Orphans

19

19 I exit the shower station: clean, shaven, primped and suited-up. I walk down the hall as directed and as I turn into the cafeteria, I hear a familiar voice. “Hello sir, welcome back to the world of living.” I am facing an E.C., not mine, but one so similar to mine I feel a sudden and rippling attack of loss and isolation and sadness and all the things that make being homesick so real and vibrant. As I look away in embarrassment and across the cafeteria —all sleek, steely smoothness and harsh light—I see Ricky and two guys I don’t know sitting around a table drinking coffee. “How fucking beautiful is that,” Ricky says as he jumps up to hug me, “the kid is back and ready to do some damage , right kid?” His hair and teeth are as perfect as ever, which makes me feel better, more like home, some version of home anyway. “Hey kid,” Ricky says, “today, now, is lesson one on the journey, alright, okay, great.” “Right now,” I say, brain cells still activating. “Right now baby,” Ricky says, “no time like the present . And to help us out are the Geology boys, Dave and George.” “Geologists?” I ask looking over at Dave and George, both of whom sport close-cropped haircuts, interesting choices in facial hair and dark sunglasses. “That’s what they tell me,” Ricky says. “It’s all mineral rights and exotic metals up there; real estate is the just the B E N TA N Z E R 67 half off it. It’s the wild fucking west up there kid and don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” “Word,” George says, his mouth buried somewhere underneath a massive beard. “Fu is currently the only operating, hospitable urban center on Mars,” Dave says, constantly twisting the ends of a gnarly Fu Manchu mustache between his fingers. “It’s a temporary city covered by an enormous dome as high as Burj Khalifa and composed of boron carbide and Teflon…” “Temperature is controlled,” George says, cutting Dave off. “Oxygen is managed, no dust or invaders welcome.” “None, welcome,” Dave repeats and then turns to George for a high five. I start to think that Dave and George might be something other than Geologists. “Anyway,” Ricky says joining in, “Fu is divided into five sectors...” “And what does Fu mean?” I ask. “Good fortune,” Ricky says. “So, there are five sectors. The first is Prosperity Sector, which is filled with an endless series of offices and factories representing the companies given permission to build there. That is where our office is, which is, how should I put it, quaint.” “There’s also the Good Luck and Happiness Sectors,” George says, “which are composed of entertainment and housing for people who are working on Mars on an extended basis. Good Luck has movies, restaurants and shopping.” “And Happiness is filled with massage parlors, night clubs, bars and other creature comforts for those long away from home,” Dave says. “Not that you care about that, right kid?” Ricky says winking. O R P H A N S 68 “No I don’t, I’m happily married,” I reply maybe a little too stridently as both Dave and George laugh to themselves. “Family man, love that,” Ricky says. “Okay, the Wealth Sector is set aside for visiting government officials and the 1-Percenters looking at the real estate and imagining their future homes and lives. This is where we will go for our sales calls. Got it?” “Got it,” I say, “and what’s the fifth sector?” “Longevity Sector houses the military, and you will definitely have no reason to go there,” George says no longer laughing. “None, really?, c’mon,” I say smiling and trying to break the newfound tension in the room. “No, none,” Dave says, “it’s for your safety. Cool?” “Sure, but why do we even need the military there,” I say, knowing how ridiculous that must sound to them. Dave and George both visibly stiffen, jaws tight, lips pursed. “This is a peaceful mission,” George says, “so let’s just say the military is there as peacekeepers.” “Works for me,” I say. “I think that’s enough for now kid,” Ricky says looking at Dave and George. “Next time we talk sales.” ...