Celeste looked up from the report she was reading as the car sped past her children’s high school, and she was disturbed by what she had read. She had chosen that private school because it was already a standout in the area, with the best strength conditioning rooms, the newest artificial turf for all the sports fields, chemistry and biology classes taught by PhDs using university-grade labs. The children at that school were supposed to become athletes, entrepreneurs, and leaders who fed into the finest universities in the world. That's is why Charlie and Nichole went there. But according to the report, the school wasn’t delivering to its potential. She rang Debra.
“I called about the school board meeting, next week. Do you know what I just did? I searched the grades, test scores, and college acceptances for the country. Our school should rank higher. There are public schools ranked better than us. I don't want to sound…like that, but we pay a lot of money, and that's just not acceptable for what we pay.”
“You're right. You're so good at this. Are you going to propose something?”
“I want to lead a study group to get to the bottom of it.”
“I agree. That’s a great idea. Something has to be done, for our children.”
Celeste felt her indignance rise. “You’re right. It's for our children. Somebody has to do something. I'll be staying in San Francisco tonight; we can get together on Monday to go over the presentation I'll make to the school managers.”
Her friend winked, “Overnight in the city? Are you and Jim having a getaway?”
“No, he's in the Capitol, this week. I'm going to The New Mars Conference.”
“The New Mars Conference? You're going to compete for autographs against an army of Red Planet fans?”
“Not me. I bought a VIP ticket. I think it comes with autographs. Besides, I'm going because I want to see everything about the underground city. You know, learn from the source.”
...
When Celeste arrived at the conference center, the next day, she strutted past row after row of banners on poles showing different pieces of space hardware. Walking along with her were people who definitely did not shop where she shopped. Dressed in their best research project t-shirts, they were the cream of the crop of space systems companies and university astronomy departments, parallel-nerding with a large contingent of science fiction fans. She entered the lobby, walked carefully over to the VIP check-in desk and soon, clutching her badge like a talisman, pranced to her seat in the front section of the arena. She had a few confused moments as she watched the bohemian academic community take their seats in the sections behind her. This was not what she expected to find. She had assumed she would be joining other people just like her. As moments flew past, she was relieved to find that she was partially right; the seats in the VIP section were being filled with a better-tailored set and soon she was joined by a tall, greying man in a suit. He introduced himself. He was an educator—not a teacher, but an executive who ran for-profit secondary schools. When she asked why he was attending the New Mars Conference, he replied in a steady, measured voice, “Our redefined relationship to the cosmos demands a reevaluation of what and how we teach our children.” Celeste returned a blank expression and the educator continued. “Until now, we've been teaching them that their ancestors came to America from Ireland, Mexico, Ethiopia, the Philippines, when we now have evidence that some of them have ancestors that came from Mars and merely passed through those countries on their way here.”
Celeste was prepared for chit-chat, not erudition. “And so, you are here to... ?”
“You are familiar with the concept of genetic memory?”
“Not really.” Celeste was not stupid, but law never came close to these subjects.
“Studies have shown evidence that genes store certain events in a type of evolutionary memory. For example, people whose ancestors were refugees carry a genetic memory of that in their DNA.”
“That's horrible.”
“True. But then why wouldn’t any major event, negative or positive, leave the same mark? If you had Martian origins, you could conceivably have a genetic memory of being a bold explorer, leaping from one planet to the next. That memory could be dormant in some of us on Earth—and our educational system might provide just the stimulus needed to awaken it. I'm here to find out if anyone has considered that possibility.”
Celeste hadn't considered it… until just that moment. And on hearing it for the first time, it made perfect sense. Maybe there was a genetic reason why she was so fascinated by the Martians.
He leaned toward her. “Have you ever wondered what makes an exceptional individual—an Albert Einstein, a Nelson Mandela, a Charline Stowe?”
“Or a Celeste Woodley?” she added, and held out her badge to exchange contact information. “Would you mind sharing your card? I'd be interested in what you might offer our school.” He smiled and they exchanged information.
