The Martian Girl E-Book

Paul Magrs

• Herausgeber: Firefly Press Ltd
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Lora Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 272

Beschreibung

The Mars trilogy tells the story of Lora and her family, settlers struggling to survive on the red planet. Apparently safe in the City Inside, Lora becomes suspicious of its human/Martian authorities. But then she gets the chance to join their expedition to the Martian plains to find Grandma's friend Ruby, survivor of the old Earth starships. When their flying saucer crash-lands Lora must lead on through deadly adventures.

Leseprobe

Contents

Praise for Lost on Mars

About Paul Magrs

Title Page

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Praise forLost on Mars Book one of the Lora Trilogy

‘… wondrous, strange and satisfying.’ 4 stars, SFX

Mr Ripley’s Enchanted Books Top Favourite Young Adult Book Reads 2015

‘It’s FANTASTIC, it’s BRILLIANT, it’s certainly strange and the plot will hit you in both the gut and the heart at the same time. It’s thought provoking and very surreal … the more that I read, the more that I fell in love with this book… This is easily my favourite read of the year. It is a cracking space odyssey for the Young Adult audience and beyond. A unique outlook all wrapped in a disturbing fight for survival against a bleak and desolate landscape.’

One ofThe Telegraph’s Best YA Books of 2015

‘The story is bold and you have to love a chapter that opens with the words: “It was late in our Martian autumn when we were allowed to hold the funeral for Grandma’s leg.” Lora, stubborn and complex, is at the heart of this first part of a trilogy about third-generation settlers on the desolate red planet. There’s also a likeable and talkative robot called Toaster. It’s also a novel about alienation. But watch out for the Martian flesh-eaters.’

The Independent’s Best Summer Reads

‘A wonderfully written sci-fi adventure about a pioneer family on the desert plains of the red planet, a terrifying, inhospitable world of massive dust storms. Then the disappearances begin. Grandma is taken and all that is left is her cybernetic leg. Completely irresistible.’Patricia Duncker

‘Paul Magrs’sLost On Mars is about Martian settlers being Disappeared by Martians. Funny, scary, and like Ray Bradbury crossed with Laura Ingalls Wilder, it will appeal to boys and Dr Who fans.’

Amanda Craig

Paul Magrsgrew up in Newton Aycliffe, County Durham and went to the University of Lancaster. He was a Senior Lecturer in English Literature and Creative Writing at UEA, running their famous MA course, and then at MMU in Manchester. Now he writes full time, at home in Levenshulme, where he lives with his partner Jeremy Hoad. He’s written many children’s and YA titles, including fiveDoctor Whonovels with BBC Books,Strange Boy,ExchangeandDiary of a Doctor Who Addict.

THE MARTIAN GIRL

PAUL MAGRS

Prologue

My name is Lora and when I was a kid I lived in a house with my whole family on one of the red prairies of Mars. There was Ma and Da and my brother Al, my little sister Hannah and me. Plus there was Grandma, who was crazy, and Toaster, our sunbed, who helped out with everything from gathering the corn crop to battening down the electronic sealants when the great dust storms came.

When I was fifteen there was trouble in Our Town, which was the closest town to where we lived. People were getting Disappeared and there was a panic on.

I knew who was causing all the Disappearances. I knew because I saw them, dancing down the dusty streets at night. Tall, skinny creatures with glowing eyes, giggling in the Earth light. They were the Martian Ghosts and they were taking our people away, one by one.

They took away my grandma and then they took Da.

Those were terrible days. And I knew that we had to get away. If we stayed near Our Town and buried our heads in the red sand like the rest of them, we were doomed.

I was the only one who would take charge.

Me, Al, Ma and Hannah packed everything we could fit into our hovercart, and we convinced a handful of brave souls to come with us. Together we faced the emptiness of the Martian wilderness and set off to find a new home.

To me, though, Mars wasn’t just wild, it was beautiful. I knew that because of a secret. I knew it because of my secret friend, Sook, who had wings and strange eyes, just like a Martian Ghost. She was gentle and kind and she appeared at times like an angel or a giant moth, with these wonderful wings of hers. She would lift me up in her strong, skinny arms and fly me over the desert at night. This happened several times during the year I was fifteen and I saw more of Mars than maybe anyone in my family ever had. I saw its vastness and its beauty. It was a mysterious, deadly world.

