Clear shoved the power cell into the capacitor and the electrical equipment of her den sprang to action with a series of whirs and beeps. Living so far from any active electrical grid meant she was reliant on batteries to keep things running. Fortunately, she had long ago discovered a large stash of Conglomocorp batteries, and capacitors, left behind in an old warehouse. She had enough for several years and while she had some thoughts about what to do next, she could worry about that then.
 
The main computer booted up. While it was a fairly advanced machine that she had salvaged – replacing several parts, including the motherboard – she only had an old ball-mouse and a clackity-clack keyboard as access peripherals. The headset she had was a little more modern, but it was one of those shiny gaming headsets the kids use on Earth for their Nintendoboxes and Gamestations. She admitted she loved it and is garish LEDs.
 
The monitor for it was huge, however. It was originally from a console bank on a starship that she had bought from a scrap dealer. She had managed to trade a couple of empty power cells, a starfighter husk, a box of pencils and a bottle of rum for it. She was pretty sure the trader just wanted the rum, but the other junk was added just to take up crate space. In a world where everything was digitised, pencils were an oddly rare commodity and highly valued by those doing some sneaky-sneaks that were meant to be off the digital-books, but not off the physical books.
 
Clear gave the mouse a few clicks and the live map of Mars appeared. It was being projected by the satellites various human companies had set in place, long before the Martians had been wiped out. The only viewable trace of Martians now, aside from Clear herself, were old photographs found in the old cities and towns of those long-gone people. Clear had her own shoebox of photos in her den, filled with any photos she could find. One such box had been onboard The Hopeful before it was gone. She regretted the loss of those photos, but admitted she would trade them all just to get the ship back.
 
She fiddled with the map. Automatically, it had centred on Saffron 5. Though it was only a spaceport, it was easily the busiest area on Mars. Many tourists barely visited the planet beyond that one station. There were tour buses that would visit certain ‘ghost towns’ where ‘some claim to witness ghosts of the Martians!’ or show infamous firing squad spots, the overburdened hospitals during the final pandemic, or even the mass graves where the human colonisers dumped the ‘dead reds’ (even the green and yellow Martians were simply dubbed as ‘red’, given the prevalence of the red skin race, the salmittons). As much as Clear saw these tourists as desecrators, ogling the demise of her species, a part of her was glad to see that her people were, at least, being recognised and remembered – something most of the corporations would prefer not to do. At one point, Liger Electronics had wanted to grind up the bones of the ‘dead reds’ to create conductors. News reached Earth of this and protests forced Liger to issue an apology for poor judgement and, instead, they built a tiny memorial over one of the graves.
 
This was lauded as a positive outcome by the humans, only Clear seemed to be disgusted. Aside from seeing this as a hollow and empty gesture from the company that had wanted to abuse the dead, the monument was a perverse human style monument that tried to use some of the Martian artwork motifs to make the thing ‘cultural’ – yet clearly having no clue about what was or wasn’t true Martian culture.
 
And this made Clear more bitter. Bitter with herself. While she could see the thing was a mockery of her people, she also had to be reminded that she knew next to nothing of her own culture anyway. She could more easily see the human culture in the monument than she could her own. There were some human scholars that were better acquainted with Martian languages than she was. She couldn’t read a single word of her own tongue.
 
Now, she used the old mouse to clumsily shift the map across the Martian landscape. Saffron 5 was near to the Hellas Sea, the largest inland sea on the planet and a hotspot for the tourists. Clear’s current abode was on the other side of Hesperia Planum – a fancy word for plains that humans were using on Mars. From her shack, she had a view of the Bay of Elysium. Despite being named after a pretty place on Earth – so she understood Elysium to mean – it was an area used exclusively by various mining companies. A lot of waste product had been dumped into the bay, where it slowly swept into the northern oceans. The companies had gradually pulled out of the area and, now, Clear had the whole zone to herself. Not that it was much to look at, or smell. Many of the old chemicals had been left behind to go stagnant and gross out the air. Her own shack had a few air filters installed to keep the nasty out.
 
She targeted the mine she had been at earlier and zoomed right the way in. The satellites weren’t powerful enough to pinpoint individual bodies normally, but in a plain where nothing existed, a patch of movement would tell her enough. There was nothing at all. She guessed that the Crystal Hunters were either exploring the mine, or they had left. She didn’t know if Altus Grant had called in any of his cronies yet either, which was bothering her the most. She didn’t know how many were after her at any given time. She came to the conclusion that, as a team, they were exploring multiple rumours. She liked to think they were covering the entire planet, spread thin, but she knew the information had to narrow down any searches to eastwards of Saffron 5. She did her best to hide, but she wasn’t invisible and she did meet with people.
 
One person had asked why she abandoned her role as ambassador for Mars, an honorary position with Earth representatives, at the Cosmic Nullius. Part of her wondered the same thing, but she never felt safe there. She had been attacked by bounty hunters just as easily out there as she did here. At least here, she was home and closer to where The Hopeful had been taken from her. She liked to pretend she was a hard-ass, but her friends knew how sentimental she was at heart and nothing was more sentimental to her than that ship had been.
 
She was about to leave the computer when her PIP, the device strapped to her wrist, went off. A few on-screen taps and she saw an alert. Intruder.
 
She went back to the map and zoomed it in to show the land around her shack. The shack had been a crumbling factory branch. The main building next door was completely caved in, while her wing was mostly caved in. However, after some structural improvements, she managed to secure the roof, without improving the visual façade. From the outside, it looked like any other abandoned, crumbling building. She squinted and realised there was something sailing up the bay. She grabbed the binoculars and climbed the ladder at the end of the room. She opened the hatch and was in a small hut at the top of the building. The original roof for this had fallen down with the rest of the building, so she had put an old sheet of aluminium on it to keep out the rain and bird poop. She knelt beside the window, which had metal bars – something she was thankful for – and peered at the bay.
 
A hover vehicle was approaching. It was similar to the last one she had seen the hunters using, so another rental, but this one was blue. At least it wasn’t such an ugly puke colour.
 
She could see three figures this time. One in the front and two in the back.
 
Clear was disturbed that they were so close. She couldn’t fathom how anyone could have tracked her here from local gossip. She had to assume they had somehow traced her using technology. Perhaps they had their own advanced satellite in orbit? Perhaps some kind of lifeform scanner that could detect Martian DNA apart from the rest. She could think how they could have gotten her DNA though. Could it be the electric she was generating? But she had only just switched it on…
 
There was no time to think too deeply into how for how, only what to do next. She was going to have to move her den to a new location. That would be extremely annoying. A new place meant she would need a new network of unscrupulous people to barter with in the black market, as well as abandoning her stuff here.
 
She noticed that the hovercraft didn’t come directly towards her building, though. So, they were investigating the area and not her den specifically. So long as they found no trace of her, she could escape their notice.
 
She jumped down the hole and rushed to the capacitor. She turned off the switch and the whole thing gave a long, groan as the energy depleted from various devices. It had seemed so loud, but she tried to tell herself they couldn’t have noticed from so far away. She shoved several items into a rucksack, including the shoebox of photos, and put it over her shoulders. At least she could make a run for it if they did find her.
 
She went back up top to watch her predators.
 
The vehicle was creeping down the streets. The red weed of Mars had reclaimed much of the roads and pavements in the area and some plants were intent on growing over the factory buildings. A high-visibility beam was being projected at the buildings, usually through the windows, looking for signs of inhabitation. Her own shack had all windows covered with seemingly broken bricks, except for the one she was peeking from.
 
She did wish she had some security cameras in the area, so she didn’t have to peer out in person, but they’d need power anyway. She would watch for a moment and see how far they went.
 
She noted that the driver appeared very non-descript. He had a short haircut, white skin and was wearing a black hoodie that didn’t even bear any kind of logo. She wondered if he was just a driver that the hunters had hired, but she also considered such a look would be the perfect kind of infiltrator. She did check her list of culprits, but he wasn’t on there so far as she could tell.
 
Conversely, the two in the back were much more noticeable. One, she identified as Sayo. She didn’t know anything more on his name or origins than that, though she believed he was from Earth, probably Japan. His hair was black in the photo she had of him, but she could see he had dyed a streak of it red. He was the kind of bounty hunter she was most used to. Arrogant to the point of overconfident, adventurous but lacked real dedication, desirous of an easy payday and was able to think outside the box. It was that last skill that made bounty hunters so good at their jobs. Most military personnel usually thought in strict, sensible parameters that allowed the likes of Clear to go under the radar. And yet, they would always weight cost versus reward. If she could make this job cost, she hoped the likes of Sayo would leave. Unfortunately, they did had the zealous Altus Grant on their team.
 
Sayo was wearing a sleeveless shirt and stood on the back seat of the hovercraft, wielding the high-visibility torch. He had a strong physique, bulging arms and visible abs beneath the shirt. He had a shoulder holster too. She could see there was a handgun there, but she couldn’t tell what kind. He did have some scarring on his left arm and a scar on his chin, but the tattoo on his right arm was the most distinctive feature she could see about him. It was a detailed depiction of a planet. According to the notes in the security report, rumour had it this was some kind of map to a secret horde of treasure Sayo had accumulated. Clear, knowing her own rounds of deception and the silly rumours she spread about herself, believed this was just that – a rumour to aggrandise his own reputation. Clear had managed to spread a rumour that men had died from merely witnessing the naked rear end of a Martian woman and was surprised to discover many humans genuinely believed it. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised by this, given the other rumours about Martians that humans had spread by themselves, and how there were still humans that believed their own planet was flat and that Mars didn’t even exist.
 
She got a look at the second passenger, but his head was down so she couldn’t get all the details. He had to be looking at a screen of some sort, which was out of view, below the vehicle door. He had black hair that was a little long, but untidy. He seemed to be wearing simple clothes, a white shirt and a brown waistcoat, fitting in with the other non-descript driver. She might not recognise either of them in a crowd, but at least she’d spot Sayo a mile away.
 
Suddenly, the black-haired passenger looked up, straight at her. She gasped and yanked her head down. She wondered if it was a coincidence, but she now suspected that something on his screen must have tipped him off that she was here. She darted for the hatch, closed it behind her, and shot out of the only entrance to the place – a small hole in the rubble. She might hope they wouldn’t find the den, given this was the only way in, but if he did have a scanner that somehow followed her, she couldn’t hide in there.
 
She hopped over the rubble as quick as she could. She was aware, from years of interacting with humans, that she was naturally more agile than most humans. She wasn’t terribly fast, but her body seemed to bend in such ways that even a trained human gymnast would be envious. She remembered her old doctor-friend said it was something to do with her muscles. She didn’t pay too much attention at the time as she just wanted to get out of being poked and prodded.
 
None of the three behind her seemed to have any tech with them that could bolster their physical prowess, so she was fairly assured she could make a getaway.
 
Though her usual speeder bike was closer to the den, she decided to hike a little further to take the starfighter. Aside from being able to better escape, it would also lead the sods further from the den, so it might be salvageable later.
 
She then fell.
 
It felt as though something had struck her firmly in the head. There was pain, a kind of throbbing, and her vision was dazed, a mess of white images as the world around her blurred. Some kind of stun grenade.
 
That realisation helped her to find the will to push forward, relying on her agility to keep her footing. Even as her toes would slip, the quick reaction time of her muscles would keep her going. She end up stumbling, however, as she then dropped down the other side of the rubbled building. At least they couldn’t see her now, she mumbled to herself.
 
She started to run down the road. It was all smooth here, nothing to clamber over, so she was able to get a good pace as her vision returned to her. She didn’t look back, she just kept running.
 
As she went, she heard one of them shout from behind her;
 
Sayo: “Go around!”
 
She knew one had gone over the rubble and seen her rushing along the road where the hovercraft could fare easily. It didn’t matter because she was then inside another building. She ran to the opposite end of this secret hangar. The front of it was covered in a thick sheet of cotton that she had sewn together over the span of weeks and hung up. Because there was no power, the shuttered were long out of use, but she also didn’t want to leave the starfighter completely visible to anyone and everyone, given how shiny the damn thing was.
 
This was Hoopa. An acquisition of days gone by.
 
The starfighter was narrow, but long, and coloured blood red in the main. Its wings were tight to the body, though they would open up once she was out of this hangar. The nose of the ship was like an overhanging beak and coloured a dappled haze effect into a slightly less blood-red. At her touch, the hatch lifted and she was in. She found it was dusty, but was sealed tight enough so no moths or cockroaches had wriggled inside. She pushed the power on and quickly flipped a few switches, while the diagnostics began. The screens were being projected from holographic emitters, rather than being physically present, and Clear sighed with relief at how much more convenient such modern technology was. She slid one hand along the systems, while the other took the flight stick.
 
Several diagnostic warnings came up, but none of them seemed dangerous, so she fired up the engine and closed the hatch. She retracted the six legs and was airborne. She eased forward, not wanting to clip the walls, and the nose of the ship pushed up the makeshift curtain. As she became exposed to the streets again, she saw the hovercraft was nearby. Clearly the three hunters hadn’t expected her to come whizzing out of a building in a ship.
 
With a wicked grin, she turned the ship.
 
The three men weren’t idiots, it turned out, as they vacated the vehicle in an instant. The plasma canons unleashed blasts of white energy that slammed the hovercraft so hard that it bounced and was sent higher into the air than her own flying ship was. She then strafed the blasts to the right, following two of her attackers, but they ducked behind the building. She eased the ship forward, but turned its nose after them again and continued to fire. The men went inside the hangar.
 
She pulled back and proceeded to blast-and-blast the hangar to smithereens. It took a while before the walls came crumbling down, but it was longer than she was comfortable with. Such a display would be visible on satellites, not only to the bounty hunters but also to security forces. Though security rarely bothered with much beyond Saffron 5, such a powerful starfighter wouldn’t be allowed to go blowing up buildings for long.
 
She turned the ship, aimed at the horizon, and flew away.

Hoopa settled down amidst a flurry of red dust. Even when the hatch opened, the dust was still swirling around the starfighter. But through that dust came a small, flying insect. Its wings were large and its body small, so it seemed to flop through the air, rather than fly. Clear retracted from it, not sure if it was dangerous, only to watch it flap away again.
 
Clear: “Looks like you’re doing well, kara!”
 
Pashna: “Just Pashna now, Clear. You know that.”
 
Clear dropped to the ground.
 
Clear: “Old habits. This is wonderful. I don’t think there’s so much life anywhere else on Mars. Not since… well. You know.”
 
Around them were trees, bushes and insects. The were a lot of the light orb insects hovering in the area – small bugs that lived short and eventually lives inside their cocoon-like shell together – and Clear imagined it would be very beautiful during the night hours. Further aside from the miniature woodland, she saw a constructed area that she assumed Pashna was using as a domicile. One the ground she recognised skyglass and instantly wanted to slip her boots off to stand on it. The gem-like material was cold and smooth, gentle on the soles of the feet and was commonly used by the Indrans for their homes before the planet, and all the people bar one, were obliterated by The Imperium and their God-Killer.
 
Clear: “Oh! Is that-!?”
 
Aside from Pashna, there emerged a humanoid figure from within the domicile. Initially, Clear thought Pashna had finally done it – brought one of his people to life. But then she saw the mechanisms around the automata’s joints.
 
Pashna: “No, no. I’m still not ready for that. As you can see, I’ve really only just begun. Years and this is all I have to show for it… I’m not doing my god-given duty very well, am I?”
 
Clear: “This is more life than my planet has had given the humans arrived. Actually, I think it’s more life than even before then! There was never much biodiversity here. It’s a small miracle the martians ever evolved at all.”
 
