Prompted Fiction

# 9 - Acta Martis (Week 3 No. 2)

After they landed on Earth, the six Martians were stared at for all of five minutes. An endless stream of Earthlings had boarded rockets to the red promised land, but few Martians had made the opposite journey. For those five minutes, the six were a minor novelty. Just the same, most of the folks from Earth knew what they were looking at almost before they'd processed that the Martians were in view. Nobody from Earth was so lithe or golden-eyed. Nobody so dark, with russet hair and and a solemn, uncanny expression. These people were Martians; that was clear.

Knowing what the Martians were, the Earthlings ignored them. Nobody asked for identity cards or entrance visas; the Martians put themselves on a bus, and found themselves on the coast of the Atlantic, unmolested.

The Martians busied themselves setting up various devices on the cobble beach. There was a shiny silver box, the size of a personal hovercraft. Sometimes, the box whirred. There was a pole, stuck in the sand and standing twice the height of a man, a purplish haze oozing out of the top. This pole occasionally made a gasping noise. The devices were of considerable interest to a small group of humans - the children on school holidays who scrambled over the beach at low tide. Their parents expressed no interest in the Martian devices; they hardly seemed to notice them.

The Martians tended to the machines, spending several hours each day turning dials and refilling fuel lines. The children watched, but nobody else did - besides, for a full week, there was very little to see. At the end of the week, something changed.

Exactly seven days after the Martians had set up the box and pole, the children noticed that the stone cobbles were being covered with sand. It seemed to come in red tendrils, washed up from the sea. The sand beneath the children's feet was softer than the stones had been, and they spent even more time on on the beach, watching the Martians, and watching how the sand seemed to spread with every tide.

Within twenty days, the sand had completely covered the beach. Even the parents had noticed, now, but they all thought the sand was a fine thing. It had obviously been ordered by the Town Council, or perhaps the Beach Conservancy Association. The Martians continued their work. Thirteen days later, a young plant unfurled delicate, purple leaves towards the sun.

By the time a safety-booted young man from the Ministry showed up, there were exactly forty-three plants. The young man was disturbed; the plants looked Martian. He had grown up on Mars, before coming to Earth to go to university. He had never met a real Martian, just transplanted Earthlings who called themselves Martians. The young man had, however, seen purple plants, on the edges of the human settlements. The plants were weeds. They were invasive. They invaded the terraformed fields of Mars, destroying crops unless they were pulled up by their purple roots. This would not do. He turned to the busy Martians.

"Hey!" The young man called. The Martians did not reply. They did not even turn around.

The young man strode over to the nearest Martian, tugging on its arm. The Martian's golden eyes flashed angrily.

"I am extremely busy. Do not disturb me."

"But what are you doing?" The young man asked.

The Martian smiled, sweet but inhuman. "Marsaforming, of course."

The young man looked over at the purple plants. He thought about the fields of Earth wheat that waved their golden heads on Mars. He sighed. "Of course."

Prompt: Humans get to work terraforming Mars. In response, the last surviving Martians decide to Marsaform earth

Source: http://www.writepop.com/science-fiction-story-ideas/1001-story-ideas-part-8-living-in-space

Yes, the title's a bit of a joke, and yes, I do totally apologize to Ray Bradbury for stealing his Martians.