Part 15: Reunion

: ... It doesn't look any different, does it? I've hardly made a dent.

: That'll teach me for spending all night talking with Isol. I'm so tired that I'm only moving things one at a time, and everything else, I'm justifying putting off for later.

: Maybe I'm being too hard on myself. I'm just one exhausted woman. And Dad specifically told me that he wouldn't care.

: ... But I care.

: Ah, to hell with it. I did what I could. And I wouldn't trade last night with Isol for a cleaner house, that's for damn sure. Dad's just going to have to put up with a messy house.

: Even after a decent night's sleep, I feel like I've barely made a dent in how clean this place is. I never realized just how much stuff I've been hoarding up until now.

Huh. Didn't Ezra say she is exhausted? That decent night's sleep (more like nap, at this rate) wouldn't help much given the amount of junk lying around.

: Not that I'd rightly call any of it junk. I know exactly where everything is and what they all do at all times. It's just my storage skills that need work.

: ... Who am I kidding? It's all garbage. I have enough here for several trips to the wasteyard and yet I've filled less than half a bag's worth of stuff that I'm not using, don't even plan to use, and yet can't bring myself to let go.

: Well... the good news is I got this habit from Dad, and he'll be happy to see that everything is exactly as he left it.

: Man. It's hard to think it's even real.

: Mom and Dad are both coming home today. Maybe for good. Mom was a volunteer soldier and hopefully they don't need Dad on Mars anytime soon now that the war is over.

: It's been nearly ten months since I saw either of them in the flesh. A phone call just isn't the same. And there's no fleeting idea that this will only last a little while before they have to leave, and I go back to my studies.

: It's been four days now, and it's still so hard to really get the feel that the war is over...

: Dad might be running a bit late. He said 'around noon.'

: In retrospect, maybe I should have gone to the port to wait for him there.

*The sound of a buzzer plays.*

: Oh, that must be him!

: Wait, why would Dad ring the bell to his own house? That's more of a Mom thing to do.

: Well, hell, I'm not going to ask questions.





: ...

: I had been rehearsing what to say to him when he got back for hours, and now that he's finally home, I'm totally blanking. All of that energy I've been building up, just... gone. Gone at the sight of him.

: I'd better say something.

: ... Hey, Dad. Welcome–

(A few of Nathan's lines are voiced here.)

: Greetings later; help me get all this luggage in. Can't you see I needed the help opening the door, much less getting it all in?

: I'm tired; I'm jet-lagged; and I'm hungover. And you weren't there to meet me at the port so I had to haul all of this home across two trams and a bus.

: Uh... sorry. I was...





: Uh, yeah...! Let me take those from you.



Our Contribution (The Foys' Theme)



: Like... am I taller, or something? Fatter?

: Can you not tell? You're hardly the same little sprite I left behind–





: Oh, come off it, don't you start.

: Because if you start, then I'll start, and then things will escalate, and before you know it, we're both ugly-crying and trying to tell each other that it's alright, and how it's okay to let it all out because we've all been bottling this stuff up for the last decade...

: ... and it's healthier to let it out than to keep it in, and it's okay if we cry because after all we're home, and if we're too busy thinking about keeping it in...

: ... we won't notice that I'm trying to 'keep it in' by keeping this stream of consciousness going for as long as I can, under the thought that if I'm too focused on thinking of words to coherently string together, I'll be too distracted to cry.

: So... don't. Then we won't have to deal with all of that.

: ...

: Okay, then I won't. You've made a compelling argument, Ezra.

: Hah, well, I am your daughter.

It's okay to cry after not seeing your dad for nearly a year and the war being over, Ezra! It's okay!

: Speaking of which.



: I'm... well, I'll be fine. After a nap. A big one. A big, eight-to-ten-hour nap. I need to go to bed, is what I'm saying.

: Don't tell me it's because of me and Eden.

: No. In fact, it might interest you to hear that it's because of a girl.

: ...

: How many details do I want...?

: Oh, nothing happened between us, if that's what you're worried about.

: Ah, but now, what's the point in asking?

: Don't be weird.