Pashna: “Thank you, Clear. I know I say it every time I speak to you, but you still have my deepest gratitude for allowing me to use your planet as a new Indra.”
 
Clear just shrugged.
 
Clear: “It’s not like my people are using it any more, is it? I think they’d rather let the land be used to save another extinct species than be mined by the people who killed them.”
 
Clear shook her head. She didn’t want to be so morbid right now.
 
Clear: “I’m impressed you were able to get all this skyglass. How did you manage that?”
 
Pashna gave a small, happy smile.
 
Pashna: “Replicator technology. I fiddled with it, but I got it to replicate the small sample of skyglass I had brought with me. I brought more of the genetic samples of Indra than the mineral, but I did bring some, at least.”
 
Clear: “I can smell… is that churchwood?”
 
Pashna: “That’s right! I have managed church trees on the other side of the Bug! It’s lovely, isn’t it? I’m surprised you remember it!”
 
Clear’s smile faded a little.
 
Clear: “Wait? Did you say the Bug? You mean this is what you did to my baby!?”
 
Pashna held his hands up and bowed his head.
 
Pashna: “I’m sorry, Clear. The old thing was beyond saving. I decided to honour the Bug’s sacrifice by making her part of my home. Come and see.”
 
Clear approach the building. The walls were made from the red rock of Mars, but smoothed and polished so they had a pink shine as the eye roved over them. Growing on the walls intermittently was redvine, which had startlingly red leaves that matched the red-pink walls. However, they had barely managed even a foot from the ground in their attempt to grow up the walls. The redvine were forever coated in a thin layer of ice, from which new leaf-buds would eventually break free. The process was long and slow. Clear remembered being told how some of the redvine on Indra had been millions of years old, managing to cover great lengths of canyon walls. All that remained of that legacy were these saplings that would take years just to crawl up these short walls.
 
The windows of the house were all thin, narrow and long, allowing someone to peek out, rather than see out. Inside, the skyglass continued and when Pashna removed his shoes, Clear took it as a cue to do the same. The coolness tingled her skin and the soft, but firm, feeling of the mineral was an instant relief on her hard-worn feet. As they went through the house, she found the remains of the old, battered ship she had called ‘the Bug’. It had never been much of a ship even when it still flew. Old before she ever bought it, the thing should have been thrown in the scrapheap decades ago. But she loved the thing. She tried not to see it as a carcass here, hollowed out, broken apart, and tried to see it as a memorial. This was the ship that saved Indra’s legacy as Pashna fled The Hopeful all those years ago. Clear put her hand to the old, green metal.
 
Clear: “Thank you, Pashna.”
 
Pashna: “Thank you, Clear. And thanks to her.”
 
He pointed to a small sign that had been hung on the wall of the former ship. It was in Indran, so Clear couldn’t read it at all.
 
Pashna: “It simply says ‘we give thanks to the old things that brought us here’. I think it is a beautiful sentiment that even the most humble of vehicles was the deliverance of my people. Or will be, if ever…”
 
Clear: “I know it will happen eventually, Pashna. What about your automata?”
 
Clear peeked through the window to see the machine plodding about.
 
Pashna: “I called him Map.”
 
Clear: “Map? Wasn’t that the name of--?”
 
She stopped, realising bringing up memories of dead friends, family and lovers was the last thing she should be doing.
 
Pashna: “Yes. Litik Map. Such a beautiful man in body and soul.”
 
Clear walked, sombrely, across the room and sat on an old sofa that she remembered buying for Pashna back when she still lived with him. When they were first stranded together. Eventually, she decided her presence was causing more harm than good, attracting attention from government agents and bounty hunters, so she let Pashna have his space to continue his god-given work; to restore Indra using the genetic codes he had rescued from the planet before it’s destruction. New Indra would be the name of this settlement on Mars. At least, that was always the plan.
 
Clear: “Pashna. I need to stay here a short while, is that okay?”
 
Pashna: “Of course. You know you’re always welcome. This is your home as much as mine.”
 
He went to a large refrigerator and pulled out some canned soft drinks.
 
Pashna: “What kind of trouble are you in now?”
 
Clear: “Bounty Hunters. A whole organisation, this time. Call themselves the Crystal Bounty Hunters. Stupid sounding name if you ask me. Can I use the terminals to do more research on them?”
 
Pashna: “Of course. Map could help you, if you’d like?”
 
Clear: “Best I tackle it alone, but thanks.”
 
Pashna nodded his head, still the same gestures he made when he was a kara; a religious rank in the theology of Indra. He had no gods now, and no flock, but he was still that kara in his heart. His skin was porcelain white and on his head was a gelatinous bulb where a human, or martian, would have hair. From that bulb fell many tendrils. In the past, Pashna always preferred his tendrils loose and free, but Clear did notice he had tied them decoratively now and she suspected this was an attempt to adhere to old fashions of his people that he had neglected then, but cherished now. He wasn’t wearing his old kara outfit, however. Instead he was wearing a loose-fitting garment that reminded her of the clothing that the hians wore, but she wasn’t about to pry into his fashion choices. He still wore his usual headdress, however, displaying the two large cogs on either side of his head, and hovering near to the right cog was his data-mould – the device that traditionally allowed him access to the digital information that was once common on Indra. Clear suspected it would be severely limited now, unless he had managed to patch it into the internet on Mars. She knew it also worked with his soul-channelling techniques, however, so he could heal and commit to biological manipulations, which she assumed was a great help in his current duty.
 
Clear accepted the can of pop and went through the old hatch door of the Bug to find the small area that was still the terminal room. She had first set it up herself, though then it had been a closet of wood, and most of the equipment was still the same. She tapped her own PIP so it accessed the terminals and started to work.
 
Using facial recognition software of the security database on Mars, she managed to now identify the second figure that had been with Sayo. His name was Brandiff Alexander Kerwin III. Clear frowned. That sounded like the name of gentry. Only rich people seemed to get generational numbers. Those sorts of people tended to hire bounty hunters, not become one.
 
The name was attached to a small, but lucrative trading company called “Toy House”. She gathered that this Kerwin III was basically a bounty hunter for antiques, rather than people or heads. Initially, she wondered how such a man would be brought in to hunt down a living target, though she supposed an antiques dealer may have experience in exotic animals too and, in a sense, that was what she was to many that wanted her. She had no actual ‘bounty’ per se. She had no real crimes worth cashing in. She, as the last of her kind, was the commodity, so a dealer in rarities actually made sense to her. She wondered if his heart would truly be in such a venture, however. She saw no cases where he might have been involved in human trafficking or the like, so it was possible this was his first experience in tracking down an actual person. She might be able to use that to her advantage. He could be the first dent in the crystal armour of this outfit. He evidently wasn’t the most moralistic of humans, snatching sacred artefacts from unwitting tribal folks, pilfering possessions from under the noses of rich people or museums, but kidnapping a person was a very steep pit to fall into and he might still have enough morality in him to be persuaded out of this…

Saffron 5 was the constant eyesore for miles in every direction. It soared into the sky, above even the colossal mountains of the planet Mars, where its very tip expanded out into the space station portion of the infernal structure. The long shaft was the space elevator, which shuttled up and down hundreds of persons per day. The base was built betwixt the Hellas Sea and the Dao Fjord. Not far behind the station was also the Harmakis Fjord. Both of these water outlets ran from the inland sea and broke into several rivers and then streams that met the Hesperia Planum, which Clear had just crossed.
 
She had flown Hoopa to an old hideout, where she had a dilapidated vehicle waiting in emergencies. The thing was a rotund van, its walls curved around to the roof, and even had wheels. The wheels were overly large, almost comical-looking, which was necessary to get across the dusty landscape of the plains. She always resisted the urge to fly Hoopa straight to Saffron 5. She didn’t want to put the ship anywhere it could be stolen.
 
As she looked up, she could see Phobos, one of Mars’ two moons, hurtling through the sky. The thing was so close and so fast that it managed to show itself three times every day. Deimos, on the other hand, would only complete an orbit every thirty hours – meaning it was always a few hours out of synch with the Martian day, which was startlingly similar to Earth’s.
 
Despite Phobos being in the sky, it was still daylight and the sun was also out, casting its distant rays upon the planet. The pinnacle of Saffron 5 was barely visible in the daylight as it soared through the clouds and into the upper atmosphere of the planet. Up there she could see some of the larger ships, which were barely specks from this distance.
 
Clear always hoped to see Phobos crash into the ugly monument.
 
Her fat van crossed the bridge of the last river and she drove along the fjord. If she stopped to peer down, she would see the river pushing its way further inland, along with yachts and ferries. She didn’t stop though, and kept following the tarmac road. These roads had been built all around the area to help with transportation for the spaceport, but there were not many roads beyond the Hellas Sea. Most of the roads out there were the old roads that the Martians had built, and very few of them were being maintained by the human colonists.
 
She came to the busy parking lot and found a space to dump her van. She wasn’t sure if she would come back for it – more likely she would steal a new vehicle. She strolled across the open tarmac, avoiding the people all around her. They were predominantly human, but there were other species too. She saw a hian, which was rare in these parts, some robots and androids, which were almost as common as humans these days, a group of alimean, Kryptons, dorfs and she was sure some of the humans were actually Jupiterians, though Clear could never tell the difference until the Jupiterian turned themselves into a lamp or an armchair or whatever.
 
Given how busy it was, nobody noticed her. Except for the security systems. She was tempted to wave at the first camera she spotted.
 
She jostled with the crowds at the north entrance. The pavestone was being warmed by heating pipes below it. In most places, this was welcome. The weather on Mars was always lowers than Earth, thanks to the distance, so the added warmth was a happy thing. But when there were so many bodies in one place, the heat became stifling; especially to a native-born Martian, better suited to the naturally cooler environment of the world.
 
After getting through the hot crowd, she was inside the spaceport proper. This lower section was known as the Scimitar Building, while the station in orbit was called Twilight Station. Both of those names came from the squadrons that had retaken the land from the Martians that fought back. The original human settlement in the area had been raided and looted; which prompted a fierce counter attack from Earth. Twilight Squadron obliterated the aeroplanes of the Martians and the Scimitar Squadron bombed the Martian camp into dust. That had been the first in a long line of ceaseless defeats for the natives until they surrendered. Then they all succumbed to the human diseases. She would have liked for the spaceport to at least bear a native Martian name to honour her people, but they chose the names of destroyers instead.
 
Clear walked through the orderly atrium, which was designed to be pretty, sleek and clean. Everything was very angular and the colours were all shades of black, grey and white with only splashes of colour thrown in on some of the art installations. There were kiosks and desks and booths and all manner of other station work stations designed for customers to get their tickets, beverages, luggage, souvenirs. She ignored it all and marches straight across the wide zone. The walls behind her were glass, exposing the view of the inland sea and the red horizon beyond it. The landscape around the sea was amply supplied with green vegetation, but the telling red mountains beyond it were always the true indicator of the world she was on.
 
Soon, she was into the heart of the building. The corridors that led to the seedier nooks and crannies of the centre. The further in she went, the narrower many of these corridors became as lots of people had set up their own little shops. There were a lot of illicit sales being made here, but nobody did anything to stop it. The laws of Mars were perfunctory and usually could be thwarted with a quick bribe to whichever security officer happened by. If there was a more zealous cop around, they given a medal, told good work and promoted away from the area – probably up to Twilight Station, where the laws were stricter.
 
The corridors eventually led to wider passages, rooms and, eventually, broad course ways. They were suspended above the sea, giving a beautiful view from the glass walls. Usually this kind of scene was reserved for the more popular tourist areas, but this section was dedicated to port personnel. She quickly managed to find the security offices and sauntered along. She found that if she acted like she knew where she was and what she was doing, people assumed she was supposed to be there.
 
It wasn’t far to reach the office for Chief Eos.
 
Clear pushed the bell outside. The walls were built to be sound-proof, so she couldn’t tell what noise was being made by her button press. However, it took just a single press for the doors to swish open. She had been seen on the cameras after all.
 
Clear: “Thanks for letting me in, Batgirl.”
 
Eos: “You have a way of causing me trouble if I don’t, Ms Clear.”
 
Eos was stood beside her desk. To anyone unfamiliar with her species, she was a remarkable, and terrifying, sight to behold. To humans, they would think of her as an anthropomorphic bat, which Clear used as a nickname for her; not that Eos was happy with that. Her body was coated in a thin layer of brown fur, which Clear knew Eos combed neatly every morning. Her ears were large, and tall, adding inches to her overall height. At the base of the ears was Eos’ hair. Longer than the fur, it also had a different texture, and the hue was much darker. However, it was very short, kept that way by the obsessive bat-girl. Where a human nose would be was a snout and, again, Clear could tell she was trimming the fur around the nose to keep it clean and tidy. Most striking of all were her wings. They were large and leathery and at the top were her little hands. To Clear, they looked like a baby’s hands, stuck on top of these huge wings. The wings protruded from either side of her torso, so her clothing had to be especially tailored to fit her.
 
The suit she wore was grey and perfectly ironed. Even the tie she wore was grey. Clear originally thought this was an unfortunate uniform, but when she had met other station personnel, she came to realise that this was a self-imposed uniform by Eos. Where the coat met the wings, the fabric was cut neatly. The bottom of the coat then had button that could clasp the lower half of the coat together, beneath the wings. Her leather boots were thick-soled, so Clear wondered if Eos needed special footwear to accommodate unusual feet. On the bat’s face were a pair of armless glasses, snapped to the snout. Clear had heard bats were blind, but Eos was, apparently, only partially sighted.
 
Clear had always wondered if Eos’ wings were strong enough to let her fly, but not once had Eos ever done it.
 
Eos’ lowered her little, gloved hand and gestured to the seat opposite her desk. Clear thought Eos’ must be the only species that lowers their hands, rather than raises them. The salmitton slumped into the seat, which squeaked from lack of use. Eos didn’t get many guests, it seemed. Eos looked at Clear through her circular spectacles as if she was about to say something, but she refrained and sat down instead. Clear glanced at herself, not sure what minor detail had bothered Eos this time. Was it the way she was slouched in the chair?
 
Eos: “How can I help you today, Ms Clear?”
 
Clear: “You mean, what can you do to make me go away, right?”
 
Eos: “Well. Let me put it more accurately. What can I do to make whatever problem you bring to me today, less frustrating for myself?”
 
Clear grinned at that.
 
Clear: “I just need a favour.”
 
Eos: “That’s all you ever need.”
 
Clear: “It’s not like I don’t compensate you, is it?”
 
Eos: “The data you bring is rarely worth the favours I grant you.”
 
Clear: “That can’t be true.”
 
Eos: “You do bring useful information, Ms Clear. But, honestly, I don’t get to utilise much of it. We do not have many ongoing missions beyond the Hellas Sea. If I were able to send security officers to even half of these locations you have given me, then you could claim whatever boon you could dream of. But, as it is…”
 
Clear: “Well, you never know, right? Maybe one day, they’ll let you loose!”
 
Eos then smiled. Her mouth was quite small, compared to her large snout, but she had a lot of very bright teeth.
 
Eos: “That would be a day of reckoning, I assure you.”
 
She then shrugged.
 
Eos: “Or rather, a day of great paperwork. For me at least.”
 
Clear: “You make half of this paperwork for yourself, Batgirl. The rest of these louts can barely write their own names.”
 
Eos bristled.
 
Eos: “I am well aware, Ms Clear. It rankles me greatly. If I were—”
 
She stopped and simmered down. It was funny to see such a pencil-pusher as Eos get enraged. It was so very impotent. Threatening people with forms to fill in wasn’t the scariest of intimidating events.
 