The lights faded to black, music rose, a NASA logo appeared, center screen, followed by a convincing computer simulation of the key milestones of the Mars Habitat 3 mission—launch, transit, Mars approach, lander separation, landing, and build-out of the surface Habitat. That final image froze as one of the pioneers of Mars exploration, the commander of the first Mars Habitat mission, Colonel Magnus Tenner, stepped from the wings onto the stage. “We have landed! Good morning, everyone.” The audience cheered. “Welcome to the first of many New Mars Conferences to come. This morning, you’re going to hear the inside story of the greatest mission in the history of space exploration. I’m jealous, of course. And I’ll probably get ribbed about it by today’s keynote speaker. To close this morning’s session, I get to interview my old friend and colleague, Patrick Burke, the Communications Director for the Mars Habitat 3 mission. I’m really looking forward to that, ribbing and all. I think you’re going to love it!” The room broke out in applause.
World Media, the conference organizer, had tried to get a direct link to the ship to interview the returning crew, but Patrick had politely declined to make the connection. The public had been kept minimally informed about transit between planets. They had been led to imagine it as a joyride through the wonders of space, when truthfully, it was considered one of the riskier periods of the entire mission, especially on the return. The psychological effects of long periods of inactivity, especially after the intensity of a planetary exploration, created risks of anxiety and depression. Hence the Trophene shifts, weeks of deep sleep that cut the crew’s perception of the travel time in half. The Trophene artificial hibernation was made possible by a gene edit, induced through a patch placed on the skin. The public wasn’t aware of Trophene’s side effects and Patrick didn’t want to risk connecting the conference to a crew whose members might appear drugged.
Patrick came to the conference well-armed with behind-the-scenes stories and never-before-seen images of the City of Spirits. Usually the Communications Director makes the announcements and then steps aside so experts can talk to the press. Magnus had given him a nice endorsement and he wanted to make the most of it. He also wanted to give World Media a little present or two; while he thought most of their coverage was hogwash, he still wanted them as an ally in keeping NASA and the Mars Habitat missions in the public eye.
When Patrick’s moment in the spotlight arrived, he warmly shook Magnus’ hand and sat in a nice, comfy chair, waving to the audience and waiting for Magnus to kick-off the interview.
“Well Pat, what is it like to be the Communications Director these days?”
Patrick smiled. “It’s frightening.” He heard laughs from the audience and paused for a second. “Seriously, it’s hard to be prepared for the groundbreaking discoveries that are happening… every… day. I mean, all the Mars missions have been pioneering, haven’t they Magnus? We found water, we found fossilized microbes. By the time I came on board, all the big discoveries had been made—we thought. This was supposed to be a completely unremarkable mission.”
Magnus glanced up at the photo of Mars Habitat 3 on the screen above them. “And now, this.”
“And now, this,” Patrick nodded.
“So, you’ve been busy. Tell us about the Mars Habitat crew.”
“Well, Magnus, you know from personal experience that the crews are chosen and trained for very specific mission objectives. There are no generalists on a spaceship headed for Mars. Everyone knows what they have to do and, for backup, they know how to do someone else’s job too. We selected a bunch of engineers—Robert Dunlap, Noriko Tanaka, and Ellis Kani—to design a permanent base in a lava tube; we selected a scientist and somewhat-engineer, Colin Walsh, to look at the geology and certify it as structurally safe. I brought a picture of the crew. Let’s put it up.” There on the screen was a shot of all five of them, in EVA suits next to a transport with the slope of Arsia Mons in the background.
“This was taken before they discovered the city. Look at them, standing straight and tall and ready to bite into their mission.” Patrick couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, “They had no idea what was about to hit them. None of them were trained to do 90% of the work required of them once they found the City of Spirits.”
“What about Commander Nasri?”
“Elizabeth Nasri is probably the only one with abilities that are germane to their discovery.”
“And what are those?”