: But then I'm just boring!

: I'd rather you be boring than – you know what? Never mind. The less we go on about this topic, the better.

: What you need to know is that it was a Ghian lady that I met a few nights ago. We spent all last night talking about her time on Ghi and her experiences living here in Galilei. I only decided to stop when I noticed that the sun was rising.

: Ah! Sounds like you've found yourself something of a winner, Ezra!

: Spending all night talking with a lady you've taken a fancy to is a pretty common start to most romances, you know. And she's Ghian, you said? That's very progressive of you!

: You don't know the half of it. And maybe you shouldn't.

: ... Is it? Ghians and humans have been mingling for hundreds of years, now.



I guess identifying as being LGBTQ+ in the future is still seen as controversial? Or maybe it's just because it's human on alien... relations.

: But enough about me and my night. Tell me about yours! You said that you were going to get drunk with your coworkers before you took off, right?

: There isn't really much to tell.

: That's about the short of it, really. We had been partying since the day of the war's conclusion, doing everything from drinking booze to eating the nicest food to playing everything from drinking games to board games to video games.

: I didn't realize they had 'nice food' in a warzone like Mars.

: You're correct. It's more accurate to say that we ate the finest food paste that was available.



: And yet we also had authentic booze.

: Well – as authentic as moonshine can get. We've had fermented grapes and honey for something like nine thousand years; if there's any one thing that humanity simply will not abide by, it's when someone tries to take away our booze. We'll always find a way.

Carla said kind of the same thing earlier. She must have been hanging out with Ezra's dad a lot.

: Still feeling it?

: What, the drunkenness? It was about as effective as stale rice at getting me there.

: ... Which is to say, yes. More in my gut than in my head, though. And a twelve-hour flight in a pressurized cabin through the nothingness of space didn't help things. I made sure not to get a window seat.

: Wait, is that real? Is that a thing? I've never left Galilei, so I wouldn't know...

: During flight, not really. You can see the billions of stars in the distance, but they're so far away that they don't move with you, even when you're travelling at around one-hundred-million kilometers an hour.

: And it's not a pleasure cruise – they don't take us out of the way to see a planet or even a comet or something. Seeing anything other than the stars during space flight is something that you write home about.

: But during exit and entry?

: Yeah. Oh yeah.

: It's hard enough being in that tub when you're hungover with gut rot. Looking out the window and seeing the chassis wrapped in fire from reentry when you're trying to hold onto your lunch is a tall task.

: And how are you feeling now?

: On the one hand, I'd like nothing more than to leave all my things packed and to sleep in the bed I haven't slept in for the past... however many years it's been. With more than one sheet. With my own quilt. With pillows that don't feel like they're made of porcelain.

: Since my time on Mars, I've either slept on cots, in sleeping bags, or on the floor of my station. And I usually only got about four hours of sleep at a time. And, again, calling them 'pillows' is very charitable.

: At least the seats on the flight had cushions.

: On the other hand... I've had this weird sensation in my jaw for the past few months, now.

: Something about eating nothing but paste for every meal of the day for years on end does something to your lower mandible.

: I can't explain it. It's like... it's like getting out of bed, and needing to stretch your arms and legs, but then not stretching them. It's a thing that your body knows it needs to do, but you deprive it of that.

: And you do it again, and again, and again. Every day, for years. For all that time, you don't once stretch the muscles in your arms and legs like you know you need to.

: This is a very long-winded way of saying that you want to eat real food.

: But that's just it! I want to go get some lunch, yes, but you'd think it'd be because of the flavour when it's not.

: Bullshit.

: It's not entirely about the flavour.

: It's about... the mouth feel, I guess? It's the sensation of having solid food in your mouth for you to chew. It's working a muscle that I haven't worked in a dog's age back into shape.

: So how much of this is about the flavour, and eating real food, and how much of this is about the 'mouth feel?'

: It's about seventy-thirty flavour-mouth feel.

: If the Riklid were still here, I'd kill one myself if it meant eating some real food. I'd do it bare-handed for a baked potato.