But our little group became separated from each other. We were captured by lizard birds and taken deep underground to their caverns, and our brave party was torn apart.

My brother Al and I, together with Toaster, escaped to a new place. Sook carried us there. Mysteriously as ever, she took hold of us and flew us who knew how far, to a city we didn’t even know existed. This was the City Inside, where the buildings were taller than we could imagine, everything was made of green glass, and it snowed red snow on the City streets almost every single day.

For five whole days we were heroes. We were the girl and boy who’d come wandering out of the desert, together with their kronky old robot. We were given a fine place to live and we could do whatever we wanted. It looked like our adventures were over.

Except … I never felt quite at home in that City Inside. It wasn’t just that I missed our prairie. I felt that things were being done and said and sorted out behind our backs.

It all felt kind of sinister to me.

Luckily, I made friends with a busker called Peter and his cat-dog Karl. They lived hidden away in a Den underneath a City park. Listening to Peter talk, I learned that the City Inside wasn’t as shiny and lovely as it seemed.

Just as I had suspected.

Al got himself in favour with the fancy Graveley family, and got a job on the newspaper they owned. He started to change, to settle down. Toaster had himself repaired and fixed up. He was taken away by the Authorities and I was starting to think I’d never see him again.

I was invited to the University by a professor who wanted all my memories of growing up on the prairie for his archives. I went to his laboratory and he hooked me up to a machine. But I changed my mind. Why should I let them suck out all my memories? change to: With Peter’s help, I jumped out of the machine and ran away.

And then, at Christmas, the strangest thing of all happened. A trail of clues … a little bit of finding out … and I was drawn to a building of dark, shrouded windows, hidden behind the department stores of the commercial district. At the top of metal stairways in this warren of small dwellings, right at the very top, there was a certain door.

And behind that door I found two very unexpected faces. Da and Grandma! They had been living in the City Inside for months. This was where they had been Disappeared to. And they were delighted to see me and Al. But where was Ma? Where was Hannah? We didn’t know, and we couldn’t tell them. Our family wasn’t whole yet and we couldn’t be completely happy until it was.

But for now it was Christmas and we celebrated. We made the best of things and tried to make it feel like home, although the City Inside was never our home.

If I ever got the chance, I decided I’d get away from this City.

If I ever get the opportunity, I’ll find my way back home.

1

My whole family is on the run.

We’re not all great at running. Hannah’s my baby sister and we have to take turns to pick her up. Those of us who are faster stay behind to help each other. That’s the way it is.

We can hear the cracks and booms of gunfire behind us. The raucous yells of the hunters and their shouts of triumph.

It’s hard to run on this ground. Steaming swampland. Viscous, oozing purple mud. The vegetation is thick and red and every now and then we can hide and catch our breath.

The bullets shriek and sizzle through the humid air. They’re still after us. They won’t give up. It’s all a game to them. We’re gonna wind up dead.

Ma is hysterical. Her limbs fail and she wants to give up. She’s sobbing as my brother Al stands there with the baby. Da is trying to shake sense into her. If they catch us we’re dead. Simple as that. Everything will have been for nothing. We have to keep on. We have to survive.

Surprisingly, Grandma is on her feet and ready to run again. The danger has given her extra life and her eyes are shining. ‘Come on, come on. We’ve got to run. We can’t stop now.’

Bringing up the rear is Toaster. He’s our loyal servant and our protector. The kronky robot sunbed, who’s just about the oldest member of our family. He would lay down his life for us. He’s striding across the perilous marsh with his circuits fizzing and his ancient joints sparking. He’s leading us through the vast swamp, sure that he can get us safely through to the other side and out of the range of the crazy hunters who are after us.

‘I’m sorry, this is all my fault,’ says Toaster as he lumbers through the long grasses. ‘Those are Antique Hunters after us. They’re after me! It’s me they want!’

My da shakes his head grimly. ‘They won’t stop till we’re all dead.’

Ma cries out at this, part horror, part outrage. She hauls herself to her feet and holds out her arms for Hannah. ‘I’m all right. I can go on. We can’t let them take us. We’ve come this far…’

A steely determination comes over her. We plough on, with the gunfire and the distant, mocking laughter ringing in our ears.

