The Red Rock

Chapter 1: The Tipping Point

The year is 2035.

Mr. Ike Nyowe, Head of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), steps

up to the podium at the UN building’s media room. The room falls silent as the world watches. Adjusting

the microphone, he begins:

"Ughm... We have failed to drastically reduce emissions, which has led to more frequent and intense

heatwaves, droughts, floods, and storms. Wildfires are now the norm."

Behind him, a massive screen flashes images of devastation: bridges reduced to rubble, neighborhoods

swallowed by floods.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the media,” he continues, “half the world doesn't have electricity. What's left

of our oceans has turned to acid. A global population decline has begun—fueled by famine,

malnutrition, and conflict over increasingly scarce resources. It's a calamity.”

He adjusts his spectacles, his brow furrowed.

“There’s civil war in Syria...” He gestures to the screen, now showing massive waves pounding coastal

buildings.

“That’s a tsunami in Aceh, Indonesia. Political tensions there are rising too.”

I mute the TV and glance at the three others in the Mars substation with me. All nod grimly. Gerry, in

jeans and an Ivy League T-shirt, looks at me with his chubby face searching for answers.

“Well, Gerry, you’ve been part of this mission for a long time. You knew this wasn't just a temporary fix.

Go on, say it.”

He chomps on a space snack, raises a finger for me to wait, then swallows.

“I’ve always believed all wasn't lost. TMP is the only hope for the few millions left behind on Earth.”

He beams proudly. Our crew bursts out laughing.

“You won the bet, boss!” someone shouts.

TMP—Terraforming Mars Project—was launched in 2019 when 195 nations under the UNFCCC agreed

on desperate measures against the global climate crisis. I led one of the initial exploration teams to

Mars. Our mission: alter the red planet to support terrestrial life—a lifeboat for humanity.

I turn the TV back on. Mr. Nyowe is still speaking.

“Sixteen years later, TMP is only 30% complete—just 2,000 kilometers of the 6,800-kilometer surface.

Not nearly enough for the 60 million people still on Earth. Currently, 15 million live in the colony and

have survived the last ten years.”

I mute the TV again and look at the crew. Worry knots my gut.

“Guys,” I say, “I won’t argue that Mars has patches that look like Earth now, but the planet is still

unsuitable for long-term life. It’s going to take years of hard work.”

Venessa, petite and sharp-eyed, cuts in.

“Mars is about the size of Australia and could sustain a population of 125 million—twice the combined

population of Earth and Mars right now. With a thicker atmosphere and more water, we could

repopulate the human race.”

Tyron nods, ever the voice of overconfidence.

“Boss, COP already decided—Mars must expand to host Earth’s refugees. Sure, there are challenges:

radiation, unexplored regions, reproductive ethics, inter-colony politics. But I ask... does it really take

three people for this?”

I stroke my goatee, smirking.

“No. It’s going to take four.”

Their eyes widen.

“You’re bringing him back?” Venessa gasps.

“Yep.”

TMP Colony is housed in a technologically-sealed environment to prevent atmospheric loss. The Docks—

affectionately called The Rim—is its industrial heart, home to thousands of laborers.

When TMP began, workers signed multiyear contracts—giving up much of their earnings and freedom in

exchange for passage to Mars. Most couldn’t afford the trip otherwise.

“If COP wrote a Constitution,” I say, “one that halved everyone’s profits for a shot at Mars, maybe more

people would have made it.”

Tyron scoffs. “Well, your Mars Constitution made sure the people down there don’t like us up here. I’ll

be skipping your trip to the Rim.”

Gerry hesitates. He’s been with us only three months. I pegged him as a privileged newbie, detached

from the mission’s reality. But before I speak, Tyron cuts in again:

“The Constitution regulates labor. People like us get the good jobs. Everyone else? They live down there.

The Rim is the ghetto of Mars.”