: Okay, okay, I get it. You're hungry and you want something that isn't flavoured toothpaste.

: Any ideas on what you wanted? Or where you wanted to go?

: ... You know, now that I'm home, here in Galilei, after a decade of working on Mars and stressing about combat... it's made me realize that the one thing that I really need the most right now, out of anything, isn't just the bed, or my daughter, or the food.

: It's nostalgia.

The parallels to the World Wars continue. After going through a harrowing experience of total war, what bigger comfort is there than wanting to go back to "when things were good?"

: Cozy's, then.

: Have you already decided what you're getting?

: Honestly, I was thinking of getting, like, three chicken sandwiches.

: That's an awful lot of nostalgia.

: After thirteen years of eating paste, it might not be enough.





Aw man, it's night already? No shot of the restaurant or more conversation with Daddy dearest? This is the (lack of) space Hobby Lobby all over again. Must have been due to lack of budget or to keep the script tighter.



: Yes, she was – and she hated it as much as you do.

: She told me that... well, to make a long, sobering story short and sweet, she wants to open a Ghian restaurant here in Galilei.

: ...



: They prefer sweeter foods like fruits, and have a hard time digesting Earth staples like breads and other grains... which makes sense, given their biology. And Ghi is loaded with crunchier, tangier spices, toppings, and minerals, like salt.

: One of my coworkers was a Ghian, actually, did I ever tell you that?

: No, I don't think you ever have.

: He did translation work for our interfaces and instruction diagrams. There were Ghian fighters in the Riklid War, too, and they needed to be able to act as soon as they got information without needing to translate it all in their head.

Ah, that answers my earlier question about Ghians participating in the war. Looks like the human-Ghian alliance was military as well. I also wonder if Ezra had any Ghian classmates or friends? She must have, if Isol's comment about being one of many refugees is anything to go by.



: I guess that's not such a crazy thing to say – it's paste. You just... open your mouth and pour it into your face.





: Do you think your Ghian ladyfriend works well with eggs?

: Dad, that's a stereotype. How would you like it if a Ghian asked you if you liked bananas because you look like a monkey?

: I'd answer that, yes, I love bananas. Most people do. Don't you?

: ... I do. I'm wrong and you're right.

: Don't worry, kiddo. Happens to the best of us.

Still a stereotypical comment, though! But I bet Isol loves eggs. Eggs are delicious.

: Besides, I doubt even the best egg-chef, Ghian or not, could make eggs the way Eden likes them.

: You've been married to her going on thirty years, now. Does she even like eggs?

: She tells me that she does.

: But only her mother could prepare them the way she likes them, apparently.

: Oh, speaking of which! She ought to be getting home any time now, right?



: It's coming up on five o'clock.

: Shit.

: I got so hung up on being home with you, and treating myself to some real food, that it totally slipped my mind.

: That's my wife, and I was so focused on a damn sandwich that I... I totally blanked!

: Whoa, hey, calm down.

: You know Mom – she's the type of woman that doesn't mind going on long trips like this. Her job before the war was a land surveyor; she's used to going out there on her own.

: And also, weren't you the one saying that you and her both fought for the freedom to go to a diner and pig out as soon as you could?

: ...



: It's curious that she hasn't called us yet, though.

: You can make it up to her by going out a second time. If you were hungry enough to eat that much, I'm sure she's just as famished for some 'nostalgia.'

: That, and I'm sure you've still got room for seconds.

: I'd imagine you're right. They say you have a second stomach for dessert – I'll just pack it with more meat and bread.

: ...

: Speak your mind, child.

: ... I was just...

: ... Out of morbid curiosity... how close did you come to the Riklid?

: That's not really a topic we want to talk about right now, is it? We did just have lunch.

: I understand your mother was awfully cagey about answering a question like that, too, and for good reason. Neither of us are too keen on talking about, you know, the realities of war with our only child.

: What's important is that it's over.

: Okay, I guess that's fair to say.

What do the Riklid look like? More out of curiosity on my part, but I imagine some sort of willowy, spindly-looking creatures, like this creepy-looking thing.