Eos: “I assume you are not here to discuss the incompetence of my staff. What is this favour?”
 
Clear: “I need to hide somewhere for a while.”
 
Eos hesitated and Clear was the blatant distrust on her face, despite it being so alien. So Clear rose her palms.
 
Clear: “I haven’t done anything bad, Eos! It’s more bounty hunters.”
 
Eos deflated with a relaxed smile.
 
Eos: “Good.”
 
Clear: “Good?”
 
Eos: “I mean bad! But… good. That you are not asking me to harbour a criminal.”
 
Clear leaned onto the desk with a smirk.
 
Clear: “I am good as gold, Batgirl! Scout’s honour! Is it scouts? Brownies? I don’t know. Human expression.”
 
Eos: “I don’t know either. I’m not sure why a scout would have greater honour than anyone else. I certainly have no clue what a brownie is supposed to be. Isn’t that some kind of biscuit?”
 
Clear: “An honourable biscuit? Humans are weird.”
 
Clear slumped back into her seat and a moment later, Eos was wiping the spot on her desk with a tissue.
 
Eos: “I assume you want to stay somewhere on Saffron 5? I’m sure you know plenty more safe havens beyond my little patch of the planet.”
 
Clear: “Yeah. I’m thinking of hiding in plain sight, you follow me? I’ve tried hiding in the middle of nowhere, but they still found me. Time for a new approach.”
 
Eos nodded and looked at Clear over the top of her spectacles.
 
Eos: “I am very sorry this is happening to you again, Ms Clear. I shall do all I can to keep you safe. Human trafficking is quite against the laws of Saffron 5. And I would hate to see harm come to the last native Martian in existence.”
 
Clear: “I knew you’d help me out, Batgirl. Thanks.”
 
Eos turned and flipped open a small laptop.
 
Eos: “Do we know the identity of any of your stalkers?”
 
Clear: “Maybe that’s not a good idea…”
 
Eos: “What? Why?”
 
Clear: “I think they have a pretty good tech guy with them. If they detect someone poking around, they’ll know I’m in contact with someone in security. Especially if you start following them.”
 
Eos: “Well, whatever you think is best, of course.”
 
Eos brought her hand down to rub her chin.
 
Eos: “Would you prefer a room with a view, or one of the less… classy abodes? Somewhere a little… grungy?”

The floor was being banged. Clear stamped her foot in response, banging back to the person in the apartment below her. She reached over and turned the music even higher. This would really rile them up.
 
The music was overtone and throat singing, mostly originating in a country called Mongolia and a place called Tuva, which was in Russia. Clear didn’t know much about these places, but their singing was loud and, with the volume cranked up, rattled windows, teeth and eardrums.
 
Although annoying the neighbours was bringing her a certain amount of glee, it was also an act of subterfuge. A random person moves in and keeps to themselves – that’s suspicious and gets people gossiping. An annoying, noisy neighbour shows up and that just makes them a thug or hooligan. Those chasing her will be looking for rumours of a mysterious red woman skulking about, not a noisy, red-arsed nuisance that everyone knows and hates.
 
There weren’t many security officers in the area, this being one of the poor parts of Saffron 5. It was usually where those seeking a better life, having given up everything on the promise of a new life, would end up. Technically, nobody was meant to live on the station, at least that was never the intent when it was first built, so the apartments were small and constructed from rooms that were meant for other purposes, such as offices or storerooms. Eos had gone Clear an additional favour of decorating the room before Clear moved in. This meant rugs were thrown haphazardly all over the floor, drapes hanging from every wall and curtains were put up as ‘room’ dividers. Even the bathroom had no door, just a curtain that barely concealed the compartment.
 
Those few security officers had visited several times already to tell her to stop the noise. Always they did it with a groan and a moan, wanting to be elsewhere and not deal with this trivial nonsense. She believed they’d be trying to get her phone number next, so they didn’t have to bother showing up in person. So Clear decided to get out of the apartment before they arrived. To give the neighbours something of a break, she turned the music down; just enough to be heard if someone listened at her door, but low enough that security wasn’t going to bash down her door if she didn’t answer.
 
Her front door opened onto a public promenade, which ran around in a wide circle that overlooked a public square below. These compartments were towards the centre of the port, further away from the broad, exterior walls that gave pleasant views of the sea. Instead, it was all dull, grey metal. Some entrepreneuring folks had put up tapestries, paintings, posters, even wallpaper. The whole scene was eclectic and wild, as were some of the people that lived here. She could spot the tourists across the entire promenade, as their blandness ironically made them conspicuous.
 
Clear hopped down a few metal grid steps to a lower promenade and practically skipped along. The thought of booze was giving her encouragement. She hardly got to drink alcohol since she arrived on Mars. It was so expensive and a nuisance to cart across the planet to one of her many dens, and even then it didn’t last long. Being in one space where booze could be readily gotten was a welcome vice she was eager to allow herself.
 
Outside the pub there were a few tables and chairs and all of them were taken. A lot of people were stood, blocking the doorway. The place was packed as always. Clear, being short and nimble, managed to nudge her way through until she reached the bar.
 
Clear: “Red!”
 
Clear hated having to shout that, given she was the only red person in the room. But, that was the name of the bartender. She was pouring five drinks already – two beers were under their taps and she was filling another two glasses with spirits from the optics strapped to the back of the bar. The fifth was a bottle she had in front of her. Even with all this, she glanced over at the sound of her name.
 
After money exchanged hands, Red put another two beers under taps, for another customer before Clear, and hurried down the bar to the salmitton.
 
Red: “What’ll it be, Other Red?”
 
Clear: “You’re busy, so I’ll just get a bottle of cider. Make it two, saves me coming up again.”
 
Red: “You think this is busy, should have seen the place in the old days. Just the same locals that come in now. Rare to get someone new.”
 
Red snapped off the taps to the two beers, spun on her heels and yanked open the fridge. She tugged out two bottles of cider.
 
Red: “Lime?”
 
Clear: “Yeah.”
 
The bartender snatched a couple of pre-cut limes from the bowl and jammed them into the bottle necks, before plonking them on the bar before Clear. Red held her hand out towards another customer, and one towards Clear. She was gratified by two deposits of exact change and pointed to another customer, who ordered wine.
 
Clear felt cramped with so many bodies around her, but she didn’t want to lose sight of the bar. Soon as she spied a stool become free, she swiped it like a bar ninja.
 
The first cider went down so fast, the lime was still fresh.
 
Clear: “Should’ve ordered three.”
 
She mumbled to herself. She hadn’t expected an answer.
 
Stranger: “That might just be my catchphrase, you know?”
 
Clear, bottle still in her mouth, turned with a disgusted look that said ‘who the fuck’re you?’
 
Stranger: “Sorry, Other Red. Just making conversation.”
 
Clear put the bottle down, heavily, on the bar.
 
Clear: “Only she calls me that.”
 
The man laughed.
 
Stranger: “Well, I didn’t think that was your real name.”
 
Clear: “And you can keep on thinking.”
 
She turned from him emphatically, and looked down the bar at Red. Red was wearing what Clear thought was a new outfit, a new hat, and yet she still looked dishevelled. Her hat at a jaunty angle might have made her look cool in other days, but now it just made her look worn out.
 
Stranger: “Yeah, busy lady that Red. Gets around this galaxy, she does. Universe maybe.”
 
Clear pursed her lips and ignored him.
 
Stranger: “In fact, you’d swear there’s more than one of her, she gets around so—”
 
Clear slammed the bottle down this time.
 
Clear: “Why the fuck are you talking to me, numbnuts?”
 
Stranger: “My nuts definitely aren’t numb. Although, it has been a while so…”
 
Clear: “Gross.”
 
The man shrugged.
 
Stranger: “You asked!”
 
Clear: “Look, fella. I’m not looking for a new friend. Sorry. Go bother someone else. Another human, perhaps.”
 
Stranger: “You might not be looking for one, doesn’t mean you don’t need one.”
 
Clear rolled her eyes and chugged down the last of her cider. She started to get from her seat.
 
Stranger: “I might have some information for you.”
 
She pushed away from her stool.
 
Stranger: “Clear.”
 
She froze and locked eyes with him, to demonstrate that him knowing her name didn’t make her scared – it made her pissed off.
 
Stranger: “People are looking for you.”
 
Clear: “Tell me something I don’t know.”
 
Stranger: “They’re already on Saffron 5 looking for you.”
 
Clear: “Bollocks.”
 
She spat the word and started to weasel her way through the crowd. Once outside, she looked about, trying to catch a glimpse of any of those that she remembered from the records. No Altus Grant in sight. No Brandiff Alexander, no Sayo. She thrust her hands into her pockets, but before she could make a quick march back to her apartment, the stranger’s voice trailed behind her.
 
Stranger: “I could help, you know?”
 
She turned to look at him again. He wasn’t very tall, around five feet and six inches. He was older, though Clear was notoriously bad as guessing human age. His beard was black and white, while his black hair was thinning at the front. His eyes were blue, and small, which made the blue stand out more. He seemed to be strong, but it was an old strength. A man that used to work out a lot, but stopped putting in the effort. Her eyes flicked to the pub. Probably replaced exercise with booze.
 
His clothes were worn out. Not dirty, and she even thought they had been ironed straight, but they had holes and patches all over. They were old clothes that he was trying to keep, badly, in condition.
 
It was his accent, however, that told her the most about him. She had heard it a lot before.
 
Clear: “I don’t want help from imperials.”
 
Stranger: “Rude.”
 
Clear: “I worked for your… organisation before. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
 
She gestured to his clothes.
 
Clear: “Though it seems the Empire has let itself go.”
 
He gave a small shrug.
 
Stranger: “There is no Empire now. Didn’t you get the memo?”
 
Clear: “Oh right, yes. So, what, you’re an out of work imperial? What, you want me to pay you to protect me, that it?”
 
Stranger: “I’m Lomond Manse. It’s nice to meet you in person, Clear.”
 
He grinned, with a smile that appeared very genuine, and held out his hand. Clear frowned at it, then looked up and glared at him with a flat expression. He tutted and retracted his hand.
 
Lomond: “I need work, you need help. If it’s protection you want, I’m happy to oblige. Or information, or—”
 
Clear: “Information? What kind of information?”
 
Lomond: “I can tell you who’s after you?”
 
Clear: “I already know some of that. I doubt your information is worth it.”
 
Lomond: “And… do you know who hired them?”
 
Clear tried to keep a straight face, but she knew from his smirk that she had given her interest away. She cursed herself.
 
Clear: “How much?”
 
Lomond: “Per hunter?”
 
Clear: “Fine.”
 
He took out a datapad. Looking at its design, she guessed it was his old imperial-issued device. He held it out to her with a figure on it. She ran the numbers through her head, did some quick mental maths and nodded.
 
Clear: “Fine.”
 
He was slightly taken aback by that.
 
Lomond: “No bargaining? No offering me half, and then we get to seventy-five percent?”
 
Clear: “Nope.”
 
She smiled at him, as sweetly as she could muster.
 
Clear: “You give me this information, and I’ll sell it on to the security here at Saffron 5 to get my money back and then some.”
 
Lomond: “Oh! That’s—that’s conniving! I wish I had your kind of contacts!”
 
Clear: “Maybe if you get to be a Martian ambassador one day, you’ll get that kind of access.”
 
Lomond: “Well, it seems you gave that up, didn’t you?”
 
Clear: “I did.”
 
She was going to be careful with this character. She didn’t want to give him information on her that he could sell on in future.
 
Clear: “Here’s the money.”
 
She held out her PIP after a few screen taps and the payment screen activated. It synchronised with his datapad and the funds were transferred. She noted that his currency was in Republic Credits. Happy to fight them, but also happy to use their money.
 
Clear: “Okay. Give me the information.”
 
Lomond glanced about and motioned down the promenade, away from the pub. As he started, from his hand a stick suddenly extended. At first, she thought it was a weapon. But as he then tapped it against the floor with every step, she realised he had a limp. She assumed it was a war wound of some kind. Sensing her eyes on his leg, he spoke up;
 
Lomond: “My TIE was shot up in the last battle over Earth. That damn Polk. What does a president think he’s doing leading a war?”
 
The bitterness in his voice was clear, but he quickly tempered it and pulled back.
 
Lomond: “A lot of good people died that day.”
 
Clear: “I know. I was there.”
 
Lomond: “And those of us who survived… maybe we shouldn’t have.”
 
Clear had felt that way many times. Most often she wished she had died with her ship. But time heals all wounds and hearing him say the same thing only strengthened her resolve. She couldn’t give up.
 
Clear: “Speak for yourself.”
 
Lomond: “Easy for you to say, isn’t it? Still got two working legs! Not to mention your bank balance can’t be hurting as much as mine, eh?”
 
Clear: “After that little payday I gave you, I think you’ll be good for a while yourself.”
 
Lomond: “Fair enough.”
 
He leant on the railing and looked down towards the square at the bottom. There were a lot of open air stalls there. Food, souvenirs, electronics. He was scanning the perimeter, she could tell.
 
Lomond: “I’ll give you the file on the hunters themselves. You can go through that at your leisure, I guess. But the one who hired them is a man named Tiberion Asclepiodotus.”
 
Clear stuck her tongue out in disgust.
 
Clear: “Word salad.”
 
Lomond: “Well, that’s just his abbreviated name. The full name is about six words long and a whole lot of syllables.”
 
Clear: “Name like that should be easy to find information on him. I assume he’s some elite noble from some far away world? Looking for a rare pet. They always are.”
 
Lomond: “He might be. But I doubt that’s what he wants you for.”
 
Clear: “What do you mean?”
 
Lomond: “Well, his thing is genetics. He’s incredibly famous in the scientific community. He’s a one-man leading force in the study of genetics. Cloning, for example. Genetic modifications. Recreating long extinct species.”
 
She blinked at that as the thought crossed her mind.
 
Lomond: “But his most, uh, controversial studies are in splicing.”
 
Clear: “Splicing?”
 
Lomond: “It’s like he’s trying to make some kind of perfect being. Whatever that’s supposed to be, who knows? I mean, a woman with massive boobs seems about perfect to me!”
 
Clear: “You are the essence of wit. Numbnuts.”
 
Lomond: “You do like talking about my testicles, don’t you?”
 
Clear spluttered, but reeled herself in when she saw his entertained laugh.
 
Clear: “Keep laughing it up, asshole, and you’ll be going over this railing.”
 
Lomond mockingly held his hands up.
 
Lomond: “Excuse me. Wouldn’t want to anger the badass salmitton.”
 
He leant on the balcony again.
 
Lomond: “Sorry if what I said might have made you think his intentions were noble…”
 
Clear said nothing to that.
 
Lomond: “I’m going to guess he wants to try to splice your DNA into one of his… what would you call them? Experiments? Abominations? Whatever they are, these genetic scarecrows rarely turn out well, from what I hear. The ones that survive either go wrong, or he kills them because he thinks they’re not perfect enough. So it wouldn’t be good for you, or for whatever kind of monster he plots to make from your DNA.”
 
Clear grumbled and joined him in leaning on the railing.
 
Clear: “Aren’t there other rare people in the galaxy he could exploit instead of me?”
 
Lomond: “He’s probably extra interested in you because you’re a survivor. Lots of people out there have heard of you, you know?”
 
Clear: “Only good stuff, I hope?”
 
Lomond: “Most of them talk about your arse, honestly.”
 
Clear: “Motherfu--!”
 
Lomond: “Not me! Don’t shoot the messenger!”
 
He took an apple from his pocket and started to eat it, speaking with his mouth full.
 
Lomond: “I told you anyway. I’m into boobs, myself.”
 
