“Yeah... you, Mom, and a whole bunch of MGC’s!” Brennus remarked with an ironic chortle.
“Hey, would you rather have a proclivity towards macular degeneration, or maybe prostate cancer? How about social anxiety disorder? Then you wouldn’t be so anxious to go out every night, which by the way, I imagine you plan on doing tonight?”
“Yeah... my friends and I are planning on meeting at the forum.”
“Always the forum. You should stop wasting your time there, and money for that matter... I can’t tell you how much time I wasted there when I was a kid, but they didn’t have all those exclusive domains back then either. Can’t you just go to a regular domain once in a while, like the, I don’t know, school domain perhaps? Anyone can visit that one.”
“But that’s the point. If you can afford it, why not spend all your time in primary domains?”
“Because the people in those domains consist almost entirely of people that you have known since you were young. It’s time you met other people besides those that fall in your socioeconomic class.”
“You’re starting to sound like the faculty at school, Dad!”
“Well, I say this with all seriousness. I think the more exposure you get to people that aren’t like you, the more secure you can become in your own identity.”
“Fine Dad. You know what? I’ll ask my friends about it tonight, alright?”
“Sure you will.”
“Well what do you expect me to say?”
“I don’t know. Just go and have fun, eh?”
“Alright Dad. See ya later.”
“See ya.”
..............................................................................................................................
Well, I’m feeling pretty lame today. I wanted to go out with my friends tonight, and Dad told me that I needed to help out with farmwork. I asked him why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and he got all mad at me. Man, I don’t know what he’s thinking. It’s this kind of thing that makes a kid rebellious in the first place, forget genetic proclivity!
You know it’s weird, but this writing down your thoughts thing actually does help. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on Dad. It’s not like this is unusual for him. He never was very good discussing things with my sister and I. He’s not the type you can really discuss things with. If he decides to tell you something, great. But you’re not getting anything that he doesn’t choose to tell you. I think that might be why I remember the story he told me about how our family got to Mars so well.
The whole thing just sticks out in my mind, actually. I was in fifth form, and Dad had his annual month long vacation, and so we decided to visit Xianluu, New Asia. We had just spent the day at the beach and it was beautiful, especially the sunset over the Pax Ocean. As we sat there, watching this amazing sunset, a sunset that kind of bathed everything in a fiery glow, he asked me what they had told us in school about the origins of Martian society.
“Sheridan, what do they tell you about... well... have your teachers talked at all about the history of Mars?”
“Yes, they told us that the three Martian colonies of New Asia, Americana, and Europa were founded in 2403 by pioneers that wanted a better life for themselves... and then a little while after that... I’m not sure exactly when, they decided to form a loose union that would allow some independence...”
My dad interrupted me.
“Alright, that’s enough. Why is history always taught so inadequately? No wonder it repeats. Sheridan, have you ever wondered why they wanted a better life? Why a loose union was needed, rather than a more unified government?”
“Not really.”
“Well... there you go. I honestly don’t know what the worlds are coming to.” He paused and sighed. “but anyways, they don’t teach you these things at your school, because they are afraid of offending people. If they taught the whole story, a lot of people would complain, because people are terrible at dealing with pain. But I think it’s time that I told you about your history, because you are probably going to hear a lot of different things as you grow older, and I want you to know the truth.”
I waited for him to continue.
“Anyways, about 300 years ago, when Mars had first been terraformed, the government wanted to administer the tests to decide who could settle the planet, and who would stay on Earth. Your great grandparents several generations back were part of a group of people in the government who thought that this was wrong, and that the basis of who went and who didn’t should be chance alone.”
“A lottery, eh?” I remember chiming in.
“Yes... in a way. So, there was a great disagreement about this, and eventually a civil war broke out among the pro-chance, and pro-test factions. To make a long story short, the pro-chancers won, and as a result, the people that inhabit Mars today are here purely because of a throw of the dice, with no genetic bias whatsoever. Nobody on this planet will ever be deemed fit or unfit based solely on what their parents gave them. Aye, we do use the tests, but only to diagnose and prevent possible disorders, and even then, it is optional. But that is the story, son. You’ll probably hear all manner of falsehoods as you grow older, but just remember that times were tough, and a lot of people were dying. They were looking for someone to blame.”
Right there, that was my Dad. He would always get that funny accent when he got worked up. More frustratingly, you never could get anything more out of him than what he told you, and what he told you was often so cryptic that you wanted to know more. I tried to pry further.
“Is that why we’re so well off?”
“What do you mean?” he responded
“Well, because we were on the right side.”
“Sort of. Your ancestors were really just lucky enough to be one of those chosen to go to Mars. Most of the people in government didn’t want to leave. Some of them would even bribe officials on the selection committee to be taken out of the drawing. Your grandparents were one of the few that ended up going, and they were given much honor and respect among the lay people for that, but nothing in the way of money. No, you have just had some extraordinarily talented people in your family.”
“Really? Tell me about them, Dad!”
I can recall that at this moment, my father’s face flashed stone for a second, and then he turned and looked at me with a somewhat forced smile, and said “Well, Sheridan, I think it’s about time we head on back to the hotel, eh? Your mom and sister are probably waiting.”
You know, it occurred to me that the psychologist never said anything about this diary being private. I think I’m going to have to ask him about that tomorrow.
-Tyler Landrith
image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:MarsTransitionV.jpg
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