A dome in the center of Cloverton served as a hospital for the Martian colony. Hosting six beds, the facility was equipped to handle any type of medical event, from paper cut to traumatic amputation. Dr. Louis Ravel, the town’s only physician, sat at a cramped desk next to a biometrically secured drug dispensary. The facility was empty of patients.

The only other person there was Tamara, who rolled up to the desk on a metal lab stool. She was still in her EVA suit from the neck down, helmet and gloves resting on an empty bed. Most people kept their jumpsuit on during the day. It was easier than constantly taking it off and putting it back on since it was at least a thirty-minute procedure each time. And no one transited a dome airlock without wearing one.

The doctor brought up a spreadsheet on a flat screen and began his presentation about projected medical supply counts and costs. Tamara tried to conceal a yawn, but this did not escape the perspicacious clinician. He pushed the monitor aside and leaned closer to Tamara, brow slightly furrowed with a look of parental concern. Tamara was no longer colony administrator. She was now one of his patients.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” he asked. He was older by a few years, and the role of father figure suited him. He played the part as if he missed it, as his own children were now grown and back on Earth.

“Sleep?” Tamara shrugged and took the opportunity to stretch. “Probably not.” Definitely not, she knew. For the past few nights she had been staying up late to review and re-review the manifests for the ship scheduled to arrive tomorrow. They would be dropping off supplies and two new residents, and loading an irreparably broken digging machine, soil samples, and three colonists who were leaving early after having nervous breakdowns.

She knew tomorrow’s plan was perfect, but repeatedly reviewing it soothed her. A pain had settled deep in her mind years ago, a past trauma that she buried. Work kept her distracted and prevented it from coming to the surface. Keep it buried, she told herself. And stonewall the doctor.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Let’s get back to the data,” she said, sounding more impatient that she meant to. She leaned forward and returned her attention to the screen, cuing Pavel to do the same. But he didn’t budge.

“Your brother is arriving tomorrow,” he said. “How do you feel about that?” He posed the statement leadingly, trying to elicit a response. Instead, she laughed, which relieved some stress, and leaned back.

Of course, the doctor knew her brother was coming. Ravel was fully aware of any population changes ahead of time so he could ensure the hospital was prepared. He knew about food allergies, preexisting conditions, age, weight, etc. of all the colonists. He probably knew more about her brother than she did, given she hadn’t really spoken to him in five years. Tamara and her brother had gone off in separate directions after their parents passed away. Now, incredibly, their paths were about to cross. On Mars of all places.

“Should I talk about my mother?” she countered.

“If you want. Or Hank.” Her younger brother, Henry, Jr. She hadn’t heard that name in a long time. It stirred something that she quickly pushed down.

“I’m just...nervous,” she deflected. “Until he lands.” That wasn’t the real reason and hoped this would satisfy him. Or make it clear she was done playing patient.

The doctor offered a reassuring smile and small nod, followed by an uncomfortable silence while they exchanged blank stares. The only sound was of an ebbing wind that peppered the dome exterior with grit. He then turned his attention back to the monitor. She appreciated that he did not press and leaned closer. He resumed his dry but informative presentation.

Two slides later she sat up at full attention.

“We’re seeing an increase in pre-cancerous indicators,” he reported, pointing to a line chart that resembled a ski slope. “More than we anticipated.”

“A lot more,” she said.

It was what she feared, and NASA refused to admit: the domes and EVA suits were less effective at blocking radiation than the models predicted. Residents were regularly bombarded by gamma rays that would have otherwise been blocked by a magnetosphere. The conclusion was clear: they needed to relocate underground.

Soon.