Clear snorted, unable to contain a small laugh. She shoved him gently.
 
Lomond: “What? Now you’re disappointed? I don’t think you want to be objectified by this old, crippled imperial.”
 
Clear: “Don’t you worry, old man. I can think of a few women who’d dig that grizzled, war veteran look you’ve got going on.”
 
Lomond: “Oh hey! Don’t get my hopes up!”
 
Clear straightened and tapped her finger on the railing. This Tiberion would be tricky. She would have to do some research. The nobles would give up after a while, a wasted investment. The skin collectors were usually the worst, but they would eventually find new quarry to chase. Mad scientists? This was a new one for her.
 
Clear: “By the way, how do you know all this?”
 
Lomond: “Huh? Oh. Because the guy hired me.”
 
Clear frowned and looked down at her PIP. He had sent her the file on the Crystal Bounty Hunters already.
 
Clear: “You can’t mean you’re one of the hunters!?”
 
Lomond: “Not a member of the group, no. An independent affiliation. That means, I get to play both sides and make that extra dosh, you know?”
 
He winked at her.
 
Clear: “And… they’re on their way here, aren’t they? That’s why you wanted to tell me about Tiberion in person. You son of a bitch.”
 
Lomond: “Not numbnuts anymore? Was I promoted?”
 
Clear reached out to throw him over the railing, but he was very fast on the reflexes and moved out of the way.
 
Lomond: “I might be an old, cripple, but I was a TIE pilot, Other Red.”
 
Clear pointed at him.
 
Clear: “I’ll be back for you one day.”
 
Lomond: “It’s only business, salmitton. I am poor as fuck, I did tell you. In fact, how about a tip?”
 
He pointed a finger, just off his hip. She followed the direction with her eyes and there, on the upper promenade, she spotted Sayo. Just as her eyes met his, he called out to whoever he was with.
 
Clear: “Damn it!”
 
She grabbed the railing and leapt over it. She fell two storeys but landed like a cat. From above her, she heard Lomond call out;
 
Lomond: “Don’t forget to put in a good word for me to those women, Other Red!”
 
That kooky bastard was going to feel her foot up his backside one day, she was resolute on that. She pushed her way through the crowd. Some had already moved when she had dropped suddenly amongst them, but others were oblivious. She made it across the square when she glanced back and saw Sayo drop to the central square, having dropped three storeys down. She balked at that. She didn’t remember his record suggesting he had any kind of enhancements. Even at two storeys, she had been pushing it as a salmitton. A human shouldn’t be able to drop three and go for a jog afterwards.
 
But jogging after her he was.
 
He wasn’t going on an outright dash. That told her that either he was being cautious or he expected someone else ahead of her. So, she decided she needed to do the opposite to the obvious. Instead of rushing through the open door that would take her away from the square, she veered to the right and hopped up the stairs, again ascending from the square to the promenades.
 
Sayo then picked up his pace, so she assumed she was right. Someone else was beyond that open door. However, she also knew someone else was on the promenades. She was half-tempted to circle back around and attempt to punt Lomond over the railing.
 
Suddenly, there was a lot of commotion down in the square where she had been a moment ago. As if from nowhere, security forces had swarmed in. Sayo had vanished. Clear slowed her run and slipped into a confused crowd on the first storey promenade. She looked down at the officers, they were searching and checking everyone. Clear suspected Eos was behind it, an unseen guardian angel. Or guardian bat in this case. Unfortunately, this would reveal to the Crystal Bounty Hunters that she had aid from someone high up at Saffron 5. This would put Eos in danger if Clear remained here, so now she would have to perform her own disappearing act and find yet another sanctuary.

Eos did not think it was a good idea for Clear to remain on Saffron 5 after the previous incident and Clear’s argument of “they would expect me to run” wasn’t enough to assuage her. However, when Clear relented to taking one of the expensive suites with a security detail on her floor, Eos was more than happy to have Clear remain in the Scimitar Building.
 
Clear’s new apartment was a wild departure from the last one. Luxurious, spacious, clean and bright. The wall of the living room was entirely glass and overlooked the red Martian landscape opposite to the Hellas Sea. She could see the two fjords running on either side of the window, like margins to a canvas, and then, stretching off to the horizon, were the Red Plains; officially known as Hesperia Planum. The dusty, red landscape was flat and still, just like a painting. As the sunlight bathed the world in its yellow glow, everything took an orange tint. As Clear looked at it, the green potted plant that was placed next to the window was distracting. She picked it up, relocated it, and went back to the true red of Mars. Earth greens could go somewhere else.
 
The king-sized bed was facing the window, so she could lie down and gaze out at the beauty of it. It left a strange, hollowness in her because she lived down there and she knew… it wasn’t so beautiful up close. Scarred and ruined by industry and war, only from a distance was it easy to forget what she was really looking at and just see the colours and the shapes and the romance of it all. She felt very human in that moment. A true tourist.
 
She leant over to the bedside table and grabbed the tumbler. Whisky from a land called Scotland. It was strong – the concierge of the tenant block had assured her it would ‘put hairs on your chest’. She assumed it was hyperbole, though after a swig she wondered if it was, indeed, some kind of hair tonic.
 
The ice had melted a little and watered down the liquid, which was a shame.
 
Clear: “Guess I’ll just have to top it up!”
 
She tipped a little more of the whisky into the glass to add some strength, then rolled onto her stomach to get back to work. She swiped her fingers on the touchscreen of the tablet. It was a modern Earth device that was made more for style than function. It was a product that told other humans ‘I have taste’, even though it was overpriced, simplistic and mass-produced.
 
Clear: “Stupid humans.”
 
But, it was more comfortable to read than her PIP, so she indulged. Whenever she got bored she would daydream out of the window, or play something called ‘Flappy Bird’ which was installed on the tablet. She didn’t remember seeing any birds when she last visited Earth, but if this was a representation of what they were like, it was a wonder any birds still existed. Someone from a country called America had told her their national animal was a bird, something called an eagle. If it couldn’t fly straight and had to wobble up and down like a fat ball of gas with a hairdryer blowing under it, she suspected the country’s signature bird was a national embarrassment they wouldn’t admit to the other countries with cooler animals like lions or tigers or bears…
 
Clear: “Oh my…”
 
She mumbled to herself as some new information on her would-be hunters came up. The Crystal Bounty Hunters were a large organisation, as she already knew, with a lot of members. The roster was very long and she couldn’t know how many were attached to this assignment – the assignment being her – so she couldn’t fidget through the cast of dozens. From the data, she could confirm there was a minimum of six hunters on the case. The information stated that was the minimum requirement stipulated by the client and that he had paid a significant sum of money.
 
She always felt a perverse glee whenever she saw just how much her life was worth. A lot, it turned out. Not many could say that.
 
She knew of Altus Grant, Sayo, Brandiff Alexander Kerwin III and, as she had just found, someone called ‘Face’. She almost didn’t see it, but the profile image sparked her memory and she recalled the third man in the vehicle when they found her den at the Bay of Elysium. He was entirely nondescript. Average face, average build, average height, short, mundane hair, no scars or marks. Even his clothes were plain, simple, inexpensive but not cheap. His skill was listed as ‘infiltration’. Evidently he cultivated this perfect state of ‘averageness’ to become invisible. She remembered his skin had been white, but in the photograph it was brown, so she assumed he used make-up or genetic alterations to better fit in with whatever society he was infiltrating. Whatever his true appearance was, she couldn’t guess.
 
Face could be anywhere and she doubted she would even notice him. He would blend in with any crowd. He could have been right next to her in the bar when she met with Lomond Manse. A part of her hoped so, then Manse would be getting his comeuppance for betraying the bounty hunters.
 
Suddenly, the tablet vibrated and, startled, she spilt some of the whisky onto her nightie. Cursing, she got up but carried the tablet with her. It had vibrated to tell her she received some kind of message. She tugged the nightie off and licked the whisky from her fingers before tapping the screen again.
 
⌨Quiet: Hello, Clear.
 
She frowned. Who would call themselves ‘Quiet’? And more importantly, who knew she had this tablet!?
 
She stared at the screen, debating if she should respond or not. She supposed someone could have guessed the tablet and was pinging many tablets in the building. She had to assume they had gotten hold of her supplies request from the concierge – which she made a note to tell Eos to get the guy fired – but she couldn’t think how they would know which specific unit she possessed.
 
⌨Quiet: You can talk to me. I’m a friend. I want to help you.
 
Clear: “Yeah bloody right.”
 
She rummaged in the closet to find a second nightie to wear, but reconsidered. If this was another warning, like the one Lomand Manse had given her, she didn’t want to run out of the apartment in a skimpy costume. She took out loose-fitting trousers and a bland, thin shirt. She wasn’t sure such inconspicuous clothing would help her much with her bright red skin.
 
⌨Quiet: They know you’re still in the Scimitar Building. They know you have a friend high in the security chain. Manse informed on you.
 
Clear: “That wily bastard.”
 
⌨Quiet: They don’t know which apartment you’re in, but it’s only a matter of time. No expense is being spared.
 
Clear took up the tablet and flipped back to the profiles that Manse had supplied her with. No one called ‘Quiet’ on the roster. She sucked on her teeth for a moment, stressing.
 
Then she typed.
 
⌨Clear: What are you offering and how much will it cost?
 
⌨Quiet: Thank you for talking to me. I’m an admirer of yours.
 
Clear: “Because that isn’t creepy at all…”
 
She rolled her eyes. She was afraid this little communication was going to get her into even more trouble that she already was.
 
⌨Quiet: I can probably keep them off your trail for a while and when they do sniff you out, I can warn you and you can leave.
 
⌨Clear: And what’s the cost?
 
⌨Quiet: Well. This might seem odd.
 
⌨Clear: What?
 
⌨Quiet: I want to meet you. In person.
 
⌨Clear: Yeah right. A trap? Come on.
 
⌨Quiet: No! I want to meet you because we are the same.
 
Clear scratched her temple.
 
Clear: “The hell does that mean?”
 

⌨Clear: You’re a target for the Crystal Bounty Hunters?
 
⌨Quiet: No. Though I would be, if they knew about me.
 
⌨Clear: What are you talking about?
 
⌨Quiet: Sorry, it’s best if you just see me for yourself. Then you’d understand.
 
⌨Clear: I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not meeting random weirdoes from the internet.
 
⌨Quiet: I’m afraid you won’t believe me without seeing me.

⌨Clear: I don’t care about the size of your penis, even if you show it to me.

⌨Quiet: Hahaha.
 
Clear: “Stupid asshole.”
 
Clear took a drought of the whisky, but it didn’t sit right with her anymore due to the sudden stress so she just put it down and knew it was going in the sink later.
 
⌨Quiet: I’m being serious. Okay. Fine. You have to believe me. I am like you. I am one of your kind.
 
Clear blinked and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

⌨Quiet: I’m Martian too.

Clear stared at the green-skinned Martian. Like most Martians, he wasn’t very tall – peaking at five feet four inches – and he was lithe of build, with small, but firm muscles that she could see on his naked arms. His hands, like hers, were small and delicate-looking, but would be as dextrous as any Earth-monkey.
 
The green skin was pale, though it was a little darker on the palms of his hands and, she presumed, his feet. His hair was, like Clear’s, stark white. He wore it in some kind of crazy, ultra-modern style that Clear instantly hated. Shaved down one side, but very long on the other. Rather than hanging limply down the right of his head, it was sprayed and manicured into a messy, wild bush-like construct that jutted out to such an extent he appeared lop-sided and Clear thought he might topple over at any moment.
 
He wore a padded grey vest that had air pockets to give it a series of bulbous ridges going down. A small buckle on the bottom suggested it should be fastened up, but he wore it completely open and underneath he had a simple, white tee-shirt. He then had black cargo pants on, along with thick mountaineering boots. He was not the kind of man she would go for, and yet… a Martian.
 
Her mind had already raced to the conclusion; a male like her. She might be salmitton, the red-skinned majority race of old Martain civilisation, and he was a devra, the green-skinned race that originated in the western world, but they were the same species. They were biologically compatible…
 
That was a horrifying thought, and one she had never had the luxury of even contemplating. Her, a mother. She almost threw up at word, but her dream of a restored species would depend on just that.
 
He was stood out in the open plain. The way he looked around, she knew he suspected she was out there. Watching him from afar. She was hidden in a small, scraggily bush and leering at him through her binoculars. If he had friends, they were far away as the plain was void of any buildings or vehicles, save for his own.
 
She remained there for some time. Just watching him. She was mesmerised, not by him, but by the idea of him. The idea he existed.
 
He started back towards his vehicle and she suddenly became frightened. She knew she had to act now, but she was too afraid to. It was a weird sensation. She knew fear, but not fear like this. She never felt afraid to just speak to another person.
 
She pulled up her rifle instead.
 
The bullet, one of the low-end standard issue, pinged off the vehicle’s hull, leaving a dent. Quiet stopped in his tracks and scanned the horizon in her direction. She had stopped him from leaving, but she still found herself frozen in place.
 
A few minutes later and Quiet gave an exasperated expression with his arms. Then he started marching in her direction. It was a guess, she could tell, but it would bring him close enough that he would soon discover her prone form in the bushes. She probably looked stupid.
 
She finally rolled to one side and started to get to her feet. He then spotted her and slowed his march. He opened his arms wide, showing her he had nothing. She already knew that, she’d watched him for the past hour, but it was a gesture she appreciated anyway.
 
She didn’t move, so he had to walk over to her. She kept the rifle pointed in his direction.
 
Quiet: “I hope that wasn’t just a bad shot back there? Weren’t aiming for my head were you?”
 
Clear: “Who are you?”
 
Quiet sighed, but it was the sigh of man who understood her attitude. He nodded in thought.
 
Quiet: “I’m a Martian too. I honestly thought I was the last one until I heard about a Martian ambassador. That was… a surprise.”
 
It was strange to think of her existence beyond herself. How her getting a political position could fundamentally change the life of another.
 
Quiet: “I started seeking you out. Not easy! I’ve been on Mars for a while and only heard rumours about you. Wasn’t until the bounty hunters showed up that I was able to follow them, following you!”
 
Clear: “I don’t believe you.”
 
She said the words, but she knew they held little conviction. Part of her wanted to believe him. Part of her wanted not to believe him. She didn’t know if she truly did or didn’t.
 
Quiet: “I understand. I didn’t believe you existed until I videos from the Cosmic Nullius. But how did you survive the pandemic?”
 
Clear: “I… I was born on a spaceship. Alone. There were no other Martians, or humans, or anyone. My mother died from the disease, but I wasn’t infected so…”
 
She saw the suspicious look on his face, which made her angry. She was meant to be the one who needed convincing, not the other way around.
 
Clear: “There was an A.I. that raised me. Fed me and all that. Taught me.”
 
Quiet: “And where’s this ship now?”
 
Clear: “None of your business.”
 
Quiet: “Well. It sounds pretty weird. But I suppose it’s no more weird than my story.”
 
She didn’t reply and just waited with a straight face.
 
Quiet: “I was actually taken away by aliens!”
 
Clear might have scoffed, but aliens were in control of her whole damn planet. He was trying to make a joke of it, but she wasn’t laughing.
 
Quiet: “You probably know the species already. The greys?”
 
Clear: “Yeah.”
 
Quiet: “They took me. Part of their explorations, or whatever. They took lots of people from many planets and tested us and all that. A couple of humans too. The first years were not easy, I can tell you that much. I saw the humans as the invaders and kept trying to off them.”
 
Clear: “I can’t say I disapprove.”
 
