Pittsburgh to Mars

Originally published in Story Rules, vol 2 (Spring 1996).

When you're sixteen years old and poor in Pittsburgh, you'll do anything for money. But after the job I did on Mars, I doubt the blood stains on my blouse will ever come out.

My name is Antonia. It's Italian. Poppa wanted a boy, Antonio, and I'm as close as he got.

I didn't want to go to Mars, not as the one in charge, but the trip happened because I babysit for the Forsythes. We need the money if we're ever going to move out of Aunt Marie's apartment. The Mars idea was Krissy's. She's five, and once she gets an idea in her head, she doesn't let go. Joey, he's two, was up from his nap, and their folks wouldn't be back for another six hours. They'd gone off to the casinos on Titan, and Mrs. Forsythe told me nobody leaves without seeing the show at the Royale.

"Take the kids to Mars," she'd said before she left. "Krissy's been dying to go. I trust you, Antonia." I don't always understand everything she says, because my English isn't so good. But she said trust in that special way that Mamma says 'family', the way that suffocates you with duty. She gave me one of her credit chips and made sure I knew how to use the transmat station next to the library.

I stalled. We played tag in their zero-gravity room, dress-up with the thought-controlled chameleon fabrics, and house with the micro-androids. Krissy's patience wore thin.

"I'm tired of playing with the bambino," she whined. She got that word from me, because I call Joey that.

We went, me trying to act adult-in-charge.

Mars was terraformed by the extra-terrestrials as part of the trade package. They have half, and the mega-corporations have half. On our half, nestled beneath the majestic Olympus Mons, is the Disney theme park.

I went to a Disney park once before, the one outside Paris. That was when we still lived in Italia; I was ten.

The entry point outside the Sheraton Hotel on Mars has the mouse and the duck and the tall one with the droopy ears, just like Paris. But most of the park is Martian myth: John Carter Land, War of the Worlds Wasteland, Martian Chronicles Neighborhood.

We started out with bambino stuff: Peter Pan's Flight, and It's a Small World. But Krissy wanted to explore a Martian forest. "Like in the holo-surround," she repeated.

I had trouble with the English in the brochure, but the green made John Carter Land look less urban. We walked in that direction. Actually, Krissy and I walked; Joey was in my arms, because he was tired. It wasn't bad: The gravity on Mars is just like they tell you in the public schools. Krissy kept hopping up in the air shouting, "I'm a kangaroo!"

Then Flash Gordon stepped off a Martian canal boat, and Krissy wanted to talk to him. Flash was an android, built like Michelangelo's David (with clothes) and had a hero voice that swept Krissy and Joey away. That changed their vote to The Worlds of Flash Gordon. I decided it wasn't too different from John Carter Land, so we steered in that direction. On the way, I had us stop in the ladies room, because Mrs. Forsythe says they're trying to potty train Joey, though he still wears those diapers that transmat everything but human tissue into the sun. He didn't need to go.

At the entry to Flash's Worlds I had to rent an aircar, because it's a big park. The boy renting the aircars was real; I could see chest hair peeking out of his shirt. He introduced himself as John; a few years older than me, maybe nineteen. He had eyes I could drown in. I had to ask him to slow down, because his English was too fast. He had a nice voice, and I liked his smile.

"Is too scary for small children?" I asked.

"It's like Small World," he said, "but the special effects are better. I go on break in an hour; you want to wait, I'll give you a personal tour."

John obviously had no concept of children's patience. Krissy was already tugging toward the car she'd picked out. I used Aunt Marie's holophone number on the rental form, and saw John copy it on a scrap of paper. He insisted on renting me a death ray blaster, too.

"You can't hurt anybody, even by accident. It's a smartweapon tied to the Disney AI."

The aircar had a little brass plaque on the dash: "Handbuilt by Tom Swift." In Italia, we had handbuilt things, and I know this wasn't. It had computer holos and electronic restraints, just like a Fiat.

I took off slow. Other aircars zipped past above and below. For ten minutes I cruised over the jungle. Joey's eyes were plastered to the side of the bubble, drinking in everything. Krissy played with the contents of her handbag like she was going shopping.

