Chapter Eight #2
The only ground vehicle in sight inched forward slowly, yielding to pedestrians. Trains rumbled overhead. Almost everyone, it seemed, was walking to their destination at a leisurely pace, pausing to greet one another or stopping altogether for a spontaneous conversation.
A mix of willowy Marsborn children and their solid Earthborn peers played with a ball against one wall.
The Earther children must have just arrived, to look so stocky, Vivian mused, thinking of Ivey’s description of her mother’s childhood.
As they grew in the Martian gravity, their bones would lengthen and weaken.
Vivian was conscious of her new lens for looking at the society.
Now, she could see the quality of Delilah and her clothing set them apart—their dresses more colorful, their hats wider, and their ribbons shinier.
Yet most Martian women wore a humbler version of their ensembles.
And the men sported drabber versions of Caspian’s and Xavier’s wardrobes.
Everyone on the Arcadian street, regardless of gender, age, occupation, or rank, wore a hat.
A game, Vivian thought. Had Ivey told her the truth about the purpose of fashion in Martian society?
A Martian soldier in a bright red uniform swept his tricorn hat off his head and bowed to them. Delilah giggled after he departed. “Come on,” she said, guiding them in the soldier’s direction.
After a short walk down the sparkling clean Arcadian streets, they arrived at a soldiers’ barracks.
Martian men, women, and people of indeterminate gender milled around, some wearing full scarlet uniforms and others in shirtsleeves.
The lack of any real weather under the domes made Vivian question the purpose of the heavy embroidered red coats.
Every fashion choice on Mars, it seemed, came with its own hierarchy.
Don’t they have somewhere to be? Vivian remembered the soldier who’d escorted Luz and her home. She didn’t understand the point of a standing militia on a Martian dome. What are they defending against?
“Who’s this, then?” a Martian soldier asked the sisters, tipping his tricorn hat in their direction.
Curly auburn hair framed a startlingly handsome face with pale skin and vivid blue eyes.
Delilah batted her eyelashes at him as she introduced herself.
The soldier greeted her politely before turning his attention to Vivian.
“I must have your name, you exquisite creature.”
Her stomach fluttered. “Vivian Bowen. We just arrived from Earth.”
The soldier took her hand and raised it to his mouth. His lips were dry and warm. “Silas Gatlin.”
She was used to feeling wary around strange men, but there was something about the Martians that put her at ease. With their refined manners and alien features, they were so different from the men at Sumter. She’d never had her hand kissed before, and she found she rather liked it.
The hum of conversation and laughter around them suddenly stilled. Without dropping her hand, Silas looked up sharply, his sapphire eyes alert.
“It’s Counselor Dorsey!” Vivian heard one of the soldiers hiss.
Vivian turned her head to see Xavier’s regal form striding down the sidewalk. Although she had only bade farewell to him that morning, she found she could not look away.
Xavier seemed determined not to look at her, casting his eyes in all directions until suddenly caught by the sight of the stranger.
Vivian was astonished to see Silas turn red and Xavier’s face shutter.
Silas, after a few moments, released Vivian’s hand to touch his hat—a salutation that Xavier just deigned to return.
Without a word or gesture to Vivian, Xavier stalked in the direction of a taller building that Vivian assumed was a military headquarters from the number of flags posted atop it.
Delilah had not noticed the exchange and was soon diverted by a hat stall. With a wide smile, she went to the merchant to try on his accessories, and a group of friendly soldiers soon surrounded her, eager to offer their opinions.
Silas cocked his head to one side. “Are the rumors true?”
“What rumors?” Vivian asked.
“A young woman newly arrived from Earth with a striking face and an elegant dress. You are, I think, a Red Mother.”
Vivian smiled. “I am.”
“The oligarchs do not deserve you.” He turned his head, for a moment, in the direction of the headquarters building.
She shrugged. “I have a contract to fulfill.”
He eyed her playfully. “Vivian, Vivian, you’ll break my heart. If you are already spoken for, tell me now and put me out of my misery.”
Vivian found herself quite taken by his roguish grin. Perhaps she was disassociating too, but it felt nice to have a man’s attention who wasn’t evaluating her for her ability to bear him children. “I haven’t chosen a husband yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Excellent. I wish to invite you to drink with me at this fine establishment.”