Quiet: “Well, I didn’t know our planet was taken over and our people dead. So I was fighting for something that… was already gone. The greys, they had actually been to our world a few times, you know? But I guess I was the first to be… taken. I think. Maybe there were others before me, I don’t know. I never saw another Martian there.”
 
Clear: “Where was it? Not Mirare?”
 
Quiet: “It was! How did you know that?”
 
Clear: “Kind of the only place of theirs I do know. But if you were there back then, it must have been…”
 
Quiet: “Oh, I see. Yes. It was a planet when I was there. The greys were a bigger faction back then. Big on technology and exploration. They didn’t always think of other species as equal to themselves, hence the kidnapping people. Pissed off a lot of people. Enough to get their planet blown up, I guess.”
 
Clear: “Yeah…”
 
She felt like she was starting to relive the past. She had almost forgotten her time aboard Mirare Station, and the human-hatred of the greys for destroying their world.
 
Quiet: “But I also heard… I don’t know if this is true, though, that we know someone in common.”
 
Clear: “Who?”
 
Quiet: “A grey named Lumo.”
 
Clear: “How-? How did you know him?”
 
An old memory of Lumo telling her that he had met Martians before, even salmittons, when she first met him. Long before he betrayed her…
 
Quiet: “He was there on Mirare. One of the biologists even. I can’t say I knew him, but I met him. He tested me sometimes.”
 
Clear: “That’s…”
 
Quiet: “Horrible, I know. Well, karma sorted them out, didn’t it? And in the end, I wound up living on the station and employed by greys. Their tune definitely changed after. Once I had the money, I left the station. Long before you got there, and long before it was also… yeah. But what about Lumo? I heard he travelled with you.”
 
Clear: “He’s dead.”
 
Quiet: “Oh. I mean, I’m not sad about that. But… well anyway. Now that we’re acquainted, how about we go and have dinner? You can tell me what it’s like to be an ambassador and I can tell you what it’s like to be a space gypsy!”
 
Clear: “Come here.”
 
He walked closer to her.
 
Quiet: “Why? What—OW!”
 
She lashed out and scratched his arm with her nails. Narrow trickles of blood started to seep from his pale skin.
 
Quiet: “What in the name of--!?”
 
Clear held up her hand, nails first.
 
Clear: “DNA sample.”
 
Quiet: “You could have just asked, you know!?”
 
Clear: “Could have… but didn’t.”
 
She whipped out a clear bag and started cleaning her fingers to drop his skin cells inside it. Quiet watched her with surprise.
 
Quiet: “There’s paranoid and then there’s whatever you’re doing. Do you usually carry sample bags around with you?”
 
Clear: “Only when a stranger claims to be my species.”
 
Quiet: “Oh? Does that mean I get to have your DNA sample?”
 
Clear: “No.”
 
Quiet: “Why am I not surprised?”
 
Clear: “Since you seem to know something about these Crystal Bounty Hunters, perhaps you know of one called Face? He seems to be able to change his appearance.”
 
Quiet: “Hum? Right, I think I saw his file. I think, if I remember rightly, he can’t just change his whole appearance into something drastically different. He has some kind of technology thing that mildly alters his DNA, just enough to alter his appearance a little. So he could change his skin colour, hair colour, but he can’t change his height, build, or whatever. He couldn’t become a Martian.”
 
Clear glared at him.
 
Clear: “Says you.”
 
Quiet: “Says…? Yes, says me. Well, I don’t know much about them. I have some shady contacts that helped me dig up dirt. Basically I’m spying on them, the way they’re spying on you. So I don’t know details, honestly. But I could try to get more info for you, if you’d like me to?”
 
Clear: “I believe men on Earth bring women flowers.”
 
Quiet: “I guess Martian men have to be more practical, huh?”
 
Clear managed to keep thee laugh down, but a small smile crept onto her lips. He clearly noticed and it prompted a broad grin from him.
 
Quiet: “Martian men used to be wooed by the women though, so maybe you should be bringing me a gift?”
 
Clear blinked as her brain processed that information.
 
Clear: “Huh…”
 
Quiet: “Uh… it was a joke. I’m not expecting anything from you. I just… wanted to meet you.”
 
Clear: “It’s not that. I just… do you know much of our culture before the humans? Do you remember much of it?”
 
Quiet: “Well, I—”
 
He stopped as the realisation hit him.
 
Quiet: “I am so sorry. The ship, raised by A.I.. I get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t…”
 
Clear: “I’m leaving now.”
 
Quiet: “Oh no, please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
 
Clear held up her plastic bag.
 
Clear: “Samples to run.”
 
Quiet: “Ah, of course. Well, have fun with my DNA, I guess.”
 
Clear: “You know how to contact me.”
 
She started to walk away, but held up her arm and tapped onto her PIP to summon Hoopa. She had set it to auto-pilot when she landed in the plain and it was flying somewhere overhead.
 
Quiet: “Maybe you could check to see if I have any life-threatening diseases I inherited while you’re at it? I think I remember my family has a history of baldness.”
 
She laughed.
 
Fortunately, her back was to him so he didn’t catch it.
 
Quiet: “Hey! Are you going to pay for the dent in my car, by the way? You know it’s a rental right?”
 
She waved at him and turned back to Hoopa as it landed.

Clear was strutting through the security wing of the Scimitar Building of Saffron 5 with a very obvious-looking cellophane bag. Inside it was a test tube filled with the DNA. She had managed to get permission from Chief Eos to take the sample down to the security laboratory for analysis. Her mind kept skipping to the results – both positive and negative – but she had to keep reining her thoughts in, staying in the moment. There was no sense in getting carried away.
 
The security laboratory would only have a basic sampler. If the results were positive, Eos was prepared to send the results to a more advanced laboratory up on Twilight Station, the upper portion of Saffron 5. Eos, ever cautious, was a wall of doubt and practicality that Clear found sobering and used it to anchor her emotions in the probable likelihood that she was being manipulated.
 
She flashed her shiny plastic lanyard at everyone that tried to stop her. She relished that she was intruding here – and getting away with it. When she got to the lab, she poked her head inside. It was not nearly as impressive as she had been imagining. It was small and crowded with all manner of equipment, much of which Clear thought was junk. The whole place reminded her of one of her own secret dens, built up with whatever crap she managed to scavenge. The only difference was how clean this place was. Full of junk, yes, but it was all ordered and wiped spotlessly clean.
 
She noticed a wall mounted television was turned on, so she assumed someone was in the room somewhere. She stepped inside and started prodding random things. She tried not to be greedy, seeing such a treasure horde of old stuff that most people would have thrown away.
 
Before Clear had to call out, a man came striding through the door to the attached room. He stopped short when he noticed her unexpected presence. He frowned at her, then glanced down at the packet of crisps he had in his hand. After a moment, he held out the bag to her.
 
Clear eyed the bag. Spicy bacon flavour. Well, at least it wasn’t boring salt and vinegar. She took a crisp.
 
Clear: “You in charge of the DNA sampling?”
 
She noticed he didn’t have a lanyard, or another other ID tag. He wasn’t even wearing the usual laboratory coat. He pulled a face that said ‘I am, but I wish I wasn’t right now so you’d go away and leave me alone’.
 
Doctor: “I take it you have a sample to run?”
 
Clear waggled her cellophane bag at him. He pointed to the countertop.
 
Doctor: “Put it there. I’ll get round to it.”
 
Clear narrowed her eyes at him.
 
Clear: “Chief Eos wants it done immediately.”
 
Doctor: “Eos wants everything done immediately.”
 
Clear: “She wants this done more immediately.”
 
Doctor: “She also wants everything done more immediately.”
 
He did, however, hold out his hand to take the bag and his face became reluctantly curious. He looked at the label, but Clear had been careful not to put a name on it.
 
Doctor: “Who’s the candidate? Someone special?”
 
Clear: “You could say that.”
 
He then shrugged and pocketed the bag in his blazer jacket. The jacket was thick tweed with leather elbow patches. He wore smart, grey trousers and an unironed white shirt that barely concealed the yellow tee-shirt underneath. On his feet were a pair of old trainers and from another pocket he now took out a pair of thick-rimmed, square glasses. He put them on, adding some symmetry to his rugged face. His stubble was thick and messy, purposefully left to grow to the last moment before it could be classified as a beard. His short hair was typical for an Earth human, Clear thought, though it was flecked with grey. His skin was white, but somewhat weathered and tired.
 
He walked across the room to a large machine that Clear had thought was an old-fashioned printer. He turned it on and the thing started whirring as it booted up. He then glanced over his shoulder at her.
 
Doctor: “You planning on staying for this?”
 
Clear: “Yep.”
 
She suspected he would go back to procrastinating as soon as she left. After all, it’s what she would do if she was stuck working in a place like this. The machine gave a few grunts and he set about opening things, cleaning parts and, finally, he took out the DNA sample from the bag, opened up the test tube and shoved it into the device. He closed the lid, pushed a button, and turned around.
 
Clear: “That’s it?”
 
Doctor: “Yep.”
 
‘Cheeky’, she thought.
 
Clear: “How long will it take?”
 
Doctor: “Depends on who the sample is of, or what it’s of. If it’s a human, the result for species will be very quick. But then it will take ages to look through all of the police files for a match. If the species is rarer, that will take ages, but I guess the profile match would be quicker. So… I dunno.”
 
Clear: “The species is rare.”
 
Doctor: “Well then.”
 
After an awkward silence, the doctor puffed out his cheeks idly before he then gestured to the television.
 
Doctor: “You play Xbox?”
 
Clear looked at the television and thought about it. Then shrugged.
 
Clear: “Sure, why not?”
 
They both moved around the junk in the room to the sofa in front of the television. The sofa was one of those barely comfortable, rigid, plasticky affairs that are commonly found in hospital waiting rooms. Just enough padding to be useable, but not enough padding to make it convenient for long waits. Luckily, there were added pillows to the sofa. He grabbed a controller and waggled it at her.
 
Doctor: “Fair warning, I’m the Mario Kart master.”
 
Clear frowned.
 
Clear: “Mario Kart isn’t on Xbox.”
 
He grinned.
 
Doctor: “Just testing! You passed the noob test. Well done.”
 
He passed her the controller.
 
Clear: “Devious.”
 
Doctor: “It’s Halo time!”
 
As the game booted up, the doctor pulled an ice bucket from underneath the sofa and cracked it open.
 
Doctor: “Sorry, it’s Bud Lite.”
 
Clear: “Even a twelve year-old would be embarrassed by that.”
 
Doctor: “It’s all I can get away with sneaking up here! Besides, you don’t want me mixing up your DNA sample with the sample of a random vole, do you? That’d raise questions in the detective office!”
 
She took one of the beers.
 
Clear: “I’m Clear, by the way.”
 
Doctor: “I’m Cillian. Or Doctor Hughes if you prefer.”
 
Clear: “What about Bud Lite Guy?”
 
Cillian: “That works too.”
 
He opened their bottles. It was like drinking fizzy piss, Clear thought, but at least it was nice and cold.
 
Cillian: “What are you, by the way?”
 
Clear stared at him.
 
Clear: “Seriously?”
 
Cillian: “Kind of a lot of red aliens in the galaxy, you know?”
 
Clear wanted to break the bottle over his head.
 
Clear: “You know the planet you’re stood on?”
 
Cillian frowned, until comprehension dawned.
 
Cillian: “Huh! You’re a Martian? I was told they were all bumped off years ago?”
 
Clear: “…bumped off?”
 
Cillian: “Kicked the bucket?”
 
Clear: “I’m going to kick you in the bucket in a minute.”
 
Cillian kept going, without pause.
 
Cillian: “What happened to you all then? I’m not from round here. I was born in a galaxy far, far away.”
 
Clear looked at him, then rolled her eyes.
 
Clear: “I thought you were serious for a minute.”
 
Cillian: “Well, I’m not from Earth that much is true. I don’t really know the history, and there’s not a lot of… uh… pictures of Martians about. A bit weird when you think about it. Didn’t you people make statues of yourselves like everyone else?”
 
Clear gave him a condescending smirk.
 
Clear: “I guess we’re not so egotistical as you lot.”
 
Cillian: “Oh! Ouch! Venomous! Is that how you chat up all the boys?”
 
Clear: “I’d rather chat up a dog.”
 
Cillian: “Oh. Your bread is buttered on the other side, eh?”
 
Clear had to figure that one out.
 
Clear: “I’m not gay. Pratt.”
 
Cillian: “I’m not judging. I’m open about these things. In fact, I pay a couple of ladies of the night for just such things!”
 
Clear cocked her jaw and glared at him.
 
Clear: “You’re trying to piss me off, aren’t you? Trying to get rid of me? What? Afraid I’ll whup you on Halo?”
 
Cillian: “I am the Halo master.”
 
Clear: “And the Mario Kart master?”
 
Cillian: “The master of many. Women, that is.”
 
Clear: “It doesn’t count when you’re paying them.”
 
Cillian: “Sure it does! They tell me it’s true!”
 
Clear laughed and shook her head.
 
Clear: “Are you always like this?”
 
He swigged from his beer bottle.
 
Cillian: “I get the feeling that what people usually say to you?”
 
Clear: “Start the game, asshole.”
 
They were soon in a match and it wasn’t long before Cillian was cheating, pushing her controller, getting up and standing in front of the television, trying to distract her why talking at her.
 
Clear: “If you stand in front of the screen one more time, I’m going to dropkick you into it.”
 
Cillian: “Pretty sure I have a wrestling game in here somewhere. I’m the master of that too.”
 
Clear: “You’re the ass master, more like!”
 
Cillian: “Is that an invite?”
 
Clear: “You frickin’ wish!”
 
Cillian: “I really do.”
 
Clear: “Do what?”
 
Cillian: “Wish you’d invite me to your ass.”
 
Clear: “Cheeky bastard.”
 
She decided it was time to take a counter-offensive and slapped the controller from his hand and proceeded to shoot his Halo guy in the face with a rocket.
 
Cillian: “She-devil!”
 
Clear: “Well, I am red!”
 
Cillian: “Guess you’re hiding your horns under your hair, eh?”
 
Clear smirked slyly.
 
Clear: “Could be. Guess you’re in trouble!”
 
Cillian: “I do like trouble.”
 
There was a pause.
 
Clear: “Unbelievable. Stop flirting with me! We only just met!”
 
Cillian: “Flirting with you? You’re the one flirting with me!”
 
Clear: “Oh! Liar!”
 
Cillian: “What do you take me for, huh? I never put out on a first Halo match.”
 
Clear threw her head back and laughed.
 
Clear: “I bet you say that to all the Halo girls!”
 
Cillian: “Yeah. I’m totally rolling in Halo pussy, you wouldn’t believe.”
 
Clear: “Filthy mouth.”
 
She grabbed his jacket and gave him a mock shake.
 
Cillian: “So rough, huh? You know, I’m a soft soul. Be gentle with me.”
 
Clear: “You’re bad, you.”
 
Cillian: “I’m bad? You’re the one trying to seduce me with your wicked Halo skills.”
 
Clear: “That does it for you, does it? Being blown to bits with a rocket?”
 
Cillian: “Nothing like ragdoll mechanics to get the heart pumping.”
 
They were laughing again. Clear wasn’t such a consistent drinker as she used to be, so even Bud Lite was going to her head and making her giggle. She hadn’t had such a goofy guy flirt with her in a long time either. She licked her lips of beer as she looked at him. The action caused him to raise an eyebrow. She lowed the bottle a little and openly stared back at him with a small, but inviting, smile.
 
Clear: “Do you wanna—”
 
DING!
 
Clear almost fell off the sofa in shock. Cillian turned to look at the DNA sampler.
 
Clear: “It’s done?”
 
