“I’ve seen your children grow up into men and women. I’ve seen them give birth to grandsons and granddaughters.” He glanced to the side, “In case you didn’t catch that, I’m an old man.”

Again, more chuckles from the crowd. They were rapt. His voice was like hardening honey. Smooth and sweet, with jagged rocks of sugar cropping up every so often. It commanded complete attention. And the terrafarmers were pleased to give it to him.

“We are a strong people. We’ve taken this land for ours. We have survived where others have only dreamed. When I was a child, my classmates on Earth thought Mars was a dead planet, suitable only for science fiction novels. If they ever thought of being here, they fancied themselves as cowboys facing off against Martians and androids. It was a fantasyland.

But we have made it real. We are making a new home for humanity, and we are rooted in it like the giant oaks of Roanoke. We are the giants of the new world, and our roots go deep to the core.”

The crowd murmured and nodded its approval.

“And nothing can uproot us. I’ve seen your looks tonight. Your eyes go sideways with misgiving and hints of fear. As if a metal arm could dig us out of the thick soil of our land. As if the men of Roanoke were giving us notice of eviction.” He slammed his hand on the podium.

The terrafarmers shifted uncomfortably and looked at each other, on the verge of noise.

“I have seen us survive the terror of dogs, and I have seen the terror of dogs rip through our community for 30 years. I have seen our tears fall into the earth we till. I have buried friends and their children. I have seen the holes in their bodies like the holes from a seeder, deep and empty. I have presided over funerals only I can count the number of.” He paused and looked over the crowd. His gaze hovered like a heavy spirit over these families. I felt it in my soul, and I was ashamed.

“Sarah.” He looked at a woman in the crowd. “I buried your father. John, Martha; I buried your son. Luke, I buried your wife. The Dillon’s, Robinson’s, I buried your neighbors the Oh’s and gave their land for you to steward. The Sebastian’s were taken away from us entirely. We had to burn the Nelson’s land to take the memory of their deaths away.” He paused and the sniffles in the crowd were like some kind of musical rhythm. “Would you like me to go on? Would you like to cry tonight like we are at another funeral?”

“These boys. These boys with their shining arms who are here with us tonight were born from the same wellspring that we survive on. They are children of Mars who were taken away. They have come back to us. They were born out of the same hope that all of us have. And the tragedy of death hangs on their shoulders as heavy as it does ours. They have been shaped by the same soil, life has been blown into their nostrils by the same vast wind.

“They have come back to us. Yes. And they say they have come back to protect us. Yes. Who are we to judge our lost children’s intentions? They are here with us now, they are our children. There will be plenty of time to learn of their intentions. In the meantime, rejoice! Be glad that we have protectors. Rejoice in these new, strong, hands. Throw up your hands and shout.”