“Commander Nasri is an excellent project manager and seasoned commander. But she was selected for the mission because in addition to those things, she is an agile thinker, quick to adjust, even if it requires breaking the rules. We don’t usually go for that, in the space program, but it was necessary here. We had mapped the location of the lava tubes, but we’d never seen the insides of one. We had no idea what to expect. So we chose Nasri because we knew she could get the job done, no matter what happened.” Patrick turned and smiled to the audience. “We certainly got what we asked for.”
“Everyone here wants to know as much as you can tell us about the Martians. Who are they?”
Patrick shifted in his chair then chose an image from his tablet and put it onto the screen. It was the mural that told the story of the Martians leaving a spacecraft and going underground. “We’ve surmised that they lived on Mars for more than five thousand years, but we are pretty sure they didn’t originate on Mars. This mural depicts their arrival and colonization of the lava tubes, we think. They might have arrived from another star system.”
“Star voyagers,” Magnus noted appreciatively. “But if they traveled from far away, you’d think they’d build a city on the surface—you know, stretch their legs and move around.”
Patrick lifted a finger in the air. “It seems like a natural reaction, but don’t forget that there was no breathable air on Mars, even thousands of years ago. We know from their genome that they are just like us—they breathe an oxygen-nitrogen mixture. We know that they’d be vulnerable to radiation, just like we are. So, it isn’t much of a stretch to think that they would seek out the protection of the lava tubes, just as we have.”
“What can you tell us about the city?”
“Ah, the City of Spirits. That’s what Commander Nasri named it, because she sees translucent images of the Martians when she wears a Martian headpiece. She describes a city functioning in many ways like a city of today, but also like a city in ancient times. There are marketplaces, there are residences, there are government offices, there are transportation centers.”
“Transportation centers? Tell us about what lies outside the City.”
“The City of Spirits is below the lava tube. The giant room that is the entrance to the city is like a transportation terminal. We haven’t explored outside the city yet, but we’ve done surface scans with our drone, Cupid. The lava tubes are highways connecting the City of Spirits to an archipelago of outposts.”
“There has been a lot of interest in the appearance of the Martians. What do you know about the type of peoples they were?”
“One thing Commander Nasri has discussed with the team, with no small bit of irony, is that they don’t appear to be war-like. In fact, she describes them as a focused, collaborative society where discussion is common, but aggression is not.”
“They must be an advanced civilization. Will we be seeing any new gadgets from Mars?”
The thought of Martian technology being sold in stores made Patrick smile. “They are an advanced civilization, true, but their relationship with technology appears to be very different from ours.” He reached to his lap, unfolded his tablet and waved it at the audience, “We love our little boxes, our tablets and scanners and screens and sensors. We fondle them and obsess on them. According to Commander Nasri, they have technology embedded into everything, augmented reality everywhere, but they pay no attention to it. She describes them as living a highly technological life that results in an almost preindustrial society.”
“Wow. So, advanced technology has made them more primitive?”
“More like advanced technology has allowed them to think more about life, and less about technology.”
That statement made Celeste’s head spin a little. Her life was a web of conscious connections she maintained through screens and devices. Knowing where those devices were allowed her to play to them and then shut them off. Using that input/output switchboard was the skill that allowed her to appear in control and decisive at all times. She assumed that her ability to manage her image was the very key to her role as a leader.
Even the little bots that cleaned her house were part of the image she crafted. Her house was immaculate, and because she and Jim could afford the best cleaning bots and the most expensive auto-septic appliances, her home was always cleaner than anyone else’s. In her circle, her reputation for effortless perfection defined her. And she used technology to craft it.
“Describe some of their devices.”
“They only have one: the headpiece they wear across their foreheads. We all know that Commander Nasri sees things when she wears the headpiece, a layer of visuals—art, signs, controls, communications—that exists only in the brain but can be manipulated as if the virtual objects were tangible. The ghosted Martians she sees when she wears the headpiece are a recording of life in the City, placed in her mind.”
Magnus shook his head. “Imagine. Wear that little band across your head and you can do anything you want.”
Celeste liked the sound of that.