Cillian: “Yeah, but it can—”
 
Clear hopped off the sofa.
 
Cillian: “Wait? Cursed by the bell…”
 
He got up, adjusted his clothes, and followed her over to the machine. She flipped some switches and buttons and opened the sampler. Heat blew at them from within. Then a print off began and the doctor lifted it up.
 
Cillian: “Huh. I guess you people aren’t as dead as I was told?”
 
Clear’s eyes widened.
 
Clear: “You mean… it’s Martian DNA?”
 
Cillian nodded.
 
Cillian: “That’s right. Something called a devra? Not sure what that means but—are you okay?”
 
Clear felt faint. A storm of emotions battered her all at once. A moment ago she had been a moment away from snogging, or more, this human on the sofa, and now she held the prospect of being mother to her whole species. She felt guilty. Guilty for a relationship that was now forced on her by necessity, deprived of the gratification she had just sought a moment ago with a human.
 
She swallowed and looked up at Cillian. He was a funny guy. Handsome too. And there was nothing pressuring about him. She definitely could have had a good time with him; nights of pizza, games, whatever. Instead, she could now only see Quiet.
 
Clear: “This needs to be sent to Twilight Station for more accurate analysis.”
 
Cillian smirked cockily.
 
Cillian: “You doubt me, yet again? I am the DNA sampling master!”
 
With sudden coldness, she shoved the papers into his chest.
 
Clear: “Just get it done.”
 
She then stormed off, feeling the wall of emotional ice she left in her wake and how Cillian was probably hurting. She kept going.

Eos: “Bounty hunting isn’t illegal on Mars, but I’m sure I could find something on these people to arrest them?”
 
Her voice was ground into gravel by the poor quality speaker that Clear was using. Eos had a high-pitched voice, which was standard for her species, but through the speaker she might have been a country-western singer – a genre of music that seemed to be blaring out of radios more commonly as of late. She would normally have complained, but it drowned out the nausea-inducing vapidity of BTS – some boyband that the teenage girls of Earth were currently obsessing over. Clear had never had pin-ups as a teenager, being trapped on a spacecraft by herself, but if she had, she definitely would have had posters of Mr December 1995. Possibly alongside Mr August 1999.
 
Eos: “Clear?”
 
Clear: “Huh? What? Oh. No. An organisation like theirs probably has an army of lawyers. You’d only get yourself chewed out by your superiors.”
 
Eos sighed and Clear knew the next words she was going to groan.
 
Eos: “Sometimes this job baffles me. Since when is saving someone’s life the wrong thing to do?”
 
Clear: “You’ve said this to me dozens of times, Eos. And what do I always remind you of?”
 
Eos: “I was hired to hold up the red tape. I know.”
 
Clear: “And you’re very good at it.”
 
Eos: “I am.”
 
She sighed again, though it sounded more like an animal growling through the audio fuzz.
 
Eos: “Doesn’t make me proud of it when things like this happen.”
 
There was a pause.
 
Eos: “Though you are often the one in the middle of it, I note.”
 
Clear: “My milkshake is that good.”
 
The long silence made Clear roll her eyes.
 
Clear: “As in the song? My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard? You know, it’s not funny if I have to explain it to you.”
 
Eos: “Is that Earth music? You know the only Earth music I listen to is classical.”
 
Clear: “Snoozefest. Though it’s better than that weird whistling stuff I usually catch you listening to.”
 
Eos: “That is popular music from my homeworld, you know? It has frequencies humans, and I suppose Martians, can’t hear. It is a wonderful, transient sound that—”
 
Clear: “Oh noes, the signal is distorting…”
 
Clear fiddled with the knobs to the radio, but the tutting on the other end was still audible.
 
Eos: “What is your plan, Clear? I have to admit, I’m beginning to think you might want to leave Mars for a while. I know you don’t want to, but—”
 
Clear: “No, no. They’ll just follow me. At least here I know my way around.”
 
Eos: “They won’t get bored this time, Clear. This benefactor has deep pockets and he is quite… keen. I know your usually tactic is to wait it out, make the endeavour more trouble than it’s worth, but I honestly don’t think that is a viable option this time…”
 
Clear: “It’s not just that, Eos. It’s this… Quiet. This other…”
 
Eos: “Right…”
 
Clear: “Could you research this Face character? I want to know if he could pass for a Martian.”
 
Eos: “You almost sound hopeful…”
 
Clear: “I definitely don’t need to be psychoanalysed right now.”
 
Eos: “My apologies.”
 
Clear: “I just—it makes my life more complicated. A sudden responsibility I didn’t ask for. Doesn’t matter. I try to focus on what I can deal with at a time. If we can rule Face in or out of the equation, it would help on the subject of Quiet.”
 
Eos: “I will go through the records for you.”
 
Clear: “You do love records.”
 
Eos: “I like structure and order. Facts, figures, dates, numbers, statistics. That’s the art I like to experience.”
 
Clear: “I drew a stickman on a napkin an hour ago.”
 
Eos: “You must be very proud of yourself.”
 
Clear: “I gave him a really big stick penis.”
 
Clear imagined she could hear Eos wince through the speaker, but she did hear the loud tut.
 
Eos: “You have a knack for ruining things.”
 
Clear: “It’s a gift.”
 
There was a sudden roar, followed by screeching metal. Eos’ cried out with shock.
 
Eos: “What was that!? Where are you!?”
 
Clear looked up as the space elevator blasted up, along the shaft that connected Scimitar Building to Twilight Station. The wind wake had blown her about in her nest of fabrics, nestled against the exterior of the elevator shaft. She used her binoculars to peep down at the bustling people that went in and out of the building below.
 
Clear: “Let’s just say I have a great view of things.”
 
Eos: “You know, it doesn’t help me to help you if you are the one breaking the station laws?”
 
Clear: “Relaaaaaax. I promise I won’t spit on anyone. Probably.”
 
Before Eos could admonish her further, Clear grunted in mild surprise as her binoculars spotted an uncommon fighter craft coming into land. Not many fighters were found on Mars, as most small craft were shuttles used to ferry cargo or people, so the sleek, powerful weapon stood out. Plus, it was very similar to her own starfighter…
 
Eos: “What is it?”
 
Clear: “An Æon Starfighter. Only one I’ve seen in years in my own.”
 
Eos: “That is odd. In fact, I think yours is the only Æon Starfighter on register.”
 
Clear: “Because of course you’d know that.”
 
Eos: “You are, if nothing else, a frequent anomaly on my spreadsheets.”
 
Clear smirked.
 
Clear: “Oh really? I guess you must think of me as a work of art then, right!?”
 
Eos: “Like having a piece by Picasso in the middle of a Rembrandt.”
 
Clear sniggered, amused at the idea she could be the source of such minor chaos in Eos’ everyday running of the station. She was watching the unexpected starfighter as it landed and a figure in robes hopped, deftly, to the ground.
 
Clear: “Did the Æon declare themself?”
 
Eos: “Yes. An odd handle, at least I assume it’s a handle – I’m unfamiliar with these Æon Knights, honestly – a Dark Lancer. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to mean something, like some kind of title?”
 
Clear: “I don’t think so… did they say why they’re here?”
 
Eos: “Do you think they are related to the Crystal Bounty Hunters?”
 
Clear: “I don’t know. I have an Æon Starfighter in my possession and now here is an Æon Knight. Just… worries me.”
 
Eos: “Well, from his declaration of intent to air traffic control, something has happened to the Æon Knights, or the planet of the Æon Lords, sorry I’m very unfamiliar with all of this—”
 
Clear: “Their homeworld is Tangris.”
 
Eos: “Some kind of disaster has happened there. There must be data on the internet. I’ll have to look it up.”
 
Clear felt a small, uncertain knot worm into her chest. She hadn’t heard from her old friends in a long time and suddenly she was fearful that they might be in danger. She had heard that Ffion Heul was on Earth, but she didn’t know if she was still there, and she had not heard from Kokoro Lymn at all.
 
She wanted to go and meet with this Dark Lancer, despite the silly name, but she was afraid to add to her growing list of burdens. Bounty hunters, gene splicers, saving the Martian race – she shouldn’t add planetary disasters to her troubles. Yet it was now that she suddenly felt more alone than she had in years as she finally noticed the holes in her life that had once been filled by her old shipmates – Ffion, Koko, Pully, Green, Aurora, Thrain, Ltexi, even the likes of the long-dead Kiron Nightstrider and Hebedee. Who did she have now? Pashna, with his biology project?
 
Clear: “…Eos?”
 
Eos: “Yes?”
 
Clear: “What do you do when you’re not working?”

Clear and Eos are stood either side of a very uncomfortable-looking human, who is seated before the video screens relaying live footage from one of Scimitar Building’s promenades. Sat outside a café, as though enjoying a quiet afternoon, they can see the rogue Lomond Manse. He is smiling and joking around with the man opposite him – the bounty hunter Sayo. Likewise, Sayo seems to be in high spirits but rather than confidently joking around, he was smirking sardonically through the encounter. Sayo was obviously very full of himself, Clear mused. He was already trying to think up some method of using that overconfidence to her advance.
 
Eos: “What about polo?”
 
Clear turned her head to glare at Eos as though she had grown several new heads.
 
Clear: “Polo? Do I look like someone who would play polo!?”
 
Eos: “That is my point, Clear. I think a hobby outside of your… wheelhouse is what you need. Something you have never tried before. Something you usually would never even think of trying. It would do you good.”
 
Clear: “Even if I were to try something so bloody weird as polo, I notice there’s a distinct lack of polo players on Mars.”
 
Eos rose a fuzzy eyebrow.
 
Eos: “Not really. There are a lot of rich humans that come here for weekend getaways. Mostly rich businessmen.”
 
Clear: “Maybe I should have said, a distinct lack of polo players that would play with me.”
 
Eos nodded conceding the point. A lot of such businessmen tended not to mix with aliens. Eos herself often had difficulties dealing with such people, despite being chief of security. They were always surprised to find a bat-like alien in charge of the staff instead of a ‘proper’ human.
 
Eos: “What about knitting?”
 
Clear: “Now you’re making fun of me.”
 
Eos: “Knitting could be a very creative outlet. I have known people to sit for hours doing it with intense focus.”
 
Clear: “I’m beginning to regret asking you for advice.”
 
On the screen they noticed Manse lean over and offer Sayo a datapad. There was an obvious exchange of credits shortly after. Clear sighed.
 
Clear: “And there is it. The deal’s done. Manse sold me out.”
 
Eos: “He did exactly as expected. Honestly, I’m a little surprised.”
 
Clear: “You thought he’d double-cross me? I think he would have, expect he knows we’re watching him. Cheeky bugger.”
 
Eos: “Let’s see if your hunters will take the bait…”
 
Sayo, eventually, rose and tipped his hat at Manse before he sauntered off, strutting so broadly it was almost comical. Manse waited there for a long while before he turned back to his drink, lifted it and then aimed it at the camera in cheers.
 
Eos: “Will go you in advance to the site? Which one was it?”
 
Clear: “Newcomb. If they do split up, I think that’s where the easier targets will go.”
 
Eos: “You’re hoping for the antiques dealer, I believe?”
 
Clear: “Calls himself Alex, yeah. The heavy brutes should go for the other target. The weapons facility in Syrtis. Lots of functional defence droids still operational, so they’d need guns. Lots of guns.”
 
Eos: “If the information hadn’t come from Mr Manse, they probably would have dismissed it as unreliable information. You would need to be crazy to hide there.”
 
Clear: “Though they might think I’m scared enough to attempt it. Either way, if Grant and Sayo go that way, hopefully Alex Kerwin will go to Newcomb.”
 
Eos: “And if he isn’t alone?”
 
Clear: “We’ll see. Nothing else I can do. If I can talk to him, he might just back down. It’s the only real plan I have right now.”
 
Eos: “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a bad plan. If Mr Kerwin does cause a problem, the rest of them would need to cross the whole of Sabaea to reach him.”
 
Clear grinned.
 
Clear: “I am a tactical genius.”
 
Eos: “I wouldn’t go that far.”
 
Clear: “Don’t ruin it!”
 
Eos: “Perhaps I could send a couple of patrol officers to Newcomb just—”
 
Clear: “He’ll detect them easily and then the jig is up. I wish I could take some big, burly soldiers with me, but Kerwin has shown he’s pretty good with his surveying tech. Besides, I’m not too bad at punching people, you know?”
 
Eos: “Yes, I know. I have seen the reports. The many, many reports.”
 
Clear: “And they all had it coming! Probably. Maybe sometimes.”
 
Officer: “Ma’am? Lomond Manse is trying to get our attention.”
 
The human officer drew the attention of the two alien women and they looked down at the screen. Manse was making exaggerated head gestures. Clear guessed they had probably started subtle, but since he hadn’t got any response from them, his gestures became more pronounced.
 
Clear: “What’s he gesturing to? Can you swing the camera?”
 
Officer: “The cameras are stationary, but I can switch to another.”
 
Eos: “They pay to have an entire space elevator built on an alien world, and then give us cheap, decades old camera technology…”
 
The second screen flicked over to another shot of the promenade and they were greeted with a surprising sight, something Clear had not seen in person for a long time.
 
Clear: “Stormtroopers?”
 
Eos: “I wasn’t notified of their arrival…”
 
Clear: “Well, it’s nothing to do with me, so I’ll leave you to this one, Batgirl.”
 
Clear caught the human smirk at the nickname for his boss.
 
Eos: “Why is Mr Manse so worried?”
 
Clear: “Oh. Because he’s former imperial, isn’t he? And those guys, they’re Primary Order. If they spot him—”
 
Officer: “I think they have.”
 
Clear: “You might need to get some officers in there to protect our spy or he’s going to get his ass spanked.”
 
Eos tutted, as though children were misbehaving. Even as Eos started speaking into a communicator, Clear leaned over to get a better look at the group of Primary Order cronies. Most were stormtroopers, but she did notice that there were three officers and one of them she recognised from her days as ambassador on the Cosmic Nullius.
 
Clear: “That is Millicent Tarq. She’s ambassador for the Primary Order.”
 
Eos: “Why would someone like that be here?”
 
Clear: “Absolutely no idea.”
 
Clear stretched languidly and wore a lazy, self-centred smile as she looked at Eos.
 
Clear: “I am so glad this is not my problem. Good luck with that.”
 
Eos: “If you weren’t going off to Newcomb, I’d press you into service. I think you could technically still be the Martian ambassador. I don’t think anyone else has been appointed.”
 
Clear: “I’d rather chug battery acid.”
 
Eos: “First a Jedi Knight arrives, now an ambassador for the Order. What is going on on my watch?”
 
Clear: “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one the universe seems to hate.”
 
On the screen the stormtroopers had already started to bully Manse and the incredibly beautiful Millicent Tarq was smiling with contempt in his direction, but stood afar. Clear knew she would regard Manse as a failure, one of those responsible for the fall of the Empire – just as Manse blamed Polk. Everyone liked to blame everyone else, but nobody ever took any responsibility.
 
Clear: “I have an antiques dealer to catch. I hope you fix whatever this is before I get back. Good luck!”
 
Clear did offer Eos an apologetic smile and then she left. She wasn’t going to stay any longer than she needed to and be wrapped up in whatever chaos was brewing. She had to admit, she was bursting with curiosity, but she was just as resolute on keeping to herself. She had her own problems, of the bounty hunting kind, without playing politics again. Clear had never met Tarq directly, but watched the woman and knew she was someone used to getting her way. She would not be on Mars unless there was something worth her time to be found here.
 