I found an empty clearing. It was muddy, which must be why everybody passed it up. That was okay; we'd just play in the jungle nearby. It had clean grass and flowers almost as big as Joey.

I popped the bubble and we were out. We'd come down close to the trees, but there were a few mud puddles. I was trying to sidestep them as best I could, holding Joey and Krissy's hands to help them resist temptation, when something slurped out of a puddle. An arm the color of mud grabbed Joey by the leg.

Joey screamed. Krissy and I screamed. A man clambered out of the mud puddle, and then I saw two more crawling out of nearby puddles. The men had features as smeared and lumpy as something in Joey's diaper before you pressed the "Clean" button to transmat it away.

I let go of Krissy to pull Joey back with both hands. The blaster? Back in the aircar, in my purse! I was afraid to think what might happen to Joey if I ran back for it. They wouldn't hurt him; this was a Disney park. But they were getting mud all over him, and the bambino was scared. This was It's a Small World from Hell. If stupido John ever called me, I'd give him the tongue-lashing from Hell.

Krissy shouted, "You leggo my brother!" She let fly with her little handbag.

I don't know what she keeps in it, but it left a sizable crater in the mudman's stomach. He toppled backwards into the puddle. The other two stopped dead, realizing they were up against a five-year-old Amazon.

Joey ran to me in tears. I picked him up, getting mud all over the blouse Nana sent me from Italia last Christmas. I found Krissy's hand and edged back toward the aircar, avoiding man-sized puddles. We jumped in and I powered up. Only it didn't power up. This, I realized, was part of the adventure. The mudmen approached, and I pulled the blaster from my purse.

"Please, I wish to speak to Customer Relations," I said, leveling the blaster at them. This was not what I expected, and I had to get Mrs. Forsythe's money back.

"At the fortress," said a mudman. He sounded like his sinuses were clogged with mud.

"And please, how to this fortress if my aircar does not start?"

That stumped them for a while. I could almost see the synapses firing, one by one. Finally one said, "Follow us."

"Not through the mud, please."

"Not through the mud," it echoed. If I wanted a parrot, we'd be in AdventureLand, taking the Jungle Cruise.

"How far?"

"Not far." It gestured toward Olympus Mons, kilometers away.

I pulled out the Disney brochure and paged through it. Close to the clearing marked Mudmen was the Fortress of Ming the Merciless, complete with restrooms, the Dungeon Cafe, and two souvenir shops.

"Gotta go," said Joey, tugging my hand.

"So go, per favore."

"Go potty," he insisted.

I checked the map. No restroom closer than the fortress. I took Joey behind a nearby tree, and he peed. This suddenly reminded me that I had to pee, but not for anything do I drop panties in front of men, even android men. Krissy has a bladder that lasts for days and was oblivious to my dilemma. I pressed my legs together. It occurred to me that if I blasted the mudmen, I'd have privacy, but after the children told Mrs. Forsythe, I'd have explaining to do.

"Lead, please." For emphasis, I fired at a puddle, which blasted a fountain of mud and steam into the air. Joey and Krissy were in awe. They adored the forest walk: Pittsburgh parks have nothing like it. The trees were blue and green, pretty against the pink sky, and there were birds like Aunt Marie's canaries in them. A tiny moon drifted past overhead, or perhaps a helium balloon. Krissy spotted the fortress beyond the trees, in a stony wasteland. It was black, like the rocks around Mount Vesuvius. In front was a drawbridge. Why the drawbridge when everyone flew aircars escaped me.

There were guards outside. They closed ranks to follow us. The restrooms were just inside, and I ducked in with the children, leaving the mudmen and the guards to wait. While I was in the stall, Krissy climbed up on the sink to study herself in the mirror. Joey played with the air blower like Aunt Marie at a riverboat slot machine. I tried to clean a bit of mud off myself and the children, but gave it up as hopeless.

Outside, the mudmen were gone, but the guards, in golden armor and blasters, weren't. They were androids, not as well made as Flash.

"Excuse," I said. "We are looking..."

"Come with us."

They led us up two flights of stairs, toward where I presumed Customer Relations was. The floor looked like Italian marble. The corridors were lit by antique gas-filled fluorescent tubes, just like the Vatican. Orchestra music played from hidden speakers. The other tourists were taking holoscenes of the guards. I wished I'd brought Aunt Marie's Kodak.

