Shores of a new horizon, p.1
Shores of a New Horizon, page 1
part #3 of Terraforming Mars Series
Terraforming Mars
Mankind is on the brink of achieving a second planet to live on: Mars.
Vast corporations spend fortunes to compete to transform the Red Planet into an environment where humanity can thrive. The potential rewards are enormous, the risks colossal.
As the biosphere becomes habitable, immigration from Earth increases, and social and political pressures stress the already fierce corporate rivalry. While scientific advances are daily miracles, not everyone is working toward the same future.
In a savage place like Mars, the smallest error can be lethal.
More Terraforming Mars from Aconyte
In the Shadow of Deimos by Jane Killick
Edge of Catastrophe by Jane Killick
First published by Aconyte Books in 2024
ISBN 978 1 83908 275 7
Ebook ISBN 978 1 83908 276 4
© Copyright 2024 Fryxgames
All rights reserved. The Aconyte name and logo and the Asmodee Entertainment name and logo are registered or unregistered trademarks of Asmodee Entertainment Limited. Terraforming Mars and the Fryxgames logo are trademarks or registered trademarks of Fryxgames AB.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
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Cover art by René Aigner
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For Steven, Ange, Stephen, Jo, and John
Chapter One
Zambrotta Kaspar stared out the viewport at the familiar rocky red landscape, a few dots of green speckling the ground as the newly planted cactus began to take root. It was not a window, and if it had been, there would be nothing to see but the side of the neighboring Zero Gravity Engineering building. The port was a screen set in the wall of Zammi’s office and it could have shown anything – a live view of the Oort cloud, scenes from Earth, the latest Lovzansky film – but Zammi preferred a closer approximation to real life. It was the view out someone’s window, at least.
The brief flash of a visual notification warned Zammi moments before there was a loud knock at his door.
“Yeah,” he said, and the door slid open.
“Congratulations, professor!” Beryl Fernandez strode into the small room and pinched the fingers of her left hand together, then flung them apart, releasing a holodisplay which hovered over her open palm. The garish logo of Mars University sat in the space before Zammi’s eyes, the year’s tenure list in a dull sans serif font below. He spotted his own name near the middle of the page.
“Thanks, Fern,” Zammi said, not sure how to feel. “I really didn’t expect it this year.”
“Because you’re under thirty? Come on, it would have been ageism pure and simple if they’d made you wait,” she said, folding her large frame into the single free chair in the office. She was one of the few people Zammi had ever met who he didn’t tower over. “You’ve been doing great work.”
“The department is full of great teachers and researchers,” Zammi demurred, but his colleague made a rude noise.
“Whatever. There are, what, three full profs in Earth Studies?”
Zammi nodded, even though Fernandez knew the number perfectly well – as the department chair of Engineering, she was on the university’s Chairs’ Committee and there was little that went on without Fern noticing. “We need a full professor who focuses on the Exopopulation Period,” she continued, “and there’s no one else for that job.”
Zammi shrugged, knowing she was right. Still, it felt vaguely unreal. He wasn’t sure if he was the university’s youngest ever tenured professor, but it was probably close.
“Come on,” Fernandez said, launching herself out of the chair. “There’s a party in the faculty café. Let’s go before the cake is all gone.”
“Ugh,” Zammi said, making no move to leave the office. “Cheap wine and departmental heads bloviating on about their own ascensions to the vaulted halls of higher learning? No, thank you.”
Fernandez shook her head, dark curls bouncing into a froth around her brown face. “It wasn’t an invitation, Dr Kaspar. With great power comes great responsibility. Up you get.” She grabbed him by the arms and lifted Zammi bodily out of his chair.
“Spider-man? Really?” Zammi said, eyebrows meeting in mock derision.
“You aren’t the only one who took an Old Earth Media elective,” she said, grinning. “Come on, let’s go.”
Zammi held up a forefinger. “One glass of wine, then I’m out.”
Fernandez shrugged gleefully and said, “We’ll see,” then she pulled Professor Kaspar into the hall.
There was plenty of cake still sitting on the serving counter, with a stack of plates waiting to be filled. Fernandez lifted two off the top and artlessly dumped a chunk of the heavily iced pink sponge on each. Zammi lifted a hand, palm out, as she thrust a plate toward him.
“Suit yourself,” she said, and dropped one of the forks back into its tray, before scraping a slice of cake onto the other plate. She dug her fork in and took a bite. After swallowing, she said, “You better get something. It looks weird otherwise.”
Zammi nodded and selected a chilled clear pouch of pale beer. “They really pulled out all the stops.” He smirked at Fernandez. “Beer and wine.”
She chuckled and polished off the first slice of cake. “Told you it would be fun.”
