In the mirror I’ve always seen the imperfect likeness of our mother, not quite as beautiful, not quite as kind, and with but a fraction of her intelligence. I have our father’s height and amber-flecked brown eyes, but none of his grace, strength, or athleticism. Yet, somehow you see in me the face of an angel.
In you I see the sharp mind and steady hands of a scientist. A fearless tenacious spirit intent on exploring all possibilities even at great cost, able to articulate your ideas, to change hearts and minds. You have boundless strength, so much so that you have been the central support for Mother and me since Father’s death. There is nothing plain about you, little sister, nothing wanting.
How is it that our perceptions have never aligned?
Be right back. GalactiPol is hailing me …
From: Alamieyeseigha, Ziza
To: Alamieyeseigha, Anita
Date: 2161-01-12
Sorry it has taken me so long to return to this letter, but I had a few calls to make. Officers Gavalia and Ambrose boarded my ship at 2315 and took me into custody. My detainment cell is surprisingly modish, with full amenities including a computer and personal uncensored communication device. I have even been given unrestricted access to their onboard digital library.
According to officer Gavalia, though entry into GalactiPol requires extensive training and a stringent vetting system, they have little opportunity to actually do the type of policing their organization exists to perform. I suppose there just aren’t that many galactic criminals to catch these days, besides you and me, that is.
Now where was I? Ah yes. Perceptions.
I’ve been mesmerized by the images you sent of the garbatrite homes, the bright multilayered encrusted structures in every shade of red, orange and pink, lambent lights beneath the gaze of the sun. They expound beauty and ingenuity and life and more than anything, a prescience greater than anything either of us could have conceived.
We’ve been darting back and forth through this solar system, in an effort to outdo one another, trying our damnedest to affect the change of our choosing, thinking we are so smart and so in control, when in truth, we are no greater than those garbatrites, and perhaps we are even less wise than they.
Perhaps there is a way for us both to have what we wanted, to terraform Mars and to protect the garbatrites. They were always keen to share their world with us and seeing the ingenuity and beauty of their structures, perhaps we can convince them to help us transform the barren surface of Mars into one of cooperative beauty. We can provide the framework for our cities and homes, and they can build upon them, layering their coral-like exoteric structures, creating homes befitting us all, unlike anything in the entire solar system.
I called Tariq shortly after my detainment aboard the GalactiPol cruiser. Before you think me hopeless, let me explain. Besides being happily ensconced in a polyamorous relationship with two of the nicest men and woman I have ever met, he has long since given up on his art (he was never very good anyway) and has been the Chief GalactiPol Officer for several years. I was hoping that there was still enough lingering affection between us that he would agree to assist me in this difficult situation.
Unfortunately, he is unable, as I had hoped, to have the charges against us repealed, but we have been allowed to serve the entirety our sentence on Mars. Together.
Shall we do this, sister? Shall we make our dreams come true?
I envision us making a home from our old pod quarters. Perhaps we can build on an extra room and invite Mother. We can even build a special corral for Bobo and Cow, where they can play happily and where they won’t be able to disturb you as you work on your next great experiment. With the help of the garbatrites we can build a greenhouse. We’ll grow corn and tomatoes in soil fertilized with the ashes of our father. We will create a real home, a life. And we will relearn one another, our strengths and weakness, our mutual love for each other. One day other Earthers will join us on our red planet and find a world of wonder encased in garbatrite domes. A home.
Can you see it, sister? Good. Now hold that thought in your mind until we are reunited.
With all my love,
Ziza
From: Alamieyeseigha, Anita
To: Alamieyeseigha, Ziza
Date: 2161-01-13
Dear Ziza,
Why did the sisters cross the solar system? To get to the other’s side.
See you soon,
Anita
Maggie Clark is a Canadian writer and educator currently acclimating to life abroad. Maggie’s science fiction stories have appeared in Analog, Clarkesworld, GigaNotoSaurus, and Lightspeed, as well as Gardner Dozois’s The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Thirty-Fourth Annual Collection and Rich Horton’s The Year’s Best Science Fiction & Fantasy: 2017.
BELLY UP
Maggie Clark
1.
Dirt at dawn. Dirt at dusk.
But while the sun is up
O Mother, have mercy!
Look what grows in us.
—Novuni Proverb
A week after the courts declawed Imbra Tems, the Darwood twins and their cousin Paloma paid him a visit to finish the job. Imbra wasn’t hard to track down; he’d returned to his auto shop overlooking Esrin’s Gulch, not five klicks from the nearest settlement, and lay under the hot, ticking metal of a ballast tractor when they rolled up in mud-spattered quads. The lesser Darwood, Hurley, pulled so hard on the creeper under Imbra’s feet that Imbra hit his head on the exhaust line on his way out, and hardly recognized the trio during his first few seconds under the glare of the red-brown sun. But the meaner Darwood, Tripp, wanted to take things slow, so he gave Imbra time to collect himself; even to look around.
“Well, Dash,” said Tripp, using an ancient name, a childhood name for the man lying before him. “How’s it feel? They didn’t take away
