February 1999: Ylla

           TheyhadahouseofcrystalpillarsontheplanetMarsbytheedgeofanemptysea,andeverymorningyoucouldseeMrs.Keatingthegoldenfruitsthatgrewfromthecrystalwalls,orcleaningthehousewithhandfulsofmagneticdustwhich,takingalldirtwithit,blewawayonthehotwind.Afternoons,whenthefossilseawaswarmandmotionless,andthewinetreesstoodstiffintheyard,andthelittledistantMartianbonetownwasallenclosed,andnoonedriftedouttheirdoors,youcouldseeMr.Khimselfinhisroom,readingfromametalbookwithraisedhieroglyphsoverwhichhebrushedhishand,asonemightplayaharp.Andfromthebook,ashisfingersstroked,avoicesang,asoftancientvoice,whichtoldtalesofwhentheseawasredsteamontheshoreandancientmenhadcarriedcloudsofmetalinsectsandelectricspidersintobattle.

           Mr.andMrs.Khadlivedbythedeadseafortwentyyears,andtheirancestorshadlivedinthesamehouse,whichturnedandfollowedthesun,flower-like,fortencenturies.

           Mr.andMrs.Kwerenotold.Theyhadthefair,brownishskinofthetrueMartian,theyellowcoineyes,thesoftmusicalvoices.Oncetheyhadlikedpaintingpictureswithchemicalfire,swimminginthecanalsintheseasonswhenthewinetreesfilledthemwithgreenliquors,andtalkingintothedawntogetherbythebluephosphorousportraitsinthespeakingroom.

           Theywerenothappynow.

           ThismorningMrs.Kstoodbetweenthepillars,listeningtothedesertsandsheat,meltintoyellowwax,andseeminglyrunonthehorizon.