We are tough, me and my family. We’ve already had to survive so much. And we can surely survive this…

‘Lora! Lora…!’

Al was yelling at me. For some reason he had stopped running and was peering down into my face and shaking my shoulders.

‘Lora! You were shouting out again. You were having your dreams again…’

I pushed him away. Feeling groggy, I sat up on my makeshift bed and groaned.

I was in the living room of the flat where Da and Grandma lived. I looked around and the dark tree was still there, and the loops of straggly tinsel and homemade paper chains. I was safe.

‘You were really yelling out this time,’ Al laughed. ‘That’s the third night in a row.’

I got up woozily. Then I headed to the galley kitchen for a glass of water. Every surface was littered with used crockery and cooking pans and dishes. Grandma was a bit slapdash with cleaning stuff up.

Three nights of dreams. Every night the same dream. Our whole family being pursued through a hideous, lurid swamp. The Antique Hunters with their ancient guns firing lead bullets at us and never letting up. Three nights I’d slept on Grandma’s settee and woken in this cold sweat.

My brother Al thought it was hilarious.

Da showed up, looking concerned. ‘What’s going on? It’s not even light outside. What was all the noise?’

For a second it was like we were two little kids again. Da coming in, tying up his dressing gown, ready to give us both a telling off for disturbing the household. I even smiled at the memory. But Al and me, we weren’t little kids any more. I was sixteen that year and he was fourteen. And we no longer lived in our Homestead on the prairie. We lived in the City now and everything had changed.

‘I … I’m sorry, Da. It was me. Bad dreams.’

He came over to hug me. I waved him away. I didn’t want fussing over. ‘It’s no surprise you get nightmares,’ he sighed. ‘The things you two have gone through. The things you must have seen.’

‘It wasn’t so bad,’ I said.

But it was. Our journey from Our Town through the Martian wilderness with Ma and Hannah had been terrifyingly dangerous. Why was I trying to play it down?

In the living room Al was bundling up his bedroll and stashing away the sheets and pillows. ‘Christmas is over now,’ he said as we drank the strong, milky coffee Da had made for us. ‘I guess it’s time we got back to normal. I’ve got to get back to my job today.’

I knew that he meant he had to make peace between himself and the Graveley family. There had been a falling out, and he wanted to get back in their favour.

Da wanted to hear more about Al’s job atTheCity Insider, which was a big, important newspaper. But Al didn’t look keen to talk as he gobbled up his breakfast.

‘My little boy – working already! And at an important desk job!’ Da sounded mightily impressed. ‘And there’s his da, just an old farmer. I’m proud of you, son.’

Al ducked his head and looked abashed. I watched him and realised that he hadn’t yet told Da and Grandma anything about his new life in the City Inside. He had kept quiet about his friendship with the Graveley family who ran the newspaper. What was more, he hadn’t said a single word about being a sort of boyfriend to Tillian, the Graveleys’ daughter. Da would have thought the same as I did. Al was much too young to have a proper girlfriend. Even if people did grow up quicker here in the City, and even if life was paced much faster than we were used to. He was still just a kid, really.

Al knew they’d disapprove as well, and I reckoned that was why he hadn’t said much about what he’d been up to in the months our family had all been apart.

I guess we’d all changed some. I know I had, though it was hard to gauge it. I didn’t feel so different inside but, during the few days of the Christmas break, I’d caught both Da and Grandma watching me, studying me. It was as if they were trying to size up this more independent person I’d become since they Disappeared.

That’s what happened to them, you see. We believed that the Martian Ghosts had risen up from the depths of the dustbowl to claim them. I’d even seen those long, stringy, eerie ghosts in the moonlight myself, dancing down Main Street in the silence of the night, looking for souls to snatch away.

But though we were right to set out to start a new life, there were certain things we were wrong about. Important things. For example, our belief that Da and Grandma were dead. They were not. They were just living in this City where the Martians had brought them. Deep in the heart of Bolingbroke District, where the buildings were high and the stores were gaudy. They were here the whole time, just waiting for me to find them.

