Red and Green - by Simon Clay

My life slowly ticks away in front of me in digital format.

I wait for the latest in a long line of numbers to fade momentarily, before being replaced by another. Three. Two.

The technicians say it can be disorienting to watch the computer forming the image of the world around you, but I enjoy watching the land distorting into being; the computer generating layer upon layer of simulation based on the sensory data the probes send back.

First there is the texture; a flat maroon sheet stretching out towards the horizon, uniform and flat. Then it stretches, rising into mountains, valleys and ridges; like a tablecloth thrown over a surface. Steel girders and sheet metal expand into existence, encasing me in the near-finished approximation of a room. Then the shadows fall, rendered beautifully by the latest VR engines and adding depth to the smallest rise and fall of the terrain and the metallic sheen of the room. The sky takes on an amber hue. Finally the particle physics kick in and combine with the lighting engine, giving a shimmering halo to the sunset outside the window as the light refracts and reflects off a thousand tiny pieces of red dust.

The whole process takes ten seconds, but when I look up I am standing in a room on the planet Mars.

Or rather, I’m not. I’m sitting in my cubicle at Pryce-Jin with a VR headset on, looking at the feed from a construction drone which has been waiting for the last fifteen minutes to complete my previous set of instructions. The worst thing about the project is the lag – radio can take anywhere between four to twenty minutes to reach the red planet, so for most of the time I sit waiting; watching the relays count down until the checks come back green and I can send out another stack of commands.

Last I checked, I was inside the shell of what will become the recreation area, trying to get a drone to rotate one of the sofas through the door. I’m considering giving up and getting one of the juniors to either cut the sofa or the doorframe, when the report comes back – the sofa has, against all odds, worked itself free while I was waiting, and is now on its front in the room.

Sighing, I push forwards and feel the familiar, lurching vertigo at seeing my surroundings move as I remain still in my chair. I head for the sofa, and a blue outline appears, overlaying it, and previewing possible rotations and positions.

With the press of a button I switch to an external drone working on the atmospheric reprocessors, and see the facility from the outside. This place is huge. R&D claim it’s the right amount of space a person needs to stay healthy and sane, and once we get up and running - prove a person can survive up there – we can expect to start getting the same amount down here too, once we’ve got space to stretch our elbows as a species. Until then...

I turn the view around, away from the building. Apart from a cluster of two other buildings and the dome slowly being erected around it all, the landscape stretches off to the horizon. There is nowhere on Earth like this anymore; even the deserts have been repurposed and colonised with those ridiculous pyramid looking things. On Earth a vista like this would be clustered with solar farms, blocks and transport hubs; even out in the countryside.

But out here... I want to pause a second to take a deep breath, close my eyes and soak it all in; but all I have is a visual, and the office stinks of stale coffee and cheap carpet deodorant.

The computer chimes as it calculates the movements required to right the sofa, fit the stage 1 electronics for the door and reinforce a ceiling panel or two I wasn’t 100% happy with. There’s not much left to do now. For the most part I’m just tweaking and making work for myself to draw the contract out a little longer.

As I hit ‘send’ on the console, another countdown appears in front of me.

I almost feel herded onto the transport when it arrives, settling into a seat and pulling out my Pad to book my destination. There is a second’s wait as the controller system calculates the optimal distance between everyone’s destinations, and then it lurches into action.

I flick through the Pad to my subscription feed. A couple of interesting articles pop up, so I pay for them and open them for viewing when I get home, along with the dozen or so articles opened at work. Two missed calls from the boss – well they can wait. Jon from across the way is having a party to celebrate getting a parent license and an upgrade to a family block. I’m pleased for him, and try to remember to get a bottle of something from the vendor before I get back. I think about ordering something online, but the battery light flashes at me accusingly and I’m nearly home anyway. The damned computer can wait for me for once.

