(The following story is found in the If Walls Could Talk short story collection. Please click on the link for all available retailers).
MARTIAN UNION
A short story written by Mark S. R. Peterson
If it wasn’t for the stairs
cut precisely into the stone floor, they never would’ve guessed there actually
was once life on Mars.
Janice Ling descended, deep
inside the cave, careful not to overextend herself as her oxygen level
displayed two hours and twenty-one minutes left—if she started running and
jumping like a few of her colleagues, she’d find the oxygen being rapidly
depleted.
“Do you realize you’re the
first woman to set foot on Mars?” Ken Eagle asked.
Of course, but only because Susan came down with a cold.
“I did,” she said. Without turning around, she motioned on
ahead. “But we’re here to explore this
cave, not reminisce about sexism. Are
you the first Indian?”
“I believe we prefer to be
called Native Americans,” said Ken. “And
yes, I believe so. What do you make of
these stairs?”
She focused her light down onto
the intricate stonework. The walls and
ceiling were similar to the coal mines back on Earth, with a definitive circular
shape and size, the walls rough from dynamite blasts and hydraulic hammers.
“You’ll be remembered, you
know,” said Ken.
Janice stopped. “Without exact measurements, I’d say the
stairs are cut at a ninety-degree angle.
However, standard width for stairs on Earth is around nine inches with
about an eight-inch drop. These are roughly
half of that.”
“Martians may have been
smaller. If their species is similar to
the one found by Roswell, they would be.”
“Makes it harder to walk on,”
she said. “How will I be remembered?”
“Because you’re the first
woman.”
“That again?” She continued to descend, waving her hand
onward. “If I will be, so will you.”
“Who’s the first woman in
space?”
“Most will say Sally Ride, because
the history records always remember those from the United States. But the first was a Soviet cosmonaut named
Valentina Tereshkova.”
Minutes later, the stairs
abruptly ended. The floor now resembled
the rough walls.
“I wonder why they stopped?”
asked Ken. “Can’t be erosion. Erosion would never be this precise.”
“Come on. I think I see the bottom.”
They were careful not to step
on any jagged edges, despite the layer of steel on the bottom of their boots. When they soon set foot inside the
oval-shaped room, they froze. And stared. Her heartbeat pounded hard in her ears and
she struggled to maintain a regular breathing pattern.
Further proof that aliens do exist, especially at one time on
Mars. And, from the looks of it, it
hasn’t been too long either.
In the center of the room was
a rectangular-shaped stone block, like the tomb of an Egyptian king. Along the sides were carvings of two
hands—not the five-fingered hands of humans, mind you, but three-fingered
ones—joining together.
Along the far wall was one
word. Written in English, oddly enough,
in letters at least two-feet tall.
HOFFA.
(If you liked this story, be sure to check out the If Walls Could Talk short story collection. Please click on the link for all available retailers).
(If you liked this story, be sure to check out the If Walls Could Talk short story collection. Please click on the link for all available retailers).
