Shawties

I was returning from my internship on Earth. The spacecraft was silent as everybody slept, but my watch, which I bought on Earth, kept going tick tock, tick tock. The sound made me nostalgic about my time there.

On Earth, there were no domes. You could step out of your house and go anywhere without wearing a space suit or hopping onto an oxygenated train. It felt liberating. People were doing all sorts of activities in public places. I found it amusing that you could dance anywhere, without reason or permission.

Mars is nothing like that. We live in dome cities, and people seldom go outside them because, you know, no oxygen. Earth had so much greenery. On Mars, there are multiple terraforming programs, but none of them have been successful. While I was there, I swam in the ocean, and it felt good. I got bitten by a cat on a random street. It felt good too. I wanted to stay.

But as a Martian, your biology is not tuned to Earth’s atmosphere as well as you would like. Drugs can help maintain your metabolism, but only up to a point. Eventually, you have to go back. Before I left, my boss gave me multiple gifts. She is nice. My work on Earth was focused on researching water. How could we make water from absolutely nothing? Water alchemy. It was fun.

I ate a lot of different things. The cuisine was awesome. I loved it. There were ongoing conflicts between countries for various reasons, but violence is normal for a Martian. We fight a lot, so none of it surprised me. I visited an open zoo and saw many animals, gorgeous creatures. I rode a train without a roof. The wind blew through my thick Martian hair, and once again, I felt liberated.

As the journey back began, sadness slowly settled in. I knew I would return to Earth someday, maybe this time permanently.

That thought was interrupted much later by a very different kind of questioning.

Where were you on the night of the murder?

At home.

Can anyone verify it?

Err, yes.

Who?

My mom.

Can anyone else apart from your family verify it?

Umm, I was playing a game online with some friends.

Give me all their gamer handles.

Uh, okay. BigDeek09, CreamDoser88, ToitBot45.

We will talk to them and confirm your alibi.

Waiting has a way of making you rethink your choices. I found myself regretting the decision to accept a challenge to fight a pro boxer. My stomach was in knots. I knew I was going to get beaten up. But now that I had accepted the challenge, it was time to honour my word.

I remembered what my trainer had taught me over the past week. Fly like a butterfly and sting like a bee. A bee dies after it stings a human, which is pretty gore-y. And butterflies are not great fliers either. But whatever.

I entered the ring. The seats were full, and everyone was anticipating a brutal beatdown. Humans enjoy watching other humans beat each other. I find that appalling. I walked to the center of the ring to shake hands before the bout started. As the bell sounded, the pro boxer fell and did not wake up.

I was relieved. I had won.

Pasha woke up. He was confused about why all the humans were running in the same direction. He could not make sense of it. He tried to use his sense of smell to figure out if something was wrong, but all he could smell was deodorant.

Later, the questions returned, this time with more authority.

Are there any hidden traps in the house?

No.

Are you sure?

It is my house, so yes.

Okay, we have a search warrant for your house.

But what is the reason you want to search my house?

We received a report that you are hiding sugar in your house, which is a Level 1 contraband.

I do not have sugar in my house. This is preposterous.

We have to check to be sure.

If I had sugar, would I not be eating it? Why would I hide it?

We believe you intend to sell it to the highest bidder.