Sometimes I feel like we’re walking around in their world. Like at some point, things changed so that computers weren’t there to make us faster anymore; we became too slow for them. A guy who worked two rooms down from me in data processing was signed off with chronic tendonitis a few months ago. Not fast enough to keep up with the amount of data they needed, despite the damage he was doing to himself just trying.

Poor bastard will never use a computer again, they say.

I look out of the window of the transport as it whips past the blocks, just metres away from the windows. Nobody is out on the streets, not at sunset. A few months ago the air con in the transport hub was down and we had to simmer in the heat for three blocks before we could get to a useable station. The humidity was unbearable; I don’t blame anyone for not even nipping out for a second. Not with the weather like this.

A computerised voice estimates the travel time back to the block, and I settle back into my seat. I think of the launch department and the skeletons of ships we send up, compared to the old days when Pryce-Jin used to be NASA and have to worry about life support, inertia and the return trip. Now it’s just materials, a couple of hydrogen cells and maybe a replacement drone or two. It’s all calculated perfectly to slingshot up there, hit the dirt and then get pulled apart ready to be recycled into building materials for the brave new world we’re crafting.

Robots building a better future for mankind.

The net is all over it, of course. For the most part we’re heroes-by-proxy, brave explorers at the edge of human blah blah blah. Most of them seem to get the importance of it – and with the Earth the way it is, who wouldn’t – but there are still the stragglers and gripers causing and finding problems. Every time one pops up on my feed I cancel it out. Pay-per-article my ass.

There’s the Christian Dominationists, falling back on the idea that humans were given domination over the Earth and all its creatures, not Mars. Greenpeace (and its more obvious offshoot Redpeace) demanding more testing on that arctic meteorite that seemed to contain worm-like cells from Mars, before we go and destroy another ecosystem. And that’s not counting the miscellaneous crazies ranting about corporations taking over, or people scammed by those phony ‘buy real estate on Mars’ sites turning up with claims.

The transport slows as it approaches a corner and I get a brief glimpse through the window of a room, the interior pale and bare as the young woman sitting at the table inside. I hardly get enough time to see her raise the gun to her head before the window is whipped away into the night as we speed up again.

At first it doesn’t register, as though it was just an image seen flicking through the channels, and then he shock hits me. I feel sick, shocked; jolted into action but pinned to my seat.

Everyone around me still has their heads down, flicking through their Pads, not registering anything wrong. I just saw someone about to end their own life. I want to grab one of them, probably the middle-aged man opposite, and scream this in his face but I don’t think he’d understand. He’d think it was reality TV, or gangs, or just another heat-crazy wandering the transports. I would too, in his position.

I quickly minimise all the tasks on my Pad and pay for the nearest stop, draining the last of the battery. I slip it back into the inside pocket of my jacket as I stand and make for the door. I don’t even know what I’m doing, my body is shaking with adrenaline and I’m reacting before I even really know why.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe all I have ever done is plan, and now it’s time to move.

The plaza outside the stop is silent, but hums with the overpowering closeness of the evening humidity. It’s like hitting a wall of heat walking out of the doors.

The sunset is beautiful, and for a moment I almost forget that I’m not back in my cubicle looking at a simulation. But the dust and the light are both real, and I’m running through it, sweating and gasping and wondering why I’m so unfit when all I do is sit around all day. I can’t think, and I can’t even tell if I’m heading for the right building until another transport rumbles past. From the way it passed by, I can see which building she’s in, changing my course to head closer. I think.

I can’t think in this heat, I’m just pushing forwards. Every time my head starts to clear I see the girl, I see the gun rising and my heart sinks. A part of my mind is telling me that I don’t know her, I have things to do, I shouldn’t be outside – people die from this heat in summer – and still I’m pushing onwards, heading for the doors to the block.

The blast of cool, crisp air-con fills my lungs like water and I feel perfectly balanced for a second, my clothing warm and my skin cool. It is so good I almost forget for a second where I am and what I’m doing here.

What am I doing here?

