Red Planet

Meredith Vickers hated Mars.

Mars had long been popularized in human history, ranging from the prospect of aliens existing, invading, and humans returning the favour. But trudging across the sand-covered walkway, right now she had no such delusions. The only life on Mars was the life that humanity had planted there, and very basic life at that. And while the air was breathable, it was very thin, and of very low pressure as well. So while it was possible for an unprotected human such as herself to walk from the landing pad to the entranceway to Weyland Corp Marineris, it wasn't something that she would have done if not for the sake of impressions. Give her a spacesuit anyday, if it could prevent her from putting up with the dust and air.

"Ah, Miss Vickers. Welcome to Mars."

She frowned as the android greeted her at the door. She knew it was an android because no human could have put on such a sickening smile as red dust blew around them. And she also knew it was an android because she recognized the model.

"Hello Sean."

"John, actually," the android said, still smiling. "John Seven. Created in-"

"That's great," she said. "Shall we get this over with?"

"Ah, yes, of course," John said, still smiling. He pressed a palm to the hand scanner mounted by the door, and with a hiss the door shot upwards, revealing a decontamination chamber. "Shall we?"

Vickers headed in, and John followed. He didn't need decontamination. But Mars didn't have any native microscopic life, which meant that people born on the world had shoddier immune systems than those on Earth. But he was an android, and thus went through the same process. Appearances and all that.

Weyland Corp loved to keep up appearances after all.

##

"That'll be all John."

"Of course Sir. If you need me, you have only to ask."

Just once, Vickers reflected as she watched the construct exit the room. Just once I want to see an android crack. To say no. Screw it. I'm not wearing this bloody smile any more so you shove your hand up your own arse.

But it wouldn't happen. Her father had seen to that. He was more concerned with how his androids acted than his own daughter. Maybe that was why it was so easy to take this unauthorized trip of 200 million kilometres to the red planet without him noticing.

"I must say Miss Vickers, I'm surprised to see you on Mars," her host said. "I mean, if you wanted to talk, you could-"

"Please, Mark," she said. "Just pour the wine and let's get down to it."

"Ah yes. Wine." Her host got on with the job. "Hopefully we'll be able to grow grapes on Mars before I die."

Just pour the damn grog.

Mark Watney, head of Weyland Corp Marineris, obliged. So in five seconds she had a glass of wine in her hand. And one second after that she was in a recliner chair, looking through a plasteel window that looked over the Tharsis region. Dust, pink sky, and more dust looked back at her.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Mark said. He sat down as well, cradling the glass between his fingers. "I mean, it's not much to look at right now, but…"

Vickers let him drown on, consuming half the wine in a single sip. She'd let Mark talk. Heck, she respected the man – former member of NASA, the poster boy of Ares Three, the Hero of Mars. She respected any man that could survive on this hellhole alone. And so did her father, giving the man a job when NASA shut down as corporate-fuelled space travel became the norm for Earth. And now, half a century later, he was overseeing Weyland Corp's activities over an entire planet.

Mark was powerful. Mark was influential. And that was why she needed him.

"So then," the former astronaut said. "Let's get down to business."

"Fine," said Vickers, resting her wine on a nearby table. She leant forward. "I need your support."

"Support in what? Last I heard you were focusing your activities Earthside."

"I am," she said. "Unfortunately, my father isn't."

She reached down to the briefcase she'd brought with her and opened it. She handed a number of pieces of paper to Mark.

"Expenditures," he murmured. "Project Prometheus…two-year trip…"

"I'll keep it brief," Vickers said. "My father got it in his head that it would be a good idea to funnel one trillion dollars into the outfitting of a second Heliades-class starship, and have it ready for launch in two years. He does this because he honestly thinks that aliens, God, or some bloody monolith for all know, is waiting in the depths of space for him. And he's willing to bankrupt his own company to get there."

"That's a bit much, isn't it?" Mark asked, putting on some glasses and going over more papers. "We always knew Prometheus would be built eventually. But-"

"At the right time when there was demand for it, not some fool's quest," Vickers said. "When it was to be used as an extra-solar scout ship, not to go on some wild goose chase." She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Let's face it Mark, my father's dying. The entire company's waiting for him to die so we can get back to the business of actually being a business. Problem is, most of the people I've talked to are too gutless to do anything about it."

Mark looked up at her. "What are you saying Meredith?"

"Mark, I'm acting CEO. I'm the person keeping the Company together until my father either dies, gets some sense knocked into him, or heck, finds God. But I'd rather not wait for one of those things to happen." She leant forward. "You're a good guy Mark. I mean, if I had your support in this…"

"A coup," he said. "You're making a bid for control."

"Yes," she said. "What, you thought it was murder? Please Mark, don't be so dramatic."

Mark handed the papers back to her. "You're asking me to turn on Peter."

Peter. God, you're on a first name basis with the bastard.

"The man pulled me up from the ground. He gave me a second chance. I've overseen colonization of Mars because of him."

"Yes yes yes, and I'm sure you thank him in your prayers each night. But Peter, Mister Watney, has lost it." She ran a hand down the plastic of the recliner. "You like these chairs, Mark? You like the wine? The view? Then give me a hand here and ensure that you get to keep enjoying them before you're left stranded on Mars again overseeing dust and unfinished domes. Not to mention a lack of grapes."

Mark sighed, putting his hands together and lowering his gaze. Vickers leant forward. Maybe she'd done it. She'd got a few people to sign on with her, but most of them with small fish with nothing to lose. Mark however, Mark could change everything.

"I think you should leave."

She frowned. "What?"

"I said you should leave," he said. "Get in your shuttle and fly home."

"Mark, you can't," she said. "Not after all this. I mean, I can show you-"

"Vickers, we're talking about an interstellar mission here," Mark said, meeting her gaze. "Further than any human has travelled. I mean, Christ…how can you even put a price on that? How can-"

And Vickers laughed. Mark was still an astronaut. He was the most powerful man on Mars, and he'd give it up all to put on a spacesuit and roll around in the dirt again. It was endearing, really, if he wasn't willing to let the Company burn in the process.

"…so really, no, I won't stop this," he said. "Peter changed the world. He wants to go to a new one, let him."

And also incredibly frustrating. Because for all his talk of the stars, Mark Watney still had his head in the Martian sand.

"Alright," Vickers said, getting to her feet. "I'll go. But take a good look at your office Mark. Because if things keep going the way they're going, you won't have it much longer."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a reminder," she said. She finished off her wine. "Goodbye, Mister Watney."

A/N

Is it just me, or is Ridley Scott going through a "space phase?" He's done Prometheus, he's worked on Midnight, and we have Paradise and The Martian to look forward to. And despite the many shortcomings of Prometheus, I do admit to being optimistic about its sequel, and I hope The Martian does well too. So in the spirit of this, drabbled this up as a result.