Red Peak

 Thom adjusted the small tubes until they were comfortably lodged up his nostrils.  The thin tubes clipped onto the bottom edge of his shades, then looped over his ears, where they met at the base of his neck and disappeared into the lining of his jumpsuit.  The oxygen flow was supplemental, making up for the low levels in the atmosphere, and the small cartridges on his belt would be all he'd need for his trip.  Terraforming a planet was a task for generations to undertake, and the process would be far from complete by the time Thom was dead and spread.  His offspring and theirs would have tubes up their noses too, he thought idly.  The view from this height was spectacular, he could just make out the distant glint of metal from the great dome at the Argus colony.  Climbing the Martian landscape came naturally to Thom, who had been exploring the wilderness for literally as long as he could remember.  His first memory was gliding over craggy red craters shining full of blue green life.  Later he'd realized that his memory was of the oft recounted 10-day circuit of the American Territories.  His father had cemented his legendary status as the great Martian explorer with their triumphant return to Mars City.  The settlement's unoriginal name had been quickly localized into the catchier Mars C, or as most folks called the oldest and largest of the colonies, Marcy.  The landing site of the first men and women to set foot on the red planet was only 14 miles away to the southeast, and had become something of a focus for pilgrims from earth.  

Rocks crumbled beneath his right hand and he swung wildly before finding a hold and steadying himself.  He paused for a moment to focus.  The face of the peak he was ascending would be daunting for the most expert climber on earth, but Thom managed it in the lighter gravity without difficulty, even with the large pack strapped to his back.  The result of falling from this height was the same on any world though: certain death.  "Respect the risks" Thomas Hart Evans the Fourth had told him time and time again.  

Most of the kids born on Mars were descendants of the original colonists, procreation being a major directive for the first wave.  There was only one that could claim a direct hereditary bloodline to the Captain of the "Earthseed".  The massive ship had delivered a thousand citizens upon Mars, then lent its parts to construct the foundry, the various mining and drilling operations, communal structures and living quarters.  Not a single bolt went to waste, and according to plan the materials that could not be put to direct use were atomized and used to fuel the digital modelers.  These were the descendants of 21st century 3D printers, and worked at a speed and precision unheard of in the last hundred and fifty years.  Mostly the devices were compact, somewhat larger than a microwave in order to accommodate most household needs, but the original colony had 3 units designed for industrial applications. These had chambers which ranged in size and shape dramatically, the smallest of them being approximately the size of a single car garage. This was the entirety of the manufacturing process on the planet, until they printed the various parts needed to construct more modeling facilities. The materials needed for almost everything except organic reconstruction could be found here in the depths of the planets crust, and at various sites where rare minerals were carefully collected.  The raw materials were mined and processed, then used as fuel for printing in literally thin air.  There were periodic breaks in their main purpose, the pursuit of industry, so that the vital human element was not forgotten.  There was a long backlog of citizens waiting to get their hands on the machines.  Residential expansion and quality of life were the standards.  The population boom had never quite settled down, and although there were plenty like Thom, who just hadn't gotten around to it yet, the population swelled against the walls of the homes and schools.  All those tiny lights below symbolized the birth of a civilization.  For those privileged to make it to the new frontier, it was a magic time of relative harmony and common purpose.  He knew it wouldn't always be this idyllic.

Finally reaching the narrow summit some two hours later, he loosened the harness and set the hard case flat on the rock.  Thom would have called himself a history buff if he wasn't so disgusted by the annals of time.  However incredible the human journey had been, however many advancements, there would always be stains on the soul of the species.  Too many mistakes had been made, and worse yet the base reasons for the errors had never quite subsided.  Perhaps it was nature itself that demanded dispute, perhaps for the scales to remain in balance destruction must walk hand in hand with imagination.  He could see the glint of the MovieDome, a grass roots effort gone right and a fine example of the weekend modelers' contributions to society.  Hundreds of citizens had donated their resources, not only in their reserved modeling time, but in the sweat it had taken to put it all together.  The project had been completed just a few years ago, and had since been imitated around the planet.  Not all of the colonies could or would put something of its scale together, and there had been a considerable increase in visitors from the outlying regions.  He remembered the late night movie series that had inspired this trip.  He smiled as he remembered the "futuristic" themes in the old, flat movies.  Back to the Future, some wacky film with Birdmen in it, and the Rocketeer.  That night he'd returned home in a daze, his mind whirling.  He sat at his desk furiously sketching and plotting until he fell asleep atop his doodling.  Now he unlatched the fruit of his labors, and began unfurling, twisting, and locking pieces together.  His family's status, and the accomplishments of his forebears had always put some pressure on his life and choices.  He'd never understood exactly how he was supposed to honor such a heritage.  

The various pieces had begun to take shape, and he began connecting slender silver threads to eyelets on his legs and arms.  Almost as soon as it had occurred to him to try this, he had known that he would be alive in only one of the two possible outcomes.  He depressed the button that snapped away the slack in the cable threads. He turned the manual locking mechanism, a kind of wide flap set in a thick ring on his chest. It turned like a key, then folded down and latched.  Thomas Hart Evans the Fifth strapped the case back on, now transformed into two angular and oblong units that were secured together. He connected to the pack and checked the backup igniter on his now gloved hand.  It checked out, and so did everything else according to the display on his wrist.  He smiled, glad to understand his father a little better as he pressed the big red button and leapt out into nothing.  The roar of the jets was lost in the wind that whipped past him as he spread his silvery wings.  He respected the risks, and now they'd better respect him back.