I supposed Al was right. It was time to return to our flat across the City. We couldn’t make Christmas last forever. But it had been wonderful, staying there for a few days with Da and Grandma, in this tiny flat at the top of the fire escape. The cinnamon-coloured snow had been drifting down, day after day, and at one point we even thought we might be snowed in.

It was like the old days in so many ways. It was like the Christmases of the past, in our little house miles from civilisation, when it was just our family and no one else. For a few days we’d been able to push away the thought that there were millions of souls all around us. The City Inside was teeming with a multitude of human beings and other creatures. With Martians, too.

Of course, Ma was missing. And Hannah. And Ruby, Grandma’s friend. It could never truly be like Christmas without them. Late in the evenings I thought about how Ma used to play her miniature harp to us. She’d play all the complicated songs handed down to us by our ancestors from Earth. This Christmas we’d had to make do with Grandma’s cracked old voice instead. She sang Christmas songs and also songs about how it was her generation and her people who first came to Mars.

Those songs rang a bit hollow now. Now that I knew that her people weren’t the first after all.

But Grandma tried to entertain us as best she could. ‘Peter’s enjoying my singing!’ she laughed and cawed, rocking in her chair by the gas fire. She pointed to my new best friend and cackled like crazy. ‘He appreciates a golden oldie when he sees one, don’t you, son?’

She was even flirting with him. I’d met Peter in the marketplace underneath the building where Al and I were living nowadays. Peter had become a good friend, and someone I quickly came to rely upon for advice and help in this new and strange place. He and his pet dog Karl (or was he a cat? I could never be sure) were homeless, I thought, at first. But it turned out they lived somewhere called the Den, which was underground, underneath a park, somewhere on the east side of the City, in Eventide District. Now Peter had been drawn into the orbit of my family and the strange things that were happening to us. But I think he was pleased to spend Christmas with us. He said that it was much better than the gloomy time he would have had in the Den without Karl.

‘He’s lost his little friend, his little pet,’ Grandma crooned sympathetically. ‘I know what it’s like. You must be very sad right now.’

The thing was, Grandma sounded sympathetic, but there was a devilish glint in her eye. I was reminded that I had never really quite trusted Grandma. I recalled very well how she had been apt to go crazy every once in a while. In those times she would say and do some very alarming things indeed.

By Boxing Day Peter had already returned to his Den. He was keen not to outstay his welcome. As polite as ever, he thanked Da and Grandma and kissed me goodbye at the top of the fire escape.

‘I’ll call on you,’ I promised. ‘When I get back. We can start looking for Karl again…’

He nodded and smiled, but it looked to me as if he had given up all hope of seeing his beloved pet again. Karl was missing and it was all my fault. The little cat-dog-thing had been shivering with pneumonia or something on the last day Peter had seen him, and he was helpless, with his tangled and malformed limbs. Even on the best days Peter had to carry him about. But it was selfish me who insisted that we leave him outside the university buildings on a cold and wet night, so that Peter could come and be my back-up when I entered the hallowed and scary halls of the Department of True Life Stories. When we had escaped from there, we’d found that Karl was gone. Only his blanket and his little lead were lying there in the crimson slush. It was all my fault. I wonder, if I had been Peter, whether I’d find it so easy to forgive me?

Already days had slipped by and I was preparing to return home later than I’d intended. The lure of burying myself in Christmas and family and sleeping on the settee under the tree for nights on end had proved too strong. But it was no good. Even though my head ached with those nightmares I could still see whenever I closed my eyelids, I must pull myself together and return to my ordinary life.

‘I’ll come back soon,’ I told Grandma and Da. ‘And then you two will have to come and visit me in Stockpot District. Come and see my flat on the 202nd floor!’

Da looked at me, amazed. ‘Just imagine a daughter of mine living somewhere as swanky as that!’ he said. ‘I’m very proud of you, Lore.’

‘How does she afford it, is what I want to know,’ muttered Grandma.

We were standing in their narrow hallway and I was preparing to leave and brave the freezing wind and snow. The climate outside was a little less gentle and Christmas card-like today. Through the iced windows it looked savage and bleak. I told Grandma, ‘The Authorities put us in our flat when we first arrived. Me and Al. They looked after us. Gave us somewhere to live. They made a big fuss of us walking out of the desert…’

Grandma looked puzzled at my words. ‘I still don’t get it. Why would they just give you a fancy place to live? Huh? What do they want from you? There’s gotta be something. No one gets something for nothing. That’s what I’ve learned.’