“To be more accurate,” Patrick chuckled, “do anything it places in your head.”.
...
Celeste had never been much of a conventioneer—at least not conventions on the scale of the New Mars Conference. The excitement and energy was fun to watch, and the content for VIPs was interesting. But the other VIPs were not entirely what she had expected. She thought that she would be meeting other enthusiasts who were passionate about the Martian civilization; that being a VIP bought you a more exclusive fan experience, nothing more.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
But the VIPs she was spending time with were there to make connections, not to collect selfies. Their exclusive sessions were held separate from the general admission. After Patrick's keynote and the private luncheon, the VIPs withdrew to an intimate theater for an afternoon of special presentations. In addition to her conversation with the educator, she talked to a pair of game developers, a theme park executive, and a furniture designer whose name she recognized.
The afternoon session began with a panel discussion about technology transfer from the Martian city to Earth. There was a good deal of interest in a presentation about the headpieces and the brain wave AR they facilitated. At the end of the day, a Texas Senator on the Space Subcommittee spoke and took questions about planned regulation and commercialization of Mars. As a whole, none of the content was what she expected, but she took notes and exchanged cards; there were opportunities, here.
That evening, looking from the convention center’s rooftop restaurant over the city skyline, she thought back on what she'd seen and learned, that day, and she understood that she was surrounded by the people who would reconnect Earthlings with their Martian ancestors. When Celeste first became wrapped-up in that civilization on Mars she saw such possibility for improving life on Earth by becoming more like Martians. Elizabeth herself had called them a harmonious people. God knows, the Earth could use a little of that and Celeste saw it as almost her duty to make that happen.
Hearing chatter behind her made her turn. Someone of note had just entered the reception and was being escorted into the crowd. Celeste walked toward the greeters until she could see their guest. It was the NASA spokesperson. Patrick was being led from group to group. At each, there was a round of greetings, smiles, handshakes, and a few exchanged words before he was ushered on. By the third cluster, Celeste noticed that Patrick was searching the room for something. She knew instantly that the handler had forgotten the first rule of hosting. She quickly walked to a bar and asked for a Cabernet. Seeing a split-second lull in the conversation between Patrick and an older man, she inserted herself.
“Pardon me. I couldn't help noticing that you'd been abandoned by your host. I took the liberty of getting you a glass of wine,” she said as she handed him a large glass.
“Thank you. You read my mind. I can tell you don't ordinarily wait tables, so I'm doubly appreciative.”
Celeste held out her hand. “I'm Celeste Woodley, real estate lawyer and avid follower of the Mars Habitat mission.”
“Patrick Burke,” he replied, politely shaking her hand. “Are you enjoying the conference?”
“Very much,” she replied, circling her finger to point around the room. “This is an interesting group. I'm glad I came.”
Patrick smiled at her. “I'm always curious about the people who follow the missions. What do you find interesting about this group?”
“This group, and others like them around the world, have already moved beyond excitement about the mission; they're focused on how they can profit from the discoveries.”
He had not expected that response. “And you?”
“I'm interested in values. Martian values.”
“Well, we don't know much, at this point. It will help when we can understand their language.”
“But the Commander said in an interview that they seem to be harmonious, by nature.”
“Or necessity. We've already noted that it would be suicide to wage war under their living conditions.”
“True. But that was a realization they probably came to, early-on. Once they made that leap, they spent the rest of their existence perfecting the government, social norms, and beliefs to continue that stability, generation after generation.”
“But what if stability is what extinguished the society?”
“Extinguish? Or extend. They maintained a very close society not just in the lava tubes but in the space ship that brought them to Mars. I would say their stability enabled them to survive in a finite space. They probably know something we should try to learn. We think of our planet as limitless. But in fact, our growing world population is confined on a finite globe. Our resources are finite.” She was about to continue listing limitations, but caught herself. “Excuse me, my specialty is shoreline real estate law—planned retreat. The way I see it, we live in an enclosed environment, just like the City of Spirits; our space is just a little larger. Don't you think we should try to understand how they learned to live within their constraints?”