: Let's try something else, then: did you ever figure out what it was that the Riklid wanted?

: No, and it's been a matter of debate ever since they first arrived.

: We tried a few times to communicate with them, but all we ever got in response was static. Nothing that we could discern as language. We had considered that maybe that was them responding, but nobody nor any tools we had could decipher their language, if that was the case.

: They attacked both Earth and Mars, so it was something they both had in common. Their superweapon attacked their atmospheres to wreck weather patterns and create hurricanes – they didn't try to glass the land with missiles or anything like that.

: The two best guesses we could come up with were that they either wanted the Earth for its resources – probably its water – and since we'd been terraforming Mars, it'd have water to go around, too.

: Either that, or they just wanted to kill humans.

: If that were the case, wouldn't they have made, like, a super virus or something? Something that'd cause less collateral damage? Natural disasters are really bad at preserving fresh water, if that's what they wanted.

: Correct, which is why it's only a theory.

: The scary answer to that is that the Riklid knew in advance about how good our medicine is, particularly in thanks to our relationship with the Ghians and the tech they brought with them. So they wanted something that'd do the job faster.

: But then it asks the question on why they'd need Earth ripped apart and the humans gone on a deadline.

: You can go down pipelines like that for eternity. We know their methods, but not their motives, and it's possible to think of quite literally any reason for an entire species to attack us like that.

: Which is why it's best not to think about it at all, if you ask me.

: I won't pretend that the 'why' isn't important. If we knew why, there's a possibility that we could prevent them from attacking us a second time.

: By, what, just giving it to them? If they wanted our water, they'd be fine if we just gave them all our water? What if they just wanted us dead, do we give that to them?

: I said it was a possibility. I didn't say it was probable.

: What did that one guy say, way back when? Something about knowing your enemy. I think his name was Moonuzt.

: Ah yes, the ancient warrior philosopher Moonuzt. We all remember where we were when we first learned his name.

It's Sun Tzu, you uncultured swines. But more seriously, I'm certain we won't get a "why" out of the attack. For all everyone knows, there is no applicable system of morality or cost-benefit analysis of war here. The Riklid could just go around fucking up planetary atmospheres and killing other living creatures for laughs.



: That must be Mom!

: It'd be around this time for her to arrive, yes!

: She always was the type to ring the bell before entering her own home if she thought anyone was in it.

: Ezra, you've been the woman of the house for the last thirteen years. How would you like to do the honours?

: You're just trying to hand off the job of helping her carry in her stuff.

: That's my wife you're talking about, kiddo. One I haven't seen in a lifetime. I'd carry her things uphill every day for the rest of my life if it meant never having to let her go like that again.

: That said, you're also not wrong.

: Fine, I'll do it. Someone has to let her in!

*The music and ambience fade out.*



* * *

Databank: Mars

Plans to put humans on the surface of Mars had been underway before the Ghian probe had entered Earth's aerospace, and by 2035 - the same year the Ghians made contact with Earth - there had been several aerodrome structures suitable for human habitation established, although they were purely scientific in nature and were not considered adequate for civilian life. Plans to terraform Mars for permanent human habitation were not considered feasible... but with the technology that the Ghians had shared, what was considered a far-flung fantasy was suddenly achievable within the century.

With their combined efforts, the first forest, colloquially named The Red Wood, had been planted surrounding a crater known as Columbia Hills. The Martian air was seeded and the atmosphere was manipulated to cause rainfall with a pH acidity of 6.0, filling the crater with fresh water and starting the first lakes and streams. By the year 2280, although there were not yet any oceans, the world had been dotted with green forests and deep lakes - Mars was considered terraformed: a human could survive an extended period on the planet's surface without protection (although they would find it uncomfortably cold).

The Riklid attacked Mars only hours after their initial raid on Earth: now that humanity had made Mars their home, the Riklid turned their superweapon against it as well. The combined efforts of humans and Ghians were being turned against them, and Mars suffered every attack that Earth had suffered. Desert storms unlike any that Mars had experienced before had battered the homes and aerodromes that the humans and Ghians had established. There was no escaping the Riklid.