Da rolled his eyes and hugged me one last time. ‘Never mind your grandma. She’s just suspicious about everyone.’

As I left, I thought again about how Da had been completely unaware that Al and I had been celebrities for about five minutes when we first arrived. Why, we’d been on the news channels and in the magazines and newspapers for almost a whole week. For a little while it was like everyone was fascinated by the boy and girl from the wilderness. In fact, that was how Al had met Tillian; she was the reporter sent to talk to us, to get an exclusive on our story. When I’d told Da and Grandma this they just shook their heads slowly and told me that they never bothered with the news or the papers. They didn’t really follow anything much going on in their new City. They were used to simpler things and they had their lives to get on with. The things that happened in the City Inside didn’t really touch them.

When Da said this I was surprised. The Da I knew liked to know about everything that went on. He kept his ear down close to the ground. Forewarned is forearmed, I remember him telling me. That was back when he used to listen out for the storms coming across the scarlet plains. He liked to know about everything and it amazed me to hear that in the City he just didn’t mind anymore. He hid himself away with Grandma, and hadn’t even heard that his own children had arrived in town.

Anyhow. Never mind. They might have changed a little, but I still loved them. I put aside all my quibbles and small suspicions. I wrapped myself up tightly and descended the clanging, frosty metal stairs of the fire escape and hurried into the heart of the City.

2

All the way through Eventide District I could feel eyes on me. They were watching my every move.

I tried to shake them off by slipping down the narrowest of streets and taking random corners, but somehow they were always there. Just a few steps behind me. Someone was very interested in where I was going and what I might be up to.

I wasn’t really paranoid. I knew I was completely sane about this. It was the Authorities. They were watching after me. They were dressing spies up as shoppers in the wintry streets and sending them after me. Bargain hunters in their scarves and long coats were peering at me and keeping tabs.

I made for the nearest Pipeline station. I was quite used to using the system now, buying my ticket at the clunky brass machine that emitted a blast of steam when it worked. Then through the turnstile and down the wooden escalator onto a green-tiled platform, slippery with melted snow. Waiting for the train I realised that this was the first time I’d been on my own for ages. In this crowd I could have been anyone at all. I could disappear amongst the mass of other people. Though, as my younger brother had pointed out before, I didn’t look the same as they did. I looked too casual in my comfortable clothes. The City Insiders always looked so buttoned-up and formal: the men in their wingtip collars and the ladies in pinched waists and layers of dragging skirts. They looked like the Victorian British folk in my old electric novels, and I looked just like what I was: a peasant girl from the prairie. Tall and rangy. Not quite pretty, but not plain, either. I was hardy-looking and robust, Ma used to say, like you could plant me anywhere and I would grow. I’d never really been a girly-girl. Well, I didn’t care.

There was a gust of warm wind, as the glowing oil lamps of the train appeared in the dark tunnel. It was at that very moment I felt those eyes upon me again. I turned quickly and this time I caught the culprit. There was a tall man looking at me. As the squeal of the train filled the tunnel he carefully placed his hand on my shoulder. No one but I could hear him giggling: ‘Heeeee heeee heeeee…’

The lights in the tunnel flickered and went off for a second. His grip tightened on my shoulder. Then, when the lightbulbs flashed on again he had vanished, but the train was there and the doors were opening. The whole crowd was surging forward and clambering aboard. I had to move quickly or I’d get left behind. I didn’t want to be left alone on the platform.

All the way through the journey I sat in a crowded compartment, stuffy with oily yellow smoke and a fug of overheated people. Did that man grasp my shoulder because I was standing too close to the edge of the platform and he was worried about me toppling over?

‘Heeee heee heeee…’

No. I heard that giggling for real. I didn’t imagine it. He was right by my side because he was following me. They were always following me. They knew where I was every minute of the day.

