The sandstorm makes it hard to see. The wind whips violently, like a lash wielded by an invisible force of fury. The frightening tower of sand is about 200 kilometers away, writhing and moaning like a wounded animal. 177 kilometers.

It's getting bigger.

And the klaxon is going off all around Sector Eight, blaring a subtle yet alarming warning. "Sandstorm approaching."

The big white canopy comes down slowly, as the sandstorm billows up, now 80 kilometers away. Penny keeps staring out of the window as the canopy closes down, wondering what it will look like outside when the sandstorm envelopes the small town. She's heard stories from miners and diggers who were caught in one of those violent Martian sandstorms.

"It's like being in a cement mixer."

"You go blind and deaf and can't feel ‘nothin' but the sand-like sandpaper or needles against your skin."

"Ain't no sound inside there. And no peace. It just keeps coming. ‘cause there ain't no Eye, like a normal Earth storm. You ‘member the tornados we used to see back in the day?"

"Aye. In Nebraska and Oklahoma. And them storm chasers'd be driving after the things with cameras...then driving away?"

"Real fast! Ha ha!"

The canopy is down now. And the sand can be heard, whipping against the canopy, roaring and wailing and howling, trying to get in.

This is the wonder of Mars.

Penny leaves the plain white window and goes to wash up for dinner. She cups the Martian water in her hands. It's a little milky and smells a bit like bleach, but it's safe. The workers at the sterilization factories work hard to get the water this clean. They had said, before, back on Earth when living on Mars was still an that the water, with a bit of treatment, should be just as clean as Earth water. After all, Earth water came from space. So did Martian water, they hypothesized. But it was still a different terrain, and they hadn't yet perfected Martian terraforming, so when the time came to reside on the Red Planet, the water was still toxic, and many people died. That was before the factories, though! Now things were better. The water was milky and bleachy, but safe.

Penny shuts off the sink. Daddy's downstairs, preparing a meal.

Daddy is a warm man. He has a strong face and strong body. His hands and arms are veined from his work in the Martian Desert, digging new sewers and Life Support Condominiums like the ones they live in, but he leaves those work-weary hands at the mines, and brings the gentler ones home. His nails are shorn, but they're white like moons. His fingers are slightly discolored, henna red. He still wears his silver wedding ring, because it helps him remember his wife.

Daddy puts down the rations on the table, something steaming under foil that smells vaguely like roast chicken and vegetable stir-fry. Here's a fork, sweetie. Here's your Tang. Don't let it get cold.

Penny goes to bed. She sleeps with a poster above the head-board. It's a landscape photograph, taken by some dead photographer in the year two-thousand-something. The scrawled signature reads "Udolpho P. Richard" A strange name, but clearly, a great photographer. It's in vivid color, and slightly grungy. There are birds in the sky, and gentle forms of mountains behind the dusky green canopy of foliage. Trees sway nearly off the paper. Penny imagines the sound of the wind and the voices of the birds. Do they sound like angels? Angels have wings too. And what do trees sound like? Daddy says they rustle, like paper, only more gently, like someone breathing deeply. The miners only talk about cutting down trees. Why would anyone cut down trees? They're so big and beautiful and strong. Like Daddy. Penny smiles, thinking of her Daddy-Tree analogy. Daddy really is like a tree. He's old - but not too old. And he's wise-but not too wise. Maybe not as wise as a tree would be, but still, Daddy's pretty smart. And nobody can cut Daddy down.

Penny falls asleep, and dreams about her and Daddy, standing beneath a tree, watching birds glide across a sand-free sky.

The sandstorm is gone the next day. The canopy rises slowly, and Penny gazes through the windowpane out over the scape. Daddy roars off over the rise in a land-rover, off to the mines in his orange and black bio-suit. Penny waves goodbye. In the opposite direction, someone clad bulkily in a life-support suit wanders towards the condos and waves. It's Steven. Penny waves back, and rushes to greet him down in the lobby.

Steven is tall and handsome and 17. But you can't tell under the girth of his life-support suit. With a hiss, the helmet comes off and Steven smiles, fresh-faced and excited.

"Hey Penny. Some storm last night, huh?" Penny agrees and offers Steven some Grape Flavored Tang.

Steven's come over with a memory card filled with pictures that Penny might like. He slips the cartridge in the computer and pulls up the digital photo album.

Pictures! Earth! 1897! 1998! 2005! 3020! Big, bustling cities and smaller, conservative towns, smooth country roads shot black and white, expansive, green backcountry, Spanish gardens and Colorado mountains, cool summery English patios, surreal, white Antarctic snows, green eyed felines and wet-nosed puppies, striking birds and reptiles among flora and fauna. Jungles hidden among cities of clouds, teeming with life. Waterfalls, massive and astounding, pour from cliffs. Incredible!

"They call that one the Amazon Rainforest." explains Steven, pointing to the jungle. "Everything renews there. Water, air, life. If anything survived The Bomb, it'd be the Rainforest."

Penny glances at him for a moment. He sounds as if he's been there. "My mom's great, great grandma was there back in the day. She was a traveler. Went all around Earth, taking these pictures. And she had a special camera that could take pictures underwater. Like these, see? Those are something called fish..."

They spend the rest of the day looking at and talking about Earth.

