My Sister's Keeper: Chapter Eleven [NaNaoWriMo]
This is the eighth installment of my NaNoWriMo challenge: My Sister's Keeper, chapter eleven. With this chapter I have uploaded a total of approx 14,300 words. Total written to date is 17,750 words.
Thankfully I made a great start to the month, with regards to the word count, but starting to feel my busy schedule affect the amount of time I can dedicate to writing this story. Still getting there, but the daily count is dropping. I know where this story is going, and what I wish to say with it, but the more I write, the more I notice just how large a target 50,000 words actually is! Still determined to cross the line before the end of the month though.
Chapters One and Two (Part One)
Chapters Three and Four (Part Two)
Chapters Five and Six (Part Three)
Chapter Seven (Part Four)
Chapter Eight (Part Five)
Chapter Nine (Part Six)
Chapter Ten (Part Seven)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“What is the status on the war on Earth?” Esha asked. As one of the early settlers on Mars, long before the Terraforming operations even started, she had worked tirelessly to rise through the ranks. Mars was no different to Earth, not in her eyes. You had to fight your way to get to the top, and then you had to fight to maintain it. But she was intelligent enough to realise that the final act in that human drama was now playing itself out back on planet Earth. And she wasn't willing for any of that to spill over into her domain. Sometimes peace requires an iron fist, she reminded herself. And under my reign Mars will become so much better than Earth.
“We've received word that it has intensified over the past week.” Jones was her man when it came to intelligence. He had the networks - he had developed the contacts. And even better, as far as Esha was concerned, he was loyal. And very professional – she didn't even know his first name. She'd never needed it. He was always Jones to her. It would be awkward now, after all these years to inquire of his first name. So she never did. Jones will do.
“How so?” she asked.
Jones proceeded to list out all the places where the fighting was raging, paying particular attention to the areas that had seen an increase in activity. “These are just the ones we have confirmed,” he added.
Esha pondered the news, always trying to analyse what implications such matters had for Mars. Mars was her responsibility, not Earth. She had no say there, and possibly little influence. They still seemed to look down their noses at Mars, like it were some back water province, incapable of offering much that Earth itself actually wanted or needed. But that was all changing, and Esha knew it. Mars offered peace. And she was determined to see that such an offering as this persisted. It did require what some would call a somewhat heavy handed approach to dissent – to alternative points of view. This had been Earth's downfall she would say, to anyone willing to listen. It will not happen here, not on my watch.
“How will this affect the refugee crisis?” Mars had been allowing a small amount of refugees to be shuttled to the planet on a regular basis. But they controlled this action extremely tightly. We will determine who arrives, she was known to thunder over the committee room table. Ever the politician Esha had her people analysing all aspects of the crisis so as to allow her to come out a winner – in the eyes of the Mars citizens, but also in the minds of her opponents. They will fear me, all will fear me, she reminded herself constantly. I will be like God to them. Where the God of the Earthlings failed them, I will succeed.
“We have already seen an upsurge in refugees fleeing to the various camps. I dare say these numbers would be greater, if not for the heavy civilian casualties,” Jones relayed. The news was not good – not for the refugees, but also not for himself and his team. He feared people would try to sneak through the screening process; people who were not welcome on Mars. And if the screening process did do it's job then there was always the smugglers. There had always been people smugglers, but the regular intake had helped keep that to a minimum. That and the bounty hunters tracking them down. There was no mercy in this universe, it seemed to Jones. He had a job to do, primarily to help keep Mars safe from Earth's troubles. But he never found pleasure in the thought of all the deaths associated with his role. My one saving grace, he reminded himself, is my ability to compartmentalise. At the end of the day I would rather be here, doing this, than down there on Earth going through all that torment and suffering. Still, he wondered, unable to shake that innate human empathy that called his name, why does there need to be a choice?
“When is the next shuttle due?” Esha asked him.
Jones checked his paperwork. He was rarely without his clipboard and notes when in her presence. Meticulous, it's what she likes, and that keeps me employed, he told himself. And that keeps me safe. As far as Jones was concerned she had become a de facto God in his world. “The next shuttle will be leaving in two weeks,” he told her. “We should see them in about three months.”
Esha didn't mind the extra numbers arriving. She was never partial to those complaining that Mars was not doing enough. Those people don't dictate Mars' foreign policy – I do. But the extra numbers did bring new skills, new hope, new energy. Mars will be the new centre of human activity; another of her favourite lines. Delivered many times. But people loved it. And the regular influx kept the building boom going. We're still a small population, she reminded herself. Small but resolute. They had begun to conquer the harsh terrain. Brought life back to several of the enormous valley systems. They still needed their breathing devices when venturing outside, but that was changing. Terraforming was making life on Mars so much easier for everyone, and Esha was the one leading the way. People love you when you make their lives easier. And the worship and adulation had only increased over the years. Better than Earth, she reminded herself. So much better.
This fiction is my own work, written for Steemit
Image Credit: Unsplash.com
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