It was a relief to be out of the dingy, sooty tunnels of the Pipeline and in the open air once more. There was a fresh fall of snow coming down gently as I crossed the park into Stockpot District. Tall glass towers rose up everywhere, blocking the horizon. It all looked so much more gleaming and special than the shabbiness of where Da and Grandma lived. When they come to see me here, I thought, they’ll be overawed by the sight of these green, monstrous buildings, stretching so high into the sky above.

And then, as I hurried through more bustling streets, I was thinking about the view I’d got on Christmas morning, of the whole City spread out below me. A magical view and a surprise Christmas present. I still felt like it could have been a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. On Christmas morning, just a few short days ago, I flew over the tallest rooftops and chimneys and green domes and spires. I flew in the arms of one of my best and strangest friends … the Martian girl who I’d thought I might never see again. I didn’t know why I had doubted her. Sook had a habit of turning up in my life…

Then, all at once, I was standing before the vast revolving doors of the building that had been my home ever since Al and I arrived in the City Inside. Downstairs, there was the usual busy market going on, with vendors crying out their wares and shoppers seething up and down the narrow walkways. There was a mass of colours and smells and noises: the hissing of oil on hotplates and the fiery spices the City people loved to cook with; the shiny metal of their fancy gadgets and brightly coloured gee-gaws everywhere. The City Insiders loved to be buying things and filling up their lives with all this stuff. I found it almost as bewildering as I did when I first explored this place, all those months ago.

But before I went up to my apartment there was someone I wanted to find.

I approached his usual pitch in the furthest corner of the market place, beyond the café which served the thickest, strongest coffee I had ever tasted. I could hear his music before I could see him. The soft, eerie notes from his miniature harp reached out to me through the crowd. Then, at last, I saw Peter, in his favourite red jumper with its holes and stretched-out sleeves. His music was even more doleful than usual. His messy, tangled strawberry blond hair hung down over his face so that I couldn’t see his expression. I knew it’d be one of great concentration, his mouth pulling down at both corners as he focused on his song.

At his feet there was the case he carried his harp in. There were a few coins chucked in by passers-by. What lay next to it made my heart twinge with sadness. An old, hairy blanket. It was what Karl used to sleep on, day in day out, at Peter’s feet. Of course it was quite empty now.

‘Lora!’ Peter cried out. He put down the harp and pushed his hair out of his face so he could see me better. His grin was like the winter clouds rolling away.

We hugged and I asked, ‘No sign yet, huh?’

‘I’ve been hanging out around Swiftnick’s house. There’s no way inside. It’s like a castle.’

We knew the man who had taken Karl captive. We had watched, helplessly, as he carried Karl away in a cage. I didn’t voice my deepest fear – that Dean Swiftnick had already murdered the little cat-dog, just out of spite. That wasn’t what Peter wanted to hear.

He put on a bright and fake cheery grin. ‘How was the rest of the holiday? Did you talk much with your da and grandma? I must send them a note to thank them for having me over on Christmas Day…’

He was gabbling away with too many questions. I wanted to sit down with a pot of strong brewed tea and talk properly. ‘Come up to the apartment,’ I told him. ‘Can you leave your pitch for a while?’

‘Yeah, it’s not like I’m making a fortune today…’

As we shot up in the elevator through the innards of the grand building, I wondered about telling Peter how I suspected I was being watched down in the streets. I could still feel the impression left by that hand on my shoulder.

‘You okay?’ Peter asked.

I nodded and the lift glided to a halt at Storey 202.

Home again. I never imagined I’d think of that tidy high-up flat as my home. But it seemed like I’d become attached to it. I just wanted to sit there, all calmly, and gather my thoughts. I loved being with my family, but it turned out I loved my own space, too.

I took my key out of the new purse Da had given me for Christmas.

And the key wouldn’t work in the lock.

Had it jammed? Was I doing it wrong?

I took out the key and tried again.

‘What’s up?’ asked Peter.

‘Someone’s changed the locks … I’ve been locked out of my flat!’

It wasn’t a mistake, I was sure. I’d been deliberately shut out of my home.

Peter noticed the letters slipped halfway under the door. I ripped them open and the first was from Al, dated a couple of days ago.

Lora, you never told me what you did at the university before Christmas. If you had I could have told you to expect this kind of thing. The Authorities don’t like being messed around. I’ve learned that much from my time atTheCity Insider