Roma, Child of Mars

In June, when she first arrived, walking the length of the room took almost thirty seconds.

By July, Roma was able to walk the length in just ten seconds at a leisurely pace. Gravity was a bitch, she’d decided early on. The most basic movements proved much harder for her on Earth. Her body eventually adjusted to the increased gravity, but maintaining balance and simply moving were exhausting.

The scientists, who Roma regarded as little more than captors, visited almost every day to run their tests. They were always covered completely in protective gear, and she had never seen their full faces. It was bad enough that they poked and prodded her like a lab rat, but they also never responded when she asked questions. By August, she didn’t bother trying to talk to them at all. She eventually learned that the colony, and by extension, her very existence, was not known to the general populace.  She found this level of secret-keeping incomprehensible.

In September, she came to the realization that they truly planned to keep her in this room for the full year. At least the room was large, and as long as she didn’t look out the thick-paned windows, Roma could pretend she was at home, could pretend that everything was normal, could pretend her family was alive. She still cried every day, the pain of loss fresh and sharp.

October came and went. It was the month of her birth, but Roma only knew on which day to celebrate because she marked the passing days with bold red Xs on the wall calendar she had been given at the start of her confinement. The calendar boasted bright and colorful photographs of famous natural landmarks on Earth, but she felt no cultural pull or pride for them. Her landmarks were Olympus Mons, the Valles Marineris, Mount Sharp. Niagara Falls was fascinating for its seemingly impossible amount of water, but even that photograph lost its luster when she couldn't experience the view firsthand.

In November, the room started feeling colder.  Her captors brought her extra blankets and warm beverages that tasted like the carob she was used to at home but better. Only a year ago, Roma was sitting peacefully with her siblings in their education pod as classes began. Here, she sat alone. She understood the necessity of her quarantine and didn’t dispute it, but after all these months, the loneliness threatened to swallow her whole. Roma had bookcases filled with reading material here: whole shelves dedicated to fiction set on a planet she had no real claim to or interest in, still more shelves filled with thick volumes of knowledge on topics that had never pertained to her life until now. None of the literature from home was represented. Her life before this room was beginning to feel false, like a dream.

In December, six months into her quarantine on Earth, she still hadn’t shown any symptoms. While this was a very good development, Roma could tell her captors were a little disappointed. She felt almost like she wasn’t cooperating with their investigation or giving them the desired results. Mid-month, one of the scientists set a small, fake evergreen in the room and strung white lights around it. She knew about Christmas from her reading, but the holiday did not resonate with her. She also found it strange to keep artificial plants inside when the real versions were so much more interesting.

Roma quietly celebrated the new year, though the holiday didn’t inspire much genuine celebration. She had been away from her home for so long that she was starting to forget little details like the smell of Mrs. Achara’s curry next door, the weight of the walkabout suit for outdoor activities, Mr. Jeong’s awkward style of exercise. The worst thing was starting to forget the faces of her family. Roma wasn’t allowed any of her belongings from home. Without pictures to anchor her memories, the fine details of their faces blurred.

February marked the anniversary of the first time the disease appeared. The symptoms were so innocuous: a little itch, a dry eye, a sniffle. By the time her teacher Mr. Jiménez thought to check with the neighborhood’s physician, it was too late. His diagnosis had been grim, and his fate had been swift. On Earth, the terror of experiencing even a small symptom of the disease still terrified her. Roma had panicked when she woke up sniffling around Valentine’s Day, but her captors indicated she simply had allergies. She didn’t understand how she could be allergic to a planet.

March held few happy memories of home. By the second week of March last year, the disease had spread into almost all the residential pods in her neighborhood and into some of the others. The entire medical staff was scrambling to find the cause and identify a cure, but they could barely keep up with treatment of the symptoms. Once someone was infected, a quick death was unavoidable. Most died within 48 hours. Some made it almost five days. Mrs. Achara lived four after the first symptoms. Roma’s family dropped in just over a day. No one recovered. In her lonely quarantine, Roma was safe, but she wasn’t able to make any happy memories here either.

By April last year, almost everyone she knew was dead. Roma spent most of the month wishing she were dead, too, but she had not experienced even the least of the symptoms. Most major functions of the base were shut down, and all available personnel were shifted into the jobs that were necessary for basic survival. She was too young to work normally, but she helped out in the kitchens just to get out of her empty residential pod. For rescue, the survivors could only wait for the twice-a-year supply ship that was due in May. On Earth, Roma still felt the residual desperation roll through her even after all this time. Knowing that almost anything she could ever need or want was a simple request away and would arrive in hours or days was strange but not unwelcome.

That May, the supply ship crew refused to land at first because of the disease, reasonably fearing they would get sick as well. When the ship finally landed, the supplies were no longer necessary. No one was alive but her. The crew found her in the loading bay wrapped in a blanket, eyes hollow from crying.  She had been alone for three days. Now, even though her captors came regularly, Roma still felt as isolated as she did a year ago.

June rolled lazily back around, and her captors announced that she was free to leave. Roma packed the meager belongings she had accumulated over the year in a small suitcase and prepared to step outside.  It occurred to her that she had no place to go next, no relatives to call. Her first thought was of Niagara Falls. It was as good a place as any. She was not allowed or even able to go back home, and there was nowhere on Earth the sun would not feel too close.