Massive crimson and gold doors slid apart, and we entered a huge chamber. Off-duty androids in alien body forms stood near the sides. A plush red carpet led down the center.

"Thank you," I said, though I wasn't sure it was necessary to thank androids.

I led Joey and Krissy by the hand toward the front, where a bald man with a long black moustache and beard sat in a huge chair. I noticed there was a silver globe following us through the air. Sometimes downtown Pittsburgh stores take holoscene recordings to make sure you don't steal the merchandise. But the children and I weren't going to take anything.

There were a few steps up to the C.R. agent's chair, and we were about to climb them when a beam of green light from the globe hit my purse. Something crackled, and when I opened my purse, a puff of smoke drifted out. The blaster, which I'd rented from John, was cracked.

"For that I will not pay," I said to the bald man. "And I wish a refund for my aircar, also."

"Bu'ger-fries," said Joey, tugging on my hand. It's what he says when he's hungry.

"I get your mamma's money back first, Joey."

"Pathetic Earthlings," the man said. He rose from his chair. He was only an android. He wore a long cape, even though the room was warm.

"Do not start, please," I said. "Stop the game. We are not playing."

"In my empire the only games are for life and death. Before I destroy your miserable planet, I grant you one chance to save your two companions. Defeat my champion in the ordeal of single combat, and they go free. Fail, and they become my thralls forever."

Maybe he didn't understand my English. "I think I do not need a refund this moment." I backed away with the children. "We go eat and to return later."

"Take these cowards and throw them in the dungeon!"

Definite language problems. I managed to herd the children back toward the exit without the guards touching them, avoiding a major trauma situation. There was a Japanese tour group coming in. I beckoned for their assistance with a muddy sleeve. They laughed and chattered in Japanese, taking in the scene with their Nikons. I noticed they had little satellite phones on their wrists, like Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe wear.

"Where we going?" asked Krissy.

"I think they want us to take a timeout."

"No timeout!" wailed Joey. He stamped, which in this gravity flung him into the air. I still held his hand.

We were herded downstairs a few levels by the golden guards. One unlocked a door to a dim corridor.

"I'm scared," said Krissy. Both children were clinging to me, making it hard to walk. A guard unlocked a cell.

"Inside." He pushed me and locked the door behind.

"I wanna go home now," said Krissy, looking up at me with sad puppy dog eyes.

Joey lay down on the floor and started to cry. The floor looked like rock, but was softer. In my mind, John was rapidly spiraling down through the circles of Dante's Inferno.

I rummaged through my purse and managed to find two sticks of gum. This bought me a few seconds peace.

"Is Flash gonna rescue us?" asked Krissy, chewing noisily.

"I think Flash would just get us in more trouble," I muttered darkly.

I shook the door, which was solid. I turned my attention to the window on the opposite wall. The bars were actually made of metal. I could see the wasteland outside, but no fellow tourists to beckon to. The wall was extruded organics. One shot with my blaster would have taken it out. An idea occurred to me.

"Joey, take off your pants and diaper."

He happily obliged, and was soon prancing around the room like a midget ballet star. Krissy looked on in disapproval. I opened the diaper and flattened its inside against the wall below the window. I clicked the "Clean" button and peeked beneath. Sure enough, a thin layer of the wall had disappeared.

"Whatcha doing?" asked Krissy.

"Digging a hole."

"Can I help?"

"Per favore." I turned over the project to her; digging holes is what she does best.

She was nearly through the wall when there was a noise at the door. I stood up quickly, blocking the view of the hole with my body. A feathered face appeared at the guardslot in the door.

"Are you from C.R., please?" I asked.

"Tonight we overthrow the emperor," said the voice. "I've come to help you escape, so we can join forces with my fellow hawkmen."

"No, thank you."

He blinked.

"Naptime," I explained. "Please you come back later."

"No naps!" yelled Joey. "No!"

The face slunk away.

