The First Pope of Mars
Pope Gregory XX lay down on an ornate couch. The windows were open, the fresh air feeling richer than the recycled air he breathed for decades under the great dome of New Alexandria on Mars. Sunlight shimmered through the stained glass windows and created a dazzling display from within the papal house.
As he stood, he adjusted the simple, off-white amice around his neck. The simple fabric was a stark contrast to the deep crimson of his choir dress that was a gift from his former diocese. The color had always made him think of the pervasive dust of his homeworld.
It hadn't even been a week since the Conclave, since that plume of white smoke had announced his election. Reporters and influencers were crowded outside in anticipation of what he was going to say.
The buzz was greater today than ever before; as the first Pontifex Maximus from beyond Earth's embrace, it seemed like a marked change in how the Church may adapt to an interplanetary humanity. This new era had existed for a long time, ever since he was a young boy from the mining village near Ares Vallis. He had studied theology by the light of artificial dawns and debated Augustine while watching Phobos travel through the thin, pink sky.
He ran a hand over the smooth desk, itself crafted from Martian basalt and imported here. He couldn't shake the weight of his impending address. His first formal homily from the Chair of Peter had to reach not just the people in the square but the prospectors in the Belt, the communities of Luna, and the pioneers living out in the quiet outposts near Jupiter.
A knock came at the door. His personal secretary, the bright-eyed Terran priest Father Nick, offered a respectful nod.
"The Deacons are assembling, your Holiness. It is time."
Gregory walked forward. His movements were stiff and economical, a habit he learned growing up where every joule of energy was precious. He was taller than many of his predecessors, a side-effect of Martian gravity. Yet he carried himself with a quiet humility that often disarmed those expecting...
He wasn't sure what they expected of a Martian Pope. He didn't know himself. They'd look at him with curiosity certainly. They might see him as a revolutionary. But he hoped only to be a shepherd.
The procession through the Apostolic Palace was a river of hushed reverence. Solar-powered LED globes cast a warm, inviting light on frescoes restored with atomic precision. Swiss Guards stood as still as statues, traditional yet anachronistic. Their halberds were irrelevant today compared to modern defense technology. The air hummed faintly with the Vatican's independent energy grid drawing upon vast geothermal vents beneath the city.
Entering St. Peter's Basilica always caused him to draw a breath. The scale of it was immense, even compared to more modern architectural marvels. The audacity of its design and beauty never failed to touch him. Today, it was packed by people of all ages and origins. Above, the great dome was now subtly retrofitted with state-of-the-art speakers to ensure his voice would carry clearly.
He ascended the steps to the High Altar, then to the ancient Papal Cathedra, as a grand organ played the entrance hymn.
Following the Gospel, there was a profound silence. He looked upon the congregation, full of expectant faces. Gregory stood and approached the crowd. He didn't want to hide behind a lectern, certainly not right now. He took a deep breath. The air gave him strength.
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," he began, invoking the ancient Latin as a way to bridge across time and across worlds.
"Brothers and sisters, we gather here today in this venerable sanctuary. It is a testament to our enduring faith in the face of constantly changing times. Yet this is the first time the one addressing you here is a pilgrim from the Red World, a shepherd who has known red dirt and starlit domes.
"Know that the journey from those distant sands to this holy place has been one of faith, not just of miles. And it is with a heart full of that journey's lessons that I wish to speak to you today. I am here not just as the Bishop of Rome, but as a brother to all who share a divine spark across skies familiar and new."
He paused, letting his opening remarks settle. The great Basilica was utterly silent. Some looked scared. He could empathize. He had to continue his story.
"Our sacred traditions teach us that every soul is fashioned in the image of the Divine. Imago Dei. This is not exclusive to the ground beneath one's feet, to the color of their sky, or the gravity anchoring us down. It is a universal inheritance, a spiritual genome woven into the fabric of all humans regardless of where they are. This is true if you are born in the green fields of Earth or the nascent communities in the asteroid belt."
He lifted a hand, his skin bulging slightly as an adaptation to the drier, thinner atmosphere of his home.
"For generations, humanity looked to the stars and dreamed. Now, those dreams have come true. We have children of Earth spread across the solar system as many as grains of sand on a beach. They have carved their existence from the regolith, coaxed life from barren rock, and have carefully conserved their precious resources. They have built not just outposts, but homes and entire cultures. These are new expressions of the human spirit, facing challenges those on this bountiful planet can hardly imagine.
"And yet, do we truly see them? Do we, on this heartworld, fully grasp the weight of their endeavors or the unique burdens that they carry? When resources are allocated, when policies are drafted, when the grand narratives of humanity are written, are we making sure to include the voices from beyond this atmosphere with the same clarity?"
The rhetorical question hung in the air, giving his congregates something to think about.
"Is the sweat equity of a hydroponics engineer fighting an existential blight in a Martian dome of less import than a farmer tilling ancestral lands here? Is the courage of an asteroid miner, risking the vacuum of space, considered a lower class of entrepreneur than the one receiving venture capital on Earth? The spirit of enterprise, pursuing a better life for yourself and your community, are not bounded by planetary horizons."
There were some murmurs and nods. Others twisted their faces in discomfort. Good. Truth, especially uncomfortable truth, was the precursor to compassion.
"The challenges to divine kinship are immense," he acknowledged. "The tyranny of distance, the unforgiving nature of an engineered habitat, ad physiological adaptations that mark those born off-Earth as distinct even as they remain wholly human. These challenges must not be used to justify disparity or an unconscious ranking of human worth. The new worlds are not simply tributaries. They are vital, living extensions of ourselves, each with an inherent dignity and right to its own flourishing, its own voice in the chorus of civilization.
"My brothers and sisters, here on Earth and scattered among the stars, I carry with me a simple message for you to take home. It is simple, yet is the bedrock of our shared future. We must expand our capacity to empathize. The Universal Church must be truly universal, championing the dignity of every soul. This must be done whether they pray under a blue sky or a crimson one.
"Let us look not to the void between worlds as chasms that divide. Rather, they are like oceans. Challenging and vast, yet capable of connecting the scattered shores of peoples. Let us build bridges of understanding, not walls of indifference. For we all are children of the same Creator, destined for a richer, more diverse unity. We are a symphony of worlds, each harmonizing together in a composition of universality. Let that be the vision we strive for. Amen."
He concluded and returned to his seat to continue the mass. He left the crowd in quiet to take in what he had said. It was just the start of his work, a journey he understood might take the rest of his life. But that was why he was chosen by the Cardinals and by God.