Once Clear was out of the building, she did notice that there were even more stormtroopers around. She was very surprised by that. It was rare for the Primary Order to venture far across the galaxy since the fall of the Empire, mostly sticking to their little section on the outer rim, alongside the remnants of the High Empire. To see stormtroopers again was bad enough, without seeing so many of them looking armed and dangerous. There didn’t seem to be enough of them to attempt another invasion of Earth, and there was no way they would conquer a worthless rock like Mars, so their presence was a total mystery to Clear. She was sure, however, it had nothing to do with her. For a change.
 
She found where she had hidden Hoopa and clambered inside it. As she powered it up, she noticed a signal light up. She’d never seen it do that before, so after a few button presses she discovered it was a message on a private channel. A channel only accessible from other Æon Starfighters. The Dark Lancer wanted to talk.
 
Clear tapped the armrest as she thought about this. She came to the conclusion he probably thought she was an Æon Knight. She worried that he might even recognise the ship itself and start a whole lot of questions about the ship’s original owner, questions she really didn’t want to have to answer. Eventually, she settled on the perfect response and typed it in.
 
Fuq off.

Newcomb was a settlement of the first human pioneers that sought to colonise the rich lands of Mars. The land that the town was built on had never been settled by the natives and so the humans viewed it as free real estate.
 
The ground was somewhat marsh-like. The red weeds coated the ground like a spongy carpet that squished underfoot. Though the human settlers had cleared much of it away, the wetness drew many insects to the town and, with the insects, diseases. Humans may have killed off Martians with their alien diseases, but the humans had also fallen afoul of the planet’s own pestilence. Even when the mass grave was erected, the colonists stubbornly refused to give up the land they had claimed and struggled on.
 
Despite the diseases, the land itself was highly arable. They were able to grow earth-crops with ease and soon wheat, barley and rye were growing in abundance. Because of the red soil, the usually yellow plants had a soft pink hue to them and a unique taste that, for a brief time, became quite the commodity on Earth when used to bake lightly pinked breads. Of course, some cunning entrepreneurs used Earth crops and dyed them pink to pretend to be selling Marsbread, leading to some confusion on the value of this alien-grown product.
 
The town had, however, been abandoned long before Clear was even born. The town had all the hallmarks of early colonisation efforts – rudimentary space-faring equipment, generators that burnt colossal amounts of fossil fuels, pre-fabricated housing that gave all the homes a uniformed, box-like appearance, vehicles with an overly-sleek aesthetic that looked ‘futuristic’ but mostly wounded up being more of an inconvenience. There were shiny, ultra-violet protective umbrellas all over and the roads were narrow lines of cement meant for mono-track vehicles. The windows were all blacked out. All around were also grilled heating vents, meant to heat up the very streets for human habitation. They were drilled down deep to make use of geothermal currents. Though they were turned off now, Clear suspected they might still work after all this time.
 
She kicked a spherical object and watched it roll along the rocky ground. She had no idea what it was and only froze after she had already given it a switch boot, fearing it could have been some discarded bomb. When nothing happened, she ran up and punted it. She watched with satisfaction as the thing whizzed through the air and smashed through one of the blacked out windows.
 
Nobody was here.
 
She had waited for two days, but there was no sign her ruse had worked. No hunters, either the militaristic ones or the adventurous ones. If they had travelled to Syrtis first, with the intention of coming to Newcomb second, they probably should have arrived by now. All she could think was that Kerwin, or one of the others, had figured out that Manse had betrayed them.
 
So, she had spent most of the day sulking.
 
She didn’t want to go back to Saffron 5, and she had nowhere else to be. For now, Newcomb seemed as safe a place as any to hang around until a new plan formed. She had started exploring the houses, but found there was nothing to pilfer. The houses were either stripped bare when the residents left, or someone had already swiped everything. Judging by the look of them, Clear doubted there was much in them to begin with.
 
She had found the marker for the mass graves where the humans were buried. They were given a cross-shaped headstone, which Clear knew to be a religious icon. She had thought about spitting on the graves with a declaration of ‘you reap what you sow’, but she knew she was not such a hateful person at heart. So, instead, she pitied the intruders.
 
She went after her newfound toy again, so she could kick it harder, but she suddenly spotted a figure stood down the road. He wasn’t moving. Just stood there.
 
She gasped and growled at once and reached for a gun.
 
Even with the pistol aimed at him, the figure just stood still. She frowned and waggled the gun threateningly.
 
Clear: “Don’t move.”
 
She thought about that; the guy already wasn’t moving.
 
Clear: “Or… move a bit. Like… just a bit so I know you can hear me.”
 
He didn’t move. She looked around, suspecting some kind of decoy. The figure didn’t appear to be any of the Crystal Bounty Hunters she had seen on file. Even his stature was unusual. At first, he seemed quite short but then she realised he was stooping and leaning on a solid, black cane.
 
 Clear neared further still. He was cloaked in a thick, black garment made of leather. It was well-worn, but kept clean. There was some detailed embroidery along the seams of the cloak that suggested the thing wasn’t just for practical purposes. The hood was hung so low, it cast a complete shadow over his features – in fact, it seemed the shadow was too thick to be entirely natural.
 
She was sorely tempted to just shoot the guy. That would be best for her, she knew. And this was wild country, who would stand about like this if not to be shot in the face? But she couldn’t bring herself to kill in such cold blood without even giving the guy a chance. She tried to tell herself there was something wrong with him, his brain was addled, but she just knew there was something going on.
 
 She finally got close enough she could reach out and touch him. Yet he still hadn’t budged.
 
Clear: “A hologram maybe? A scarecrow?”
 
She nudged his shoulder with the pistol.
 
The man suddenly sprang to life, startling the life out of Clear. He jolted alert with a loud snort and she caught herself give a squeal of surprise.
 
Man: “HUH!? WUZZAT!?”
 
Clear: “No… way… you were sleeping!? Standing up in the middle of nowhere!?”
 
Man: “I WASN’T SLEEPIN’! I NEVER SLEEP! I AM TEH SLEEPLESS ONE!”
 
Clear narrowed her eyes at him.
 
Clear: “Did you really just say ‘teh’?”
 
The man threw back his hood and his head lit up so suddenly, it confirmed there was something unnatural about the garment that aided in concealing the wearer. He was a white-skinned human with very little hair clinging to his otherwise bald head. His skin was sallow and heavily wrinkled, telling Clear he was probably very old for a human. She was notoriously poor at guessing human ages, but the folds in his cheeks were something of a giveaway in this case.
 
His eyes were striking as they were completely white, with a clear film over them that belied damage. The fact he seemed to be staring straight past her suggested the man was blind, though that made her all the more concerned that this random, old, blind codger was asleep in the middle of an abandoned town.
 
Clear: “Don’t tell me your kids brought you out here for a holiday or something? What are you doing here, you crazy old geezer?”
 
Man: “BATARA AV LAK BANDERCRONCH!”
 
Clear just stared into her own soul at this point. She was trying to survive assassins and now she was lumped with someone’s granddad. Or great-granddad.
 
She looked at him again.
 
Great-great-granddad.
 
And he was now speaking in some random foreign language. She had that ‘not even the decency to speak English’ mentality, despite the fact her own language was lost to time and usurped by that very language she arrogantly expected everyone to use.
 
Man: “GODDIT!?”
 
Clear: “… yup. Got it. Totally.”
 
She backed off. Time to find a new place to hide out after all. Preferably a place with fewer weird, old men.
 
Clear: “If I see your carer, I’ll tell them you’re sleeping on the street. Try not to pee yourself.”
 
Man: “HOW WUDE!”
 
Clear walked quickly away, eager to escape this stupid situation she found herself in. She almost wished Altus Grant would suddenly show up to relieve her of the cringe she was feeling. She started to suspect she was some kind of magnet for weird people.
 
But as she was about to hurry down an alley between two pre-fab houses, she stopped with a gasp. He was stood down there, waiting for her.
 
She looked back down the street. Wasn’t a double or anything.
 
Clear: “Just great. Not another superpowered pain in the ass.”
 
Man: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”
 
Clear’s eyes bulged with shock and discomfort at the man’s sudden scream. Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped and he looked about him as though he had never even done it.
 
Clear: “Riiiiiiiiiiight… old man… please leave me alone.”
 
He then spoke again, this time his voice was far lower than the usual bellowing he had been doing until now.
 
Man: “Ubishmal abava Fvir Mishmein’Leem. Ubishmal  batara diff junkin allandin’mensalan.”
 
Clear: “Dude. I do not speak whatever gibberish you’re jabbering at me. Hell, you could be making it up off the top of your head, for all I know. Considering how crazy you seem to be…”
 
Man: “Ey am de Dark Lancer! I am here for de meeting!”
 
Clear: “Meeting? With Kerwin? Can’t be—wait, Dark Lancer? You’re the swine who has been harassing me! You damnable, old coot!”
 
Dark Lancer: “BATARA AV LAK BANDERCRONCH!”
 
Clear: “Second time you’ve said that. I assume you’re saying you’re not a crazy old belligerent.”
 
Suddenly, the cane came crashing down on Clear’s head. It wasn’t so hard that it did any kind of damage, but it was hard enough, and surprising enough, to get her to cry out in alarm.
 
Clear: “What’re you doing!? You miserable--! Bugger off! Leave me alone! I am not an Æon, okay? Whatever meeting you’re here for has nothing to do with me.”
 
She tried to skirt round him, but he started to walk alongside her as she went. Despite using the cane, the way he loped along meant that he easily kept pace with her.
 
Dark Lancer: “But ye aff an Æon Starrrrfighter.”
 
Why he rolled that ‘r’ so hard she didn’t know.
 
Clear: “I acquired it.”
 
She felt an odd sensation emanating from him suddenly. She recognised it as the feeling of an Æon reaching for her with their soul, groping at her own soul. She initially wanted to shout at him for intruding on her, thinking he was trying to manipulate her or sense something about her. However, she realised the feeling she had was deliberate. He was casting an intimidating aura on purpose.
 
Dark Lancer: “How?”
 
Clear: “None of your –ouch!”
 
She fell flat on her face. The cane.
 
She growled, though she also admitted that her pride was wounded in more ways than one. She had often found herself far more deft than the majority of humans, so the fact that one was able to not only trip her up, but trip her up so thoroughly, was a grave insult and a surprise.
 
She started to get up, but the cane quickly pressed into the back of her skull and forced her face into the rock.
 
Clear: “Ow! Ow! Stop it! You freaking—!”
 
Dark Lancer: “How deed ye get an Æon Starrrrrfighter, fishhead?”
 
Clear: “What did you just call me--! Ow! I just got it! The original owner was taken by the Æon Lords after he abused his powers.”
 
The cane lifted. But as he rose her head, again it came down and she was back with her face in the rock. She squirmed helplessly. She knew he had to be using his soul-channelling through the cane somehow, pinning her with more than just a stick. She should have been able to easily whip herself around and slink out of such a feeble grip and certainly she had gotten out of far stronger holds. She hated Æons.
 
Dark Lancer: “Why deed zey geeve such a theeng to you and not one of us?”
 
Clear: “I was… I was one of those he abused. He was using pheromones to control me and my friends, he caused a lot of destruction using my ship. I think the least I’m owed is a small ship. The Void Rangers dealt with him in the end, but he was taken into custody by your people.”
 
The cane relented again. She paused, not wanting to be fooled again, but the started to roll over. Then he started poking her with it again, though this time it was light, and annoying, tapping all over her body.
 
Dark Lancer: “C’mon, c’mon. Up weeth ye! Lazy geerrrrls these days. My last apprenteece would never be caught sleepin’ leeke thees.”
 
Clear: “Quit it! I am not your bloody apprentice!”
 
Dark Lancer: “Could be!”
 
Clear: “What? No!”
 
Dark Lancer: “Why not?”
 
Clear: “I don’t want to be an Æon Knight! As if!”
 
Dark Lancer: “Omun lcu’ju! Omun Ffumi, li Æon Pandet.”
 
Clear: “I don’t speak gibberish.”
 
Dark Lancer: “Not geebereesh! Ees Old Jeekeemeean!”
 
Clear: “How do I say ‘go away’ in Old Jikiman then?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Jeekeemeean.”
 
He even started to write it down on a piece of paper he produced from within his robes. Though she wasn’t really interested, she did notice it was spelt ‘Old Jikeemian’ unlike the bizarre pronunciation he had used for it.
 
Clear: “Wait. If you’re blind, how are you able to write like that? You can’t see writing with your soul-channelling can you?”
 
He gave a broad grin, noticeably missing many teeth, as his eyes stared straight ahead of them.
 
Dark Lancer: “The Force moves een mystereeoos ways!”
 
Clear: “Why did I expect a straight answer from you?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Kekekeke!”
 
Clear: “I can’t believe the Æon Lords let a dingbat like you run around with these powers unchecked. How long before you hurt someone?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Ey hurt you, ey deed!”
 
Clear: “Exactly my point! I should send a message to Kloo Celli.”
 
Dark Lancer: “Ooooohoho. Not easy. Not easy.”
 
They came out of the alley and started up the rocky hill. Some of the sludge-like red weed had taken root again and made it dangerous to climb up. Clear, being nimble-footed, made it up with no problem. Once she got to the top, she turned to smugly glare down at him – except he was gone.
 
Clear: “The hell?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Thees ees why ey am here.”
 
Clear: “Whoa! Crap! How did you--?”
 
He had appeared behind her. How did he even get up there, let along move so fast?
 
Dark Lancer: “Jump.”
 
Clear: “What?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Ey jump. There to here. Jump.”
 
Clear: “Simple as that, huh?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Eeyup! Ey want to know about the Æon you says hurt you. What was hees name?”
 
Clear: “I’m not going to talk about it, Dar—I am not calling you Dark Lancer. What the hell is your real name?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Dave.”
 
Clear: “Seriously!?”
 
Dark Lancer: “No.”
 
Clear tutted.
 
Clear: “Just tell me.”
 
Dark Lancer: “Bob.”
 
Clear: “If you keep on, I’ll give you a name!”
 
Dark Lancer: “Oh! Could be fun! What name?”
 
Clear: “Shithead.”
 
Dark Lancer: “Not so fun.”
 
Clear: “You can stop following…”
 
There was silence. She turned to see he had suddenly stopped still. His eyes were closed and his breathing was faint but steady. He was asleep stood up again.
 
Clear: “Absolutely bananas… time for my escape.”
 
She crept away from him and when she felt she was enough of a distance away, she started to sprint for Hoopa. She hopped over a boulder and had to suddenly skid to a halt. She stopped so fast, with such horror, she slipped back and landed on her butt.
 
Sayo: “At least that was quite a cushion to your fall, eh sugartits?”
 
Clear: “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuq.”
 
Sayo was stood with one boot perched on a rock and leaned on his knee. In his hand was a long Bowie knife. From the sheen on it, which reflected with an oil-like film, she knew it was not a standard metal blade of Earth, but she had no idea what it was actually made of.
 
He poked his hat up, letting some cold air under it, in a very casual motion. He sighed, almost whimsically.
 
Sayo: “You gave us quite the run around! You’re a cheeky one, ain’t you? We almost didn’t bother coming down here, figuring you’d have already cleared out. But, I thought, just maybe you got careless and stuck around. So we watched for you and sure as eggs, there you was. Just loitering around. All this time, you’ve been so damned elusive and then, poof, there you was. Just like a sitting duck. Right, Grant?”
 
Next to him was Altus Grant. While Sayo was poised with cocksure confidence, Grant was ever the professional. His weapon was aimed straight at her and he stood in combat stance, even with the target prone and helpless. He wasn’t going to give any chances or underestimate the enemy; much to Clear’s misfortune.
 