In the cool, dry air inside the foyer I stand with my eyes closed, trying to think. In my mind I picture the shape of the building, imagine the faint blue outlines as if the VR were highlighting the key features I needed to know. The transport went past on the second floor, and I just saw another go past the building on the side to the left of the entrance, so it would have to be one of the rooms in the middle. There are two possible rooms it could be.

I see the path ahead of me, and as I open my eyes I run.

On the second floor I hesitate, my weight sinking onto a creaking floorboard. Reality starts to sink in. Maybe it’s the cooler air, the thought of the gun or just standing outside the door waiting to actually face the situation that makes me pause and think for a second.

Assuming the door is even open, I could walk in there to find anything. She might have pulled the trigger. What if knocking on the door startles her and she fires, at herself or at me? And even if she is OK, what then? What do I say? Why am I here?

 I could end up with my fingerprints on the door. The cameras have probably seen me heading over here. In one moment of voyeuristic excitement I might have damned myself completely.

The streets are empty because the world has lost its trust in itself; crushed together and fighting for space as it is. Even now we’re still only making tentative steps towards colonising, unsure how it will work out. Until then we keep throwing our money at distractions for our little boltholes, while the gangs have the streets and we sit trapped like rats; praying the doors hold out long enough for the police to get here.

My hand hovers, mid-knock. Suddenly I feel stupid and exposed, the magic and heroism of the moment gone. Every noise outside the block becomes sinister and I am aware of how far I am from the transport station with no battery in my Pad to call for a pickup. The sun is setting and I need to go before it gets dark.

This is not the place for me.

It’s not until I turn around that I hear the sobbing resume from behind the next door along. She is still in there.

The sobbing hitches with a gasp as I walk towards the door and knock three times. It is another decision I make without thinking, my heart pounding and my decision making process on hold at the back of my mind. All I care about is that mental image of the girl and the gun, and stopping it from happening.

There is a moment’s silence from inside, and then - barely audible - a voice says “I don’t have anything valuable.”

“No, I’m not... look I’m sorry, I think I made a mistake coming here, but are you OK?”

Silence again.

“I saw you from the transport. Are you OK?”

She’s terrified. She’s calling the police. She’s angry. She’s putting the barrel to her head.

 In the silence I panic and we both speak at the same time.

“Please don’t shoot yourself.”

“Please just go.”

My heart pulls me to the door, but in my head I know she’s right. I have no business here. We don’t live in an age of heroes and I am not a knight in shining armour.

I turn to walk away, and that’s when I hear the door click open.

I wait a second, and then hear her ask “Why?”

She’s standing in the doorway holding the door open, wrapped in a faded dressing gown covered in pictures of cartoon cats and looking me straight in the eyes, praying that I have an answer. Do I? Why not kill yourself? Why not, in this hemmed in, overheated, overcrowded mess of a planet, surrounded by computers that dictate the pace of our lives, why not?

But knowing what there is to live for is more important to her in this moment than anything else in the darkness of the world. I could have been a rapist, corrupt cop or a heat-crazed lunatic at the door but still she needed to know what’s worth living for. And wanting to know that more than anything else, needing to know at the risk of her own safety makes her human, makes her innocent, and makes her the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I go to her and hold her, and let her head fall against my chest. We say nothing.

The room behind is smaller than mine – enough room for a single bed, a desk, and a corner screen which is playing an old romantic movie from the 30s. On the table behind her is a rejected parent license application, with the gun laid neatly on top of it.

I have no idea what to say to her. I want to show her the VR headsets at work and let her see the beauty of what might still be, what I work for every day. I want to show her my Pad, and the message from Jon about the new life he’s heading for. I want to tell her that just the faint hope in her eyes as she asked me why, just knowing I have stopped that hope from being extinguished is enough to redeem the whole cursed lot of us, but there are no words.

I just hold her because I need her to know we’re building a better world for everyone.

I have to keep believing that.

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