Martian Nightmares, Part 1

The city snuck up on Viking. He blinked, and urban sprawl filled the formerly empty horizon. Stone buildings the color of weather-worn bones cast long and lean shadows on the winding road leading into the city's heart.

Viking followed the road, his heavy feet clattering on the uneven brick. Where did this come from? he wondered. The city reminded him of a setting from the science fiction books that the folks at NASA loved so much. Yet earlier Mars probes had shown no evidence of civilization, past or present.

Why, then, did Viking feel like he'd wandered into a Ray Bradbury tale?

"Look at this, Tinselina!" he shouted.

There was no response.

"Tinselina?" he called.

She didn't laugh. Her skirts didn't rustle. She wasn't there.

Viking shivered. He wanted to turn back, but couldn't bring himself to do it. The city tugged at him, dragging him onward.

The city's streets were narrow, barely wide enough for Viking to walk along without scraping his panels against the buildings. He tucked his arm close to his middle and peered through open doors.

Some houses were clean and fashionable and untouched by time. They gave the impression that the family had only gone out to dinner and would be back very soon. Others had their many hundreds (or was it thousands?) of years of abandonment on full display. Curtains hung in rotting tatters over empty windows. The remains of furniture slumped in heaps on the floor. A dirty mirror showed Viking his own blurred, baffled reflection.

"I'll be damned," he whispered.

Further up the street, a voice came through an open window. Viking caught snippets of dialogue as he approached the source: "This was the last attempt...most recent contact...six months ago…"

Viking stood in front of the window. On the other side, a television played a news program to an empty room. "And so," the anchor said, "with all hope of reestablishing contact lost, NASA has declared Viking 1 officially dead." The man looked sadly down at his notes, and then the TV switched off.

"What in the hell," Viking said. Enough was enough. He needed to get out of this carnival funhouse and back to Tinselina. He made a left at the next street corner and found himself on a much wider avenue, leading to a town square surrounded by grand buildings. Golden light spilled through an open door on the right-hand side of the street.

There was something odd about that light. At first glance it seemed inviting, a bit of life in this ghost town. Viking moved closer. The light was so bright that he had to shut his eyes.

When he opened them, he saw the light creeping toward him. It pooled around his feet, and he felt himself slip. (Never in a million sols had Viking, who had been designed to stand tall for eternity, thought that he would trip over his own feet!) His leg joints buckled, and he fell forward, throwing up his arms to protect his face.

Arms, plural. "What in the name of Barbara Brackett is going on?" Viking spat. He stood up and examined his new, and very human, arms. He looked down at his human legs, ran his hands over his human face. Beside the door was a window with its glass panes intact. Viking took stock of his reflection. The bizarre magic he'd stumbled upon had shaped him into a lean-faced man with large brown eyes, a squarish nose, and coppery hair turning silver at the temples. He wore a flight suit, just like the human astronauts, complete with NASA insignia and a name tag. He wondered what Tinselina would think of his new look.

Something behind the window caught Viking's eye. He saw a column of dark green ringed with light as bright as the one that turned him human. His eyes followed the light up and around the green, and then it hit him.

He was looking at a Christmas tree, with an angel on top.

Viking was through the door and staring up at the angel in seconds. "Tinselina?" he sobbed. It might have been her. He couldn't get a close look with tears filling his eyes.

"She belongs up there, you know," said a voice behind him.

Viking turned around to face the speaker. She was short, the top of her head coming only to his shoulders. Wavy blonde hair framed her round face. She regarded him with blue eyes full of love and sadness and a touch of guilt.

"Tinselina?" Viking said again, offering her his hands.

Without a word, she embraced him. He wrapped his long arms around her, and they stood in the Christmas tree's glow, under the angel's watchful gaze.

Tinselina pulled away from Viking and looked over her shoulder. The sun was setting over the city, leaving the street in shadow.

"I have to go," she said. She stood on her toes to kiss him, then turned and rushed out the door.

"Wait," called Viking as he ran after her. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but she was already at the edge of the square. He ran like hell to catch up with her, thinking all the while that if being human left one so damn winded after a little exercise, then being a machine wasn't half bad.

A rocket ship stood at the center of the square. It was another science fiction set piece, a silver tube with a point at one end and an engine at the other. A folding ladder led up to the rocket's airlock, which was presently occupied by a figure in a bulky spacesuit.

Tinselina faced the person in the rocket. Viking called her name over and over, but she didn't look back at him. She approached the bottom of the ladder and began to climb.

"What are you doing?" Viking cried. Still Tinselina did not look back. The astronaut extended their gloved hand and helped her into the rocket.

Viking reached the ladder. The astronaut held up their hand. "No," they said. "She belongs up there." They didn't need to add, "and you don't." Once Viking was off the ladder, the astronaut pulled it back into the rocket and shut the airlock door.

The engine roared to life. Viking jumped backwards, nearly falling over in his hurry to get the hell away from the square. He ran from the rocket as it rose into the Martian dusk, filling the square with heat and smoke. He started to sweat (having flesh was disgusting). When he reached the house with the Christmas tree, he sat in the doorway, rested his head on his knees, and wept.

The sound of the rocket blasting off made Viking's head spin. He blinked a few times, then looked up to catch one final glimpse of it, of her. He must have moved too quickly, for he felt himself getting lightheaded. His head slumped backwards, his vision went fuzzy at the edges, and everything faded to black.

"Wake up! You're shaking!" Tinselina tapped her foot to get Viking's attention. His eyes snapped open. After a moment he recognized that Tinselina was signaling to be picked up, so he reached for her and lifted her to meet his gaze.

Tinselina gasped. Viking looked like he'd seen a ghost, or perhaps an organic life form. "You poor thing," she sighed.

"I had the strangest damn dream," Viking whispered. "I was in this abandoned city, and you were there, but we were both humans, and you got on a rocket, and…"

"Shhh," Tinselina said. "Tell me about it in the morning. I promise I'm not going anywhere. Now go back to sleep."

"Right," Viking said, relieved. He was here with his love, and that awful city was nothing but a twisted fantasy. It wasn't real. Tinselina was. He placed her in her favorite spot, beneath his satellite dish, closed his eyes, and slept.