Patrick sipped his wine, “You have an interesting viewpoint. That is exactly the discipline we tap into, designing and training for long duration missions. We send a crew into a hostile environment inside a self-contained ecosystem and social structure called a space ship or a habitat. Leave that bubble and you die. So we teach people how to live together within that bubble.”
Celeste peered upward at him. “And how do you do that?”
“In assembling a crew, we can't look only at individual personality; it's also the group chemistry that decides their ability to function, long-term, without tearing apart.”
“So you can't just swap out one crew member for another.”
“Not on a long duration mission. There has to be some factor that creates a bond. And it's different with each crew. Sometimes it's group focus, sometimes it's leadership, sometimes it's humor.”
“What was it with Mars Habitat 3?”
“Like I said today: adaptability. We knew the lava tubes would be an unpredictable environment to explore. Even though their mission changed, they’ve adapted and done a fantastic job.” A handler touched his shoulder and whispered into his ear. Patrick then turned his attention back to Celeste. “Excuse me. I've just been told the Red Planet cast has arrived and so it's my turn to cede the spotlight. It's been a pleasure to talk with you, Celeste. Good luck with your interests.”
As Patrick turned to go, the lighting on the patio washed red, a row of white lights traced the path from the front door, and in walked the stars of Red Planet—Maximiliano Citrone, who played Armon, a veteran dramatic actor who saw his income skyrocket after only one season as a science fiction king, and Isrinique, a Bahamian, whose exotic multi-ethnic look played perfectly to the Martian physical appearance. Camera flashes fluttered around them and Celeste knew immediately that she'd have less of a chance at getting near either of them than she'd had with the NASA Communications Director.
On the morning of Day Two, giant, crystalline double-helixes hung over the audience, bathed in blues and purples. Magnus took-in their splendor for a moment—thousands of LEDs strung together—and began, “Yesterday. Yesterday, we learned about Mars. Today we learn about Earth. We learn the incredible story of mapping the Martian genotype, of finding the Martian variant, of tracing that genetic marker to specific cultures here on Earth. Who of us was not surprised to hear that the fantastic civilization we found on Mars very probably colonized Earth? Who could have imagined that Mars and Earth may have been Book One and Book Two of the same story—and that there are people in this very room whose ancestry bridges from one to the other?” He looked out across upturned faces wearing attentive expressions. “Right now, we are going to hear about the amazing detective story that traced the interplanetary spread of civilization. I'd like you all to welcome the detective in chief, the CEO of Telomics, Olivier Martel.”
Martel had spent more on his conservative, European-cut suit than had the combined male contingent of the VIP section of the audience. It gave him a look of precision and success beyond what several degrees and a number of patents could confer. He stopped to look out at the faces in the audience, and smiled. “Good morning. And I hope it is a good morning for every one of you. From my place, here on stage, I see expression after expression of happiness, curiosity, inquisitiveness—and a couple of slightly hungover expressions, too.” The audience laughed.
“The story I'm about to tell is your story. It's ultimately about who you are and where you came from.” He turned for a moment to look at the screen behind him as it filled with animations of DNA coming together in genes, and genes combining in chromosomes. “DNA is the alphabet that, when assembled into sentences called genes and those sentences are combined into paragraphs, called chromosomes, describes who you are—your size, the color of your hair and every other aspect of your physical body.” Two sentences wrote out on the screen beneath a chromosome:
John is six-foot-two, with blond hair and blue eyes. These attributes are especially important to the girls in his high school class.
John is six-foot-two, with blond hair and blue eyes—attributes that are especially important to the girls in his high school class.
Martel continued, “When authors write a sentence, they can decide how it is to be read by placing a dash, here, or a period, there. That's called punctuation, right? We have something similar to punctuation in genetics: it's called a variant. There are genetic variants that are markers for specific diseases; some are markers for specific physical characteristics. The variant that most interested us, at Telomics, is a marker for longer than average lifespans. It interested us, in part, because years ago we invented the test that identifies it. Scientists have known about this variant for a while, but were unable to link it to a specific condition. Our researchers used data mining to discover a correlation to longer than average lifespans.