Zammi shook his head and scanned the room. He recognized about half the people, mostly other members of the History Department or chairs of other departments. Marius Munro, the History Department chair, caught Zammi’s eye and waved him over. Zammi didn’t recognize the two people Marius was talking to, but the three were of a similar vintage and looked like they shopped at the same tailor’s.
“Department heads,” Zammi whispered derisively, while forcing a smile in Marius’s direction.
“You get on with Munro just fine,” Fernandez said.
“Yeah, I do. But he’s the exception that proves the rule.”
“That’s not a thing,” Fernandez said, and shoved Zammi firmly toward the knot of people. “Go get congratulated.”
Zammi acquiesced, and Marius slung an arm around his shoulders when he approached. It was awkward in more ways than one – he was a head shorter than Zammi.
“Here’s to our newest rising star,” he announced to anyone within earshot. “Finally a voice for Exopop, eh, kid?”
Zammi tried to smile gamely and sipped from the pouch of beer. The liquid went down wrong, and he coughed, sputtering. Marius slapped his back, and he managed to get his diaphragm under control. What a nightmare.
“I remember my first beer,” a stranger in a tweed, floor-length tunic said, not entirely unkindly, as the others chuckled. “It will be good to get some fresh blood in the place.” Zammi glanced around for an identification panel and saw the translucent holo floating just over the person’s left shoulder.
Dr Lora Evistar
Linguistics, chair
“Thank you, Dr Evistar,” Zammi said, after clearing his throat one more time. “I hope to be useful to the department.”
“I’m sure you will be, Dr Kaspar,” she said, then took a deep pull on her drink. “I remember when I got tenure, back – oh, it must have been nearly twenty years ago, wasn’t it, Marius? – we were still such a new institution in those days…”
Zammi tried to keep his face neutral as he tuned out the droning reminiscence. It wasn’t a conscious choice. He just naturally stopped being able to process boring, self-referential exposition. At least, that was what he told himself. He nodded at random intervals, then made a show of catching a glimpse of something in the distance.
“Please excuse me,” he said when Dr Evistar paused to take a breath, then Zammi strode purposefully over to the corner of the nibbles table where Beryl Fernandez was parked.
“I hate this,” Zammi said.
“Hummus?” Fernandez held up a flatbread smeared with a paste so strongly flavored that Zammi could smell it from a meter away.
He shook his head, with a wry smile at Fern’s gambit. “No, you know I don’t hate hummus.” He dipped his own chip and popped it into his mouth. Creamy, garlicky, peppery. He took another one. Across the room, someone laughed a little loudly and Zammi flinched.
“Whoa,” Fern said, dropping a hand lightly on Zammi’s arm. “You are jumpy.”
“I’m fine.” He shrugged and turned away.
It had been over two decades, surely he should be over it by now. But no, every party was always the same, every ostensible celebration internal
•••
He’d been just a kid and so excited to be at a grown-up party with his big sister and all three parents. And when Mom and Papi had left early, it had been even more exciting to be allowed to stay behind with Val and Dad.
The music was loud and people were laughing and dancing. There was a buffet of food on one table, glasses and drinks on another. Dad got them each a plate and filled it with little pastries, mini quiches, and veggies with dip, then told the kids to go have fun before he went off to talk to a group of adults Zammi didn’t recognize. He turned to his sister, worried she would abandon him for the small knot of other teens awkwardly milling around near where people were dancing, but she grabbed Zammi’s hand.
“Come on, kiddo,” she said, grinning, “you heard Dad.”
They wove through the crowd and, when she thought no one was looking, Val grabbed a half-finished glass of beer and led Zammi over to where some of her friends were sitting on the floor near the speakers. She held a finger to her lips, then sipped from the glass. She made a sour face but took another drink anyway.
Zammi sat cross-legged and nibbled on his food as he watched the older kids dance. The music was loud but in a fun way. Val was laughing and maybe even a little tipsy from the purloined beer. She’d become so much more grown-up lately, never wanting to play puzzles or hide and seek with Zammi anymore. But now she grabbed his hand again and pulled him to his feet. She was gripping Zammi’s hand so tightly he just went along with it. Zammi didn’t dance very often – he was shy, and more than a little awkward in social situations – but he tried to follow along. He wanted to be part of the group, part of Val’s new life. She twirled, pulling Zammi along. The other kids were all laughing and smiling as they danced together. Zammi felt like he belonged, like he was on the cusp of something new.
They were laughing so hard that when they heard the sound of a plate breaking, it took them both a while to realize something was wrong. But then he saw Dad’s face from across the room, and it was like the whole planet stopped. The party went completely silent. All the kids were staring at them, as Val’s face morphed from the cool teenager back to a little kid, running over to their father.
•••
The implant in Zammi’s left hand vibrated and for a moment he wasn’t sure if it was real or part of the memory. But, of course, he hadn’t had a communicator back then, and it had been Dad who’d received the notification. Dad who’d dropped his plate of cake on the ground before sinking to the floor next to it, his face a mask of disbelief.