After a few minutes, Krissy was through the wall, exploring the dirt outside. She'd made the hole too small for me, and it took some desperate pleading before she handed over the diaper. The charge indicator on the diaper was well into the red, but it held out long enough for me to widen the hole. If the Forsythes noticed, they'd think Joey had a major diarrhea attack.

Trying not to slip on loose stones, we headed downslope, away from the fortress. While we hid behind an outcropping of rock, I studied the map in the Disney brochure.

"I'm hungry," said Krissy. She kicked little stones, watching them sail off in the low gravity.

"Bu'ger-fries! Bu'ger-fries!" said Joey.

I shushed them, anxiously peering up at the fortress. No hawkmen circling yet. I'd hoped they'd provide a diversion, but realized the rebellion had been delayed because of naptime.

According to the map, the lands around Ming's fortress weren't too inviting. Areas were marked "Treemen," "Swampmen" and "Cliffmen.". I didn't know which were friends or foes of the emperor and suspected it didn't matter.

Krissy climbed partway up the rock shielding us. She sat on a little ledge, swinging her legs.

"Up. Up," said Joey.

I gave him a boost, and he sat triumphantly next to his sister. She started climbing higher as I slowly deciphered the English description of The Worlds of Flash Gordon. It sounded like a lot more fun than we were having. I was reading about the roving bands of fellow adventurers, always willing to help their comrades, when I heard a squeal. I looked up just in time to catch Joey. He'd tried to follow his sister, but lost his hold.

Joey wailed. I clamped a hand over his mouth, which only made him more upset. I held him close to me, so he was at least crying into my blouse. He finally settled down to a whimper.

Sniffling, Joey showed me his hands, which were scratched. There wasn't much blood, because he wiped both hands on my nice blouse. I kissed his hands and looked through my purse for a tissue.

"Krissy bad," he said.

"I didn't push him," said Krissy, sulking. She was sitting on another ledge, out of reach.

"Krissy bad."

She ignored him.

"Badaid," he said to me. "Badaid."

"I have no bandage, Joey. Maybe we find something, okay?" I searched through the brochure and finally found a paragraph on first aid. For The Worlds of Flash Gordon, see page 16. I found page 16. The first aid station, naturally, was in Fortress of Ming the Merciless. Probably doubles as a torture chamber, I thought. Under first aid, I also read, "During an active adventure drama, use the release phrase to ensure immediate attention." What release phrase?

It took me several minutes of plowing through the English before I found it, preceded by the line, "As your rental agent will explain to you ..." I stuffed the brochure in my purse.

"Okay, we go. Suppertime."

Krissy quickly climbed down. I started toward the fortress, leading the children.

"Not again!" Krissy whined.

"They won't prison us this time."

The golden guards met us on the drawbridge, blasters in hand. Joey and Krissy pressed against my legs.

"Release the prisoners," I ordered.

"Yes, Empress,"

"Lead to first aid station, please."

They led us politely.

"You're a Empress?" said Krissy, wonderingly.

After Joey was patched up, we ate in the Dungeon Cafe. Everything smelled of American french-fry grease. I'd never thought of it as a welcome smell before. Joey ate an entire soyburger and got ketchup all over everything, including my blouse. He had a Mars bar for dessert.

I filled out a refund request form, gave it to a real person, and an aircar arrived to take us back to the Disney transmat station. Flash was the driver. I'd hoped we'd get the duck, to bring back my memories of Paris. This trip had been a disappointment ever since we entered Flash's Worlds. Through the bubble overhead, the sun was a lonely, faraway disk. When we got to the the portal, I entered the library code, and we stepped through to Earth, where my weight tripled.

"Need a diet," I murmured.

"You're skinnier than Mommy," said Krissy.

"Mommy fat," said Joey.

I gave the children their baths, and we watched a holo-surround before their bedtime: Pony Princess Adventure on Mars. It was Krissy's choice. I saw why she liked the forest scenes. The princess handled things quite well, I thought.

After they were both in bed, I called Aunt Marie's to let Mamma and Poppa know I was just waiting for the Forsythes to come back. We talked in Italian. Mamma said John had called, asking me out next Saturday. "Sounds like a nice boy," she said.

Soon, John will take a one-way trip to an abandoned steel mill.

Copyright George S. Walker 1996.