granite floors, potted plants, and intimidating furniture. We’d been informed that the whole thing was made to look like a fancy historical hotel from two hundred years ago in a living history kind of display. The only difference was the automated services at the front desk instead of the uniformed workers there would have been in the old days. The real wood, the big plush furniture—all exactly the kind of thing you’d expect to see on Earth.

  I wondered if I could just keep walking, across the lobby and right out the front door, waving to the doorman as I went. That was part of the living history: a uniformed doorman in a big coat with shining brass buttons. He’d spoken to us about the building’s history when we arrived. Stanton might have told him not to let me go, but what was he going to do? He might yell at me, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t grab me or tackle me or anything. People around here didn’t seem to go for that sort of thing.