Zammi shook his head as if clearing the image away. He gestured a holo open with his fingers and saw a message from the UNMI. The United Nations Mars Initiative had begun as an arm of Earth’s world government, but over the hundreds of years since its inception it had become more inherently Martian. Now, in addition to carrying out terraforming projects of its own, the UNMI took on many administrative roles on Mars, including supporting the relatively new independent and impartial Citizens’ Oversight Committee.
The message was from the Committee asking for someone to take point on investigating a new incident. Some shipping crash on an unnamed asteroid – maybe an accident, maybe something more sinister. The memory of that night came back to him again, and the terrified heart-stuttering feeling returned too. His vision blurred around the edges and if he didn’t do something about it, the panic would take over.
“I have to go,” he said to Fern, handing her his unfinished beer.
“Anyone else would have planned this,” she said, a smile on her wide face. “You should think about that for next time.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Zammi said, genuinely confused and still reeling from seeing the words “fatal crash.”
“I know,” Fern said, patting his arm. “Off you go, then.”
Zammi nodded earnestly and made for the door.
•••
Once he’d gotten away from the hubbub of the party, Zammi’s heart slowed and his breathing evened out. Twenty-two years had compressed to a singularity in that crowded cafeteria, but now he was able to put some space between himself and the memory. The two parent-shaped holes in Zammi’s life were always present, but the edges lost their sharpness as Zammi walked toward his office. By the time he was seated at the desk, he was almost able to read the details of this new crash without feeling like a bewildered and bereaved seven year-old.
Lupa Capitolina was a private vessel, larger than a personal shuttle but smaller than a yacht. It was an unusual design, but wealthy prospectors and corporate officers could afford to commission unique ships and often did. When humanity had first taken to the stars it was almost all under the auspices of corporate ownership, the search for profit at least as strong a draw as the search for adventure. Years of conflict and progress had reshaped the governance of the human exopopulation, but the asteroid belt was still a wild mix of private enterprise, corporate exploitation, freehold settlements, and general lawlessness. If anything shady was going on, it probably had something to do with The Rocks.
The ship had been en route from Mars to one of the asteroids when it suddenly veered off course and crashed into a small ice asteroid. There were no survivors.
The cause of the crash was still unknown, and some unusual aspects had been flagged. First, it appeared that the ship’s transponder had been disabled, making it difficult to track. Secondly, the debris indicated that the ship was carrying a large amount of specialized mining equipment which was highly unusual for a private vessel.
The asteroid belt was a well-known danger zone, and most private vessels were equipped with state-of-the-art navigation and safety systems. But this ship was old and had apparently been flying without any of those things. Honestly, it was a miracle it hadn’t crashed sooner. Zammi couldn’t help but wonder if somebody had deliberately sabotaged the vessel from the jump.
But who would do such a thing? And why? There were so many questions, and Zammi knew that getting to the bottom of this crash was going to be a long and difficult process. But he also knew what he’d signed up for when he joined the Oversight Committee.
Spaceflight was inherently dangerous, and just because it was commonplace, that didn’t change the reality. You simply got used to the risk. The void of space was incompatible with life, and there was only so much technology could do to insulate people from that fact. Still, the few times he’d done it, Zammi never worried about traversing space per se. So long as your ship kept the air inside and the vacuum outside, it would be fine. It was interaction with matter where things went wrong – takeoffs, landings, running into rocks.
It had been a small, pebble-sized meteor that got Mom and Papi. Something that would easily be dealt with by modern safety features, but in those days private crafts weren’t as protected as they should have been.
Progress, Zammi thought, forcing himself to focus on the positive. Learning what had happened wouldn’t bring back the people who died, but it might lead to changes so that the same thing didn’t happen to anyone else.
You can’t change the past, but you can learn from it to make the future better. It was what drew Zammi to history, what made him volunteer for the COC. The desperate hope that one day he would truly believe that something good could come from tragedy.
Chapter Two
“I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”
It was the day after the party, and Zammi was sprawled on the couch in Marius’s office, his tall frame taking up both seats as he leaned against the armrest. The space between Zammi and Dr Munro was filled with a large holo, showing dozens of documents, images, videos, and three-dimensional reconstructions.
“The days when the Committee had to fight for access to data are mostly long past,” Marius said. “I’d like to think it’s because people have begun to realize the utility of having a third party involved, but I suspect it’s nothing so noble.”
“We’re supposed to sort through the data dump for them?” Zammi suggested, idly flicking through the mountain of material on the holo which had been sent from Utopia Invest, the owner of the mining rights to the asteroid where the wreckage of Lupa Capitolina had been found. “They’re trying to use us as free data management.”