“We were investigating correlations between the marker and a specific geography, ecology or event. Our researchers had just begun tracing the spread of the marker along specific migration patterns dating back thousands of years, when this came across our inbox...” On screen appeared a photo of the Martian, lying on his back on a table in the Habitat. “Or to be more accurate, his genome did. As an exercise, one of our researchers examined his genotype and lo, there lay the longevity variant. This is the oldest DNA we've found containing that variant—the closest we have come to a point of origin.”
The screen filled with enhanced MRI images of the human body, changing into images of the planets and galaxies. “Understanding the origin of life on Earth became Telomics’ mission and we, alone, possessed the tool to follow the quest. So we redoubled our efforts. We added data points to our migration theory.” On a map of the globe behind him, data points multiplied and marked hot spots along migration routes from Africa, the Fertile Crescent, Europe, Southern China, Polynesia and the Americas. “And by testing along these migration routes, we found concentrations of individuals with elevated health and wellness coefficients.”
From backstage paraded individual after individual—chiseled, lithe, strong, healthy—in micro-thin bodysuits, carrying palm-sized boxes in front of them. Martel pointed up to the heat map, “In these areas, our test found individuals not only of heightened health, but heightened abilities, all possessing the Martian variant.” Martel reached to a table and produced another palm-sized box, which he held out in front of himself in imitation of the specimens on stage. “Including in a small Vaudois village in Switzerland. Me.” Then he paused to take in the absorbed expressions of the audience members. “And as of today, you will be able to determine, like me, if your family tree has roots in Martian soil. The Telmara test kit will tell you. And it is now available online and at a special Telmara store here at the conference. Every individual who tests themselves will not only learn invaluable information about their origins; they will help Telomics enrich the story of humankind. Thank you.” He paused for a moment to take in the applause, then he exited, stopping to shake Magnus’ hand, while his specimens filed neatly off the stage.
After the session, Celeste stood, took a step into the carpeted aisle and bumped into Patrick. He looked at her and smiled. “Hello there... Celeste.”
“Patrick. Have you been watching the session?”
He pointed to a front row seat, “From right over there. What did you think?”
“It's kind of what I had hoped for, but I wasn't expecting it to happen here.”
He cocked his head and winked, “Frankly, I had suspicions the second I saw they were a Platinum Sponsor. It says a lot when the company CEO does the product launch himself.”
As the two walked toward the VIP exit, Celeste leaned toward him. “So, what do you think? Are you going to get tested?”
“Those are two important questions...with different answers. What do I think? I think it's great that people can find out if they have the marker, although I hear the test is pricey.”
“But you. How about you, personally?”
“I don't think I will. I'm pretty happy with the personal history I already know. I don't need to know if I'm part Martian.”
Celeste opened her mouth in surprise. “But you're in the space program.”
“Precisely. I already have my connection to Mars. It's not part of the past, it happens every day. I may not have set foot on Mars, but I've danced my spirit dance through her valleys. I've been at Z's shoulder as she explored the City.”
“Oh. That sounds pretty familiar. Z. Not Elizabeth. So, are you and Z a thing?”
“No. I prefer relationships with women who don't go on three-year road trips to other planets. I will tell you, though, we're all lucky that she's the one who's at the center of the discoveries on Mars.”
“Will she get tested?”
“She already has been. We use the Telomics test to screen all the astronauts.”
“So that’s why she can see the Martians. She’s Marked.”
“Probably. We think the marker has something to do with it.” He winked in mock confidence. “But it might also be that Z is more special than we thought.” They had reached the foyer of the VIP theater, and Patrick smiled and said goodbye to Celeste. There were other, more exclusive, meetings for him to attend.
Celeste entered the theater and took her seat, where she found a Telmara test kit. The card that came with it read: Thank you for showing interest in Martian ancestry and for being at our launch event, this morning. Please be our guest for a complimentary screening for the Martian variant.
