Sebastian of Mars by Al Sarrantonio

Mars, I heard the
faintest of sounds in front of me and to my right. I thought at
first that Thomas or his guards were coming for me and, even though
the sound came from in front of me, that echoes were doing their
work. I stood up and dusted my hands, waiting for their
arrival.
    But no one came.
    And then I heard the sound again.
    It was in front of me, for sure. There was
the dark maw of a cave tributary far across the stream, but the
sound did not originate from there. It seemed to come from the cave
ceiling, where a group of ledges that looked like nothing so much
as the faintly etched steps of a ladder were set into the lava
wall.
    My torch sputtered as the faint voice came
again, more clearly: “ Followww . . .”
    The fur on the back of my neck stood up
straight, and I took a step back. I reached for my torch and held
it up, studying the rock wall, which rose high into the dimness.
Was there an opening up there near the cave roof?
    I could not be sure.
    The ethereal voice called once more:
“ Followww . . .”
    My fear was quickly replaced by curiosity,
and when the voice sounded again, I sat abruptly, put the torch
aside, took off my boots, and, retrieving the torch, stepped
forward, into the rivulet of water, carrying my boots with me.
    I shivered, feeling its chill on my feet.
    “ Followww . . .”
    The ghostly voice was definitely coming from
the top of the cave to the right.
    “Who are you?” I called, hearing my own voice
echo.
    There came no answer.
    I made my way to the wall, noting more bones
on the far shoreline of the stream. I sat and re-laced my boots,
then stood and was confronted by a definite set of steps leading
up.
    “ Come ...”
    “Yes, I’m coming!” I shouted, and put my foot
into the first solid inset in the wall–
    “Sire!” Thomas’s voice shouted at me from
behind.
    I quickly stepped down and turned to see
Thomas emerging, a frantic look on his face, from the far tunnel.
He stopped, nearly stepping on my skeletal find near the shore.
    “Don’t move!” I shouted at him, and he stood
still. Behind him were three anxious looking guards.
    “I’m all right!” I said making my way back.
“Look down!”
    Thomas’ did so, and nearly jumped back.
    “Oh!”
    “We must preserve the skeleton, as is.”
    Thomas bent down and was examining my find.
“This is a very fine specimen.”
    I was already taking my boots off again to
re-cross the stream. For some reason I did not want Thomas to know
what else I had found.
    There were no further whispers from above
me.
    I made my way across the cold water, and put
my boots back on.
    “There looked to be more bones across the
stream. But there was nothing,” I lied.
    Thomas was still studying the skeleton of the
Old One. “You should not have dodged your keepers. This must not
happen again,” he scolded, distractedly.
    “I promise I won’t. But you must admit this
is a find.”
    “Yes . . .”
    “We must save it for Newton.”
    “Indeed...”
    I followed him out of the cave, surrounded by
guards, the echo of that ghostly whisper still in my ears.
     

Nine
    T hus were my first
weeks in the bowels of the great Olympus Mons spent – more in
idleness and frustration, while my people fought and died in my
name – than anything else.
    Finally I could stand it no more, and
convened a Council meeting. We met in one of the opulently
appointed spaces that had been built in a particularly roomy
cavern. The living and work quarters were like a city within a
mountain. Even a measure of royalty had been maintained, with a
copy of the table and chairs we had used back in Wells in the
palace. Nothing, however, could hide the fact that our four
manufactured walls were open at the top, revealing the arch of a
red cavern high above.
    I noticed on entering this faux Council
chamber that Rella’s place was empty.
    Thomas leaned over and whispered in my ear,
“Be patient. We will hear of this.”
    Ignoring him, I demanded, “Where is