Penny wakes up again that night. She doesn't sleep well. Sleep is like an insect quickly alighting and just as quickly dodging away. Sleep is a creature hard sought but difficult to contain. Perhaps it's the thin Martian air. Penny goes to the computer and pulls up the photo-album again. Geneva looks beautiful. And so does Marrakech. She remembers that they said so many died when The Bomb erupted. So many never got the chance to board the Mars bound shuttles. Minds that beheld Earthly wonder and beauty are now ash. The steaming cities are forever sepulchers. The roads that led to lively towns and happy, cheerful neighborhoods are crushed and shattered. The radios are offline. The world is lifeless. She looks at a picture of a flower bud. One little bud. And then there's the Rainforest. One bud and one Rainforest. Something so small and something so big. Like The Bomb. It was small, about the length and size of a 10 foot tall man, Penny imagines, but it became something so big. So horrible. Who could have created that thing? She looks again at the lush Rainforest. God's creations are always unique. Always constructive. She thinks again of The Bomb. Man's creations are also unique. So destructive.

Daddy's at the door, coughing. "Back to bed, sweetheart."

Penny sleeps late the next day. The threat of a sandstorm looms, but most everyone is unconcerned. While there's still daylight and the skies remain clear, things have to be done.

The wheels turn while Penny lies asleep.

Condominium managers sign forms for new sand-canopies while Penny lies asleep.

Miners dig and drill, coughing and hacking and spitting while Penny lies asleep.

Charcoal bubbles as poisonous water streams through the charcoal filters, while Penny lies asleep.

Generators hum and whine while Penny lies asleep.

Power surges through cores and batteries and conductors, while Penny lies asleep.

A hulking figure in a black and orange bio-suit rides across the desert on a red land-rover. The figure parks the bike, dismounts and walks towards a glimmering building, hewn from alien stone. The windows shine, appearing black and reflective. The figure is mirrored many times as he walks towards the great doors, and stops, affirming his to the little autobot at the gate. The doors open and he enters a white foyer. He stands still as nozzles twist open in the ceiling and squirt grey vapors. His suit is sterilized. An elevator hisses open. He steps inside, removing the shining orb from his head. One button is pushed and the elevator shoots upwards through the compound with a gentle hum.

Daddy comes in the door.

He sets his helmet on its place on the frame that holds his uniform. A muscled leg slips out of his custom made jumper. He hangs the bio-suit up on the frame and goes upstairs to take a shower.

Daddy coughs as he turns the nozzle. A spray of blue showers his pale body. He closes his eyes and lets the shower do its work, killing stray bacteria, killing marauding alien sicknesses and strengthening lungs weakened from thin Martian air. He coughs again. Something crimson hits the floor of the shower. The blue spray stops and water turns on. The crimson stain bleeds away into the drain, and Daddy's body is drenched in milky, bleachy water. Daddy sighs.

Penny awakens in some portion of the day, blinking and rubbing her eyes. The sandstorm hasn't come yet, thankfully. The noise of revving land-rovers continues outside. She peeks out to see Daddy's fire-engine red rover parked in the lot. Daddy's home? Why didn't he wake her up? Penny walks downstairs. The sink is running. Daddy must be in the kitchen, cooking lunch. What will it be tonight? Imitation Ham and Beef Stew? Imitation Lasagna? Imitation Cranberry Meatloaf? Penny stands in the kitchen, perplexed. The sink is still running, but Daddy isn't here guarding whatever's burning in the microwave.

Her eyes go downwards.

Daddy's lying on the floor.

She rushes to him. Get up Daddy! Wake up! Say something! His eyes are open, sightless, and his lips are blue. Oh, please, wake up Daddy. She shakes him. His nose drips blood. It's coming out of his eyes too! He's crying blood. He's sick! It's gotten him! Martian land has claimed another. She pounds his still chest with her fist, sobbing. Wake up, Daddy. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up....

"Open the door, Penny." Steven stands outside in the hallway, his helmet under his shoulder.

"Penny."

Penny lies awake on her bed, blinking her red eyes, listening to Steven's pleas from the intercom. She won't open the door. She waits until he leaves, which isn't for awhile. Then she turns over, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her Daddy is gone. She's 16 and she's alone. Alone on Mars. Stranded on a planet she wasn't even born on. Her eyes drift to the window, to the red earth and red sky. The Red that killed her father. She watches a squad of miners rumble past on their land-rovers. She hopes they die too. Hopes they inhale lots of red dust and get it under their fingers and in their hair and in their mouths and die. Die choking on their own blood just like her Daddy.

She turns away from the window. Now she's staring at her computer. There's the Rainforest. Lush and teeming and unreal. Still captures of a world she cannot remember. Maybe she cannot remember because she was never there. Daddy said she was born there, but how could that be? She can't recollect a smell or a taste. Perhaps Earth is a lie. Some astonishingly imagined fantasy. And the pictures-amazingly rendered captures from the lying minds that imagined it? Angrily, she leaps out of bed and hurls the monitor to the floor. It lies motionless and askewed, flickering. Tears rush from her eyes. Damn The Bomb and damn the people that made it. She tears the poster from above her headboard. Beauty and wonder and blazing suns, it doesn't matter! Her Daddy is dead! Daddy is dead. And Mars killed him.