...
After two busy days at the conference, Celeste rode home where she could process everything she'd experienced. That NASA guy, Patrick, was interesting—imagine being that close to all the discoveries. The Martians were fascinating. What was it that helped the Martians live together in a confined space, threatened by the environment surrounding them? Did they live under a dictatorship? She didn't think so. The artifacts and architecture she saw in the presentations showed creativity and artistry—even on mundane objects. It didn't seem like a society that was beaten down; more like a society that had been lifted up, inspired.
The viaduct wove along the shore and, off to one side, she could see the next prospects for planned retreat—a subdivision built on landfill in the last century around a lagoon. Between her and Jim, they covered the extremes of planned retreat; Jim took care of those with the money to afford mobility, who could take a loss on a corporate headquarters complex near the water and rebuild on higher ground. Or, like the companies in desert cities, avoid the heat by relocating underground. She, on the other hand, dealt with the detritus of climate change: people who were once proud and secure, with homes and businesses near the cool coastal breezes, but had waited too long, held on too tight, and now were watching everything they cared about subsumed by the steadily rising shoreline.
She had a beautiful home, secure for generations to come. She and her friends were lucky, some would say blessed. They were educated and had good careers. They lived in ideal communities. There's a proper order to life, Celeste thought, and a role that needs to be served if one is blessed to live the way she did. One works to contribute. One volunteers to make the community a better place. One is born with an obligation to do more than help oneself: to raise-up the community. That must be what the Martians did: they raised-up their community.
Celeste rolled her suitcase into the bedroom, hoisted it onto the bed and began to unpack. She opened the Telmara box and sat down. "What type of a test is this? Spit in it? Pee on it?" It was a bleed into it test. The box came with a cap you put over your finger that gave you a quick, almost-painless prick and captured your blood sample.
She set down the box. Purposely prick your finger? This was already a high price of entry. It gave her just enough pause to revisit a dilemma she had been mulling over since she received the test kit. Up until that moment, it had been easy to live with a fantasy that she might have Martian ancestors. It had made for a wonderful daydream where she could enter their majestic underground city and explore their graceful, orderly culture, enjoy their art and exotic foods, maybe even find a lover.
But testing herself would put an end to that. One finger prick and she could be forced back into the humdrum reality of a home office, a swimming pool, and a wall screen.
"I'll think about that later," she promised herself.
Wednesday evening, Celeste stood at a podium facing a board of the high school's educators. Behind her was a group of stern-looking, concerned parents, and Celeste was driving her point home. “You have the data in front of you. It places this school somewhere in the 70th percentile. Now there are many factors that would excuse a school for being ranked where we are, but not this school, in this county, with this tuition. As the representative of the parents committee, I propose that we at least investigate how we can raise the ranking of the school. I've given you a petition signed by all of the parents committee members.”
A teacher on the board looked up from the rankings report Celeste had distributed, “Thank you, Celeste. We, too, are very concerned about our slip in the rankings and we are looking at corrective measures.”
An administrator butted in, “But, frankly, we don't have an appropriation in this year's budget to...”
“To what?” Celeste replied, speaking calmly but projecting a dumfounded expression. “To undertake a study that should be a normal part of managing the school?”
“It would take an emergency allocation...”
“How much?”
The teacher looked around at other members of the board. “Ten thousand?”
Celeste was dismissive. “Fine. I'll work with the parents committee to fund it. Let's take a vote.”
After the meeting, while she and her group of supporters walked into the parking lot, congratulating themselves on being activists for their children’s future, one of the parents noted that they still had to raise the funds.
“Jim can underwrite the study,” Celeste said, flippantly. “My God, it's only a fraction of what we pay in tuition. And I met a consultant, the other day, who may be able to fast track us to a solution.” The educator she had met at the New Mars Conference was right, she thought. Maybe people were affected by a genetic memory. Maybe that is something she could catalyze in their children. But it would mean more if she felt invested in that solution.