Sayo: “Saw you got yourself a boyfriend back there. Why’d he not come on up here with you?”
 
Clear wasn’t sure how to respond. Her instinct was to shield the old weirdo, dismiss any connection and proclaim him just a random nobody. But the threat of an Æon Knight might put them on edge, or even distract them. Most Æon Knights could handle themselves, she thought, but she had no idea if the old man could handle a toothpick.
 
Then again, he could handle that bloody cane well enough.
 
Clear: “He’s an Æon Knight. I’d be careful if I were you.”
 
Sayo whistled.
 
Sayo: “Hoo! Boy! You sure got yourself a menagerie, doncha!?”
 
Grant, on the other hand, didn’t seem to react. But his faced was concealed, so she had no idea what his face might be truly showing behind that visor.
 
Sayo: “Best buds with that Sairen chief on Saffron 5, the unknown alien living in a hollowed out old ship with his alien plants—”
 
Clear grit her teeth. They knew about Kara Pashna as well as Eos.
 
Sayo: “And all those friends you used to have? Who were they? Kid with plant powers, Green was it? Funny her name was Green and she has powers to control green stuff.”
 
Clear wasn’t sure how intrusive this knowledge would actually be. She was, after all, a minor celebrity in many ways. She was once, possibly still was, the ambassador for Mars, her entourage would have been seen somewhere and recorded.
 
Sayo: “You already had some Æon friends didn’t ya? What were their names again? Kokoro Lymn and Ffion Heul? Telkrin Izep was their, what do Æons call it? Mentor? Or just teacher?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Teacher weell do.”
 
Sayo: “Holy-crap-on-a-stick!”
 
The two of them jolted and spun around. Even Clear hadn’t noticed him sneak up behind them. He seemed to emerge from non-existent shadows like a wraith. Grant backed up and swung his rifled between the two.
 
Grant: “Grab the girl.”
 
His voice came through the helmet’s speaker, giving it a distant, slightly tinny, sound.
 
Sayo: “I got it. We got a problem, old man? You ain’t gonna give us any grief, are ya?”
 
Sayo kept his eyes on Dark Lancer, but leant down to grab Clear’s arm. She yanked it back and they engaged in a minor scuffle as he forced her to her feet.
 
Dark Lancer: “That ees my apprenteece, fishhead. Keep ya meets off.”
 
Sayo: “Meets?”
 
Clear: “Mitts.”
 
Sayo: “Oh.”
 
Sayo then snorted.
 
Sayo: “Is this guy for real? Ya wanna waste ‘em, Grant?”
 
Grant, still a man of few words, opened fire. The sound of the rifle was a powerful thud, thud, thud. The speed was slower than some automatic weapons, but the pounding of the weapon indicated just how much force was behind every shot. The bullets scratched through the air with such force there was a small rumble like thunder as each one went; creating a cannon-like echo in Clear’s ears.
 
A single bullet would have shredded straight through living tissue like it was paper. Clear was certain it could have penetrated the armour of a ship if given enough time.
 
Yet, for all it’s deadly power – the bullets fell limply to the ground when they reached the Dark Lancer. Clear’s eyes lit up with the realisation that this silly, old fart was not completely useless after all!
 
Dark Lancer: “UBISHMAL ABAVA FVIR MISHMEIN’LEEM! FRACKEN’KA U PAVWAL, QOT’LO’LIM!”
 
Sayo: “What the hell is he sayin’?”
 
Clear: “Probably something like, all kinds of ass is about to be kicked.”
 
Dark Lancer: “DEATH BY STEECK EET SHALL BE!!”
 
Sayo: “What’s a steeck—holy hell!”
 
He went at them, brandishing his cane like a madman.
 
Dark Lancer: “WRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

The way that Dark Lancer moved was something like a ballet dancer crossed with a drunk monkey having an epileptic seizure. When he ducked below a strike, it was as if he were about to hurl, when he throw a blow of his own, it was like he suddenly remembered he was in a fight after daydreaming at the sky. And yet, though it looked haphazard, wonky and weird, Clear couldn’t help but realise it was all carefully calculated in a strange, disjointed fashion. Perhaps, she speculated, the whole point of this style of combat was to confuse the opponent as there really was no way to guess what the hell he was going to do next. If, on the other hand, the point was to make the opponent underestimate him, that had been achieved easily as Sayo had barked with laughter as he callously tried to shove Dark Lancer several times. With each miss, Sayo grew more frustrated.
 
Grant: “He’s toying with you.”
 
Grant’s voice was fuzzy and distorted by his helmet’s audio processors.
 
Sayo: “Bullshit! He’s just a lunatic! ACK!”
 
Sayo landed face-first in the dirt and his hat went tumbling down the hill. Sayo grumbled;
 
Sayo: “Motherfucker…”
 
Dark Lancer: “Like a finger pointing to the moon.”
 
Sayo: “What?”
 
Dark Lancer: “Exactly!”
 
The Æon promptly sat on Sayo’s back and folded his arms and crossed his legs.
 
Sayo: “Get off me, you crazy asshole!”
 
Grant rushed forward. He didn’t open fire, for fear of hitting Sayo, and tried to whack Dark Lancer with the butt of his rifle. Again, Dark Lancer dodged the blow – he quickly rolled… and continued to roll, like a child, across the dirt until he went off the hill. Clear was pretty sure she heard ‘whoopsie’ as he went.
 
Sayo spat as he got to his feet. He was bristling with anger and revenge was on the menu, but Grant pointed at Clear.
 
Grant: “Grab the girl, I’ll hold off the wizard.”
 
Clear: “I really don’t think he’s a wizard.”
 
Sayo: “You get the bitch, I’ll take care of the kook!”
 
Clear: “Call me that again, and the kook will be the last of your worries.”
 
Sayo glowered at Clear and marched on her. Now free to move, she proved she was no slouch in the game of rough-housing. As Sayo threw a punch, she leaned back to avoid the strike. She couldn’t deny that Sayo was competent, that arrogance certainly earnt, but she wasn’t going to let him beat her down for a second time.
 
Then Grant rose his rifle at her.
 
Grant: “Stop.”
 
Clear grit her teeth and rose her arms. Thus unmoving, Sayo smacked her in the face. She stumbled back with a curse about his lack of honour. Grant didn’t seem interested in stopping the assault and just gestured for her to walk.
 
Grant: “Take her. This situation is already out of control. We have the mark, hold him off until I have her in bondage.”
 
Clear: “Normally I might have come up with a witty one-liner about that, but you’re about as much fun as a bag of potatoes.”
 
Grant: “Move.”
 
Clear: “See?”
 
Sayo was leering down the hill, and then started to descend, leaving Grant to herd Clear away. They weren’t close enough to Hoopa for Clear to make a run for it, so she complied. They made distance quickly and, further up the hill, they came to their vehicle. This time it was a van. From its appearance, it was an old machine that had probably been bought for very cheap. However, she did notice the exhaust were large and numerous – an upgrade probably installed by bandits or other such renegades of the Martians plains.
 
The rear doors opened as they approached, so Clear assumed there was something in Grant’s armour that was being detected by the van’s sensors. Inside was a small arsenal of weapons, though Clear suspected this was far from the extent of either Sayo or Grant’s total weapon’s cache. From the interior of the back door, Grant pulled down one or several sets of handcuffs and slapped them onto her wrists. He motioned for her to get in and then fastened her to a bar on the wall. To her disappointment, he then cuffed her shins together.
 
Despite this, she knew she was agile enough that she could probably still move a great deal. If she was left unsupervised in the back, she was sure she could find something to get out of this situation.
 
Grant stood at the rear of the van, visor pointed back the way they came. Eventually, he spoke into his comms;
 
Grant: “Sayo.”
 
Nothing.
 
Grant: “Respond.”
 
Clear wondered if he would go back to find his comrade, or abandon him. Either option would fit the parameters for a military zealot – never abandon a comrade-in-arms, or a useful military asset, but abandoning allies in favour of completing a mission was also with the realm of possibility.
 
She didn’t get to find out which, as Sayo suddenly came jogging towards them. He had his hat back.
 
Sayo: “I couldn’t find the old bugger. I’d say he ran off, but more likely he knocked himself out somewhere. What a crazy son-of-a-bitch.”
 
Grant: “Just get in. Watch the girl.”
 
Clear glared at Sayo with a look she hoped conveyed the words ‘sure, get in the back with me, but watch out because I will find a way to get free and murder you’. It probably did, because Sayo returned her glare with another confident smirk.
 
The smirk was suddenly gone. As was Sayo. A black shadow had suddenly whizzed past Clear’s view out of the back of the van and took the bounty hunter with it.
 
Sayo: “The fucker’s back! Ow! He’s biting me!”
 
Grant: “Start the van. Get the girl out of here.”
 
Clear couldn’t see what was happening, but there was quite a kerfuffle. Then Sayo appeared in the front seat. His face was bloodied, but he kept onto his hat. Clear tried to shift so she could get a view out the back.
 
Clear: “Dark Lancer, you bonkers bastard! I’m in here! Use your Jedi powers to open these cuffs! Whoa!”
 
Clear practically squeaked with shock when Dark Lancer suddenly appeared in front of her, leaning in way too far to be normal social distancing.
 
Dark Lancer: “I’m not a Jedi, you know? I am true Æon. Neutral, balanced, neither th—”
 
Clear: “Cuffs!”
 
Bullets blistered the rear of the van and Clear jumped back, afraid of ricocheting. These bullets were definitely not the disabling kind that Grant had been using earlier. These were the deadly sort, and judging from the holes they left in the vehicle, they were the very deadly sort.
 
Dark Lancer now stood with a ‘Dark Lancer’ shape in the van door behind him. The bullets that had hit his whereabouts had fallen to the ground, but Clear did notice some recognition of effort on his face. She wasn’t sure if it was that telekinetic shield in particular that was stressing him, or if it was the prolonged battle.
 
The van’s wheels screeched and spun in place before the vehicle suddenly lurched.
 
Clear: “Get in!”
 
Dark Lancer looked at her, as though he hadn’t thought of that, and hopped in just as the van started off. Now Clear could see Grant, stood watching as the van went off.
 
Dark Lancer: “Faster than walking, but I would rather take my starfighter. Vehicles with wheels are so last-century.”
 
Clear: “Cuffs.”
 
Before he could do anything, the van stopped as suddenly as it had took off. The momentum sent both of them tumbling up the van. Clear felt her wrists threaten to snap as she was yanked back the wall, but Dark Lancer flopped straight into the seats where Sayo was. Sayo quickly forced his arm back and headlocked Dark Lancer, using the seat itself to pin the old man in place and add strength to his hold.
 
Clear knew this was one of the most efficient ways to take down an Æon, though she doubted Sayo realised this. Strangulation stopped blood to the brain, which would slow the Æon’s ability to think their soul into action. It seemed to be working as Dark Lancer squirmed and flailed. He wasn’t able to physically get free and he seemed to be disorientated. Thin, old skin wasn’t going to provide much defence against the younger, stronger arm of Sayo. But Dark Lancer managed enough awareness to finally yank several objects from the wall, using his soul-channelling to perform an act of telekinesis, and threw them in his own direction. This meant both he and Sayo were peppered with sharp and dangerous weapons. One large gun crashed into Dark Lancer’s chest, winding him instantly, but the butt of it also whacked Sayo in the face and he recoiled, freeing the Æon, who started wheezing and gasping for air.
 
Clear pushed her wrists in his direction.
 
Clear: “Cuffs! Cuffs!”
 
He reached out – the first time she had seen him use his arms to guide his soul-channelling – and she felt a clink as the cuff attached to the bar was released. It was enough for now, she decided, and reached over to drag him towards the back of the van, though they were impeded by all the cluttered caused by the sudden stop and Dark Lancer’s powers.
 
But, out the back of the van she could see Altus Grant rapidly gaining of them at a truly unnatural pace. From behind him she could see a brilliant glow that was like a giant, golden circle. The lower line almost reached his knees, while the top of this back-halo was well above his head.
 
Clear fell from the van as she pulled Dark Lancer, who was beginning to compose himself, but Grant was suddenly propelled at them, as though fired from a cannon, and he slammed into Dark Lancer at such an incredible speed that the force of it sent both of them flying back into the van, which rocked violently. Clear thought the thing was ready to fall apart.
 
Clear started to her feet, but then the boot of Altus Grant struck the exit of the van with such authority that she stopped moving. She didn’t feel outright fear too often, but she was very afraid of this man. She didn’t remember being quite so afraid of an individual like this since Sega, the man who had once sworn a vendetta against her very existence.
 
He dropped down. The halo was gone. She could take a wild guess that it was some kind of activation notice for his angel core – the essence of whatever innocent angel he had trapped within the core in his spine. He dragged Dark Lancer out, and let the old man drop to the dirt heavily. The old man was out. Grant’s visor turned and Clear wasn’t sure if it was more horrifying that she could feel his merciless determination through a visor, or if his eyes might have been more so had she been able to see them.
 
She knew there was no way she was going to escape this now. She lamented that she hadn’t listened to Eos and gotten the police directly involved.
 
But she was crafty.
 
One of the blades from inside the van lay on the ground near her, so she grabbed it.
 
Grant: “That won’t stop me. Just give up.”
 
Clear smirked.
 
Clear: “Won’t stop you, but it’ll stop this poor thing.”
 
She lashed out and stabbed the wheel of the van. There was a distinctive hiss. Grant didn’t flinch or move or speak. He just stood staring at her, all the while with that awkward hiss of the van becoming immobile.
 
Eventually, Sayo slowly got out the front of the van with a groan.
 
Sayo: “Can’t we just murder her? It would make me very happy.”
 
Grant: “The client wants her alive.”
 
Clear swelled with reassurance. There would be a way out of this.
 
Grant: “But he didn’t say she had to be in one piece.”
 
He rose his armoured boot and brought it down on her leg. There was a loud crack, only drowned out by the screaming.

Clear awoke in a small room. Her head swam and her limbs felt lazy. Her head lolled to the right to look at her arm and discovered it was strapped to the gurney. She wriggled, albeit half-heartedly, and felt the straps all over her. She tried to speak, but could only manage a mumble.
 
She recognised the effects of pain killers in her system and though there was some panic in her brain, the rest of her lounged with the doziness of the drugs. Her eyes took in her surroundings – plain, simple, small. She suspected it was some kind of swiftly erected prefabricated structure. Though she was on a gurney, there were no curtains for privacy. There were no windows, but there was a single door to her left. Otherwise, all she could see were white, plastic boxes that likely contained more medical stuff.
 
As her senses slowly returned, she was able to fidget more with her constraints. Eventually, the commotion caused the heart monitor attached to her finger to dislodge and set the machine beeping. It didn’t take long for someone to respond.
 
The door opened clumsily, needing the person on the outside to give it a few shoves. A very quick prefab.
 
The stranger entered the room clothed in red smock. It was tied neatly at the stomach with a sash and his hands were covered by a pair of white surgical gloves. His face was also covered. The mask was white porcelain, smoothed and chalk-like. From within Clear could just make out two piercing blue eyes staring out. The man also kept his head covered, concealed by a red hood from the smock. Though his pants were also red, his knee-high boots were white. The presentation was very neat, tidy and careful.
 
Clear tried to speak again, and though she managed to vocalise something resembling words, it was still garbled and sluggish.
 
Man in Red: “Do not bother.”
 
The man’s own voice sounded as though it wasn’t in the best condition either. It was raspy and broken, as though his vocal chords were shredded and ragged. She watched as he went to her leg. She had forgotten Grant had broken it, but now she could see the plastic cast on it. The man scanned it with a device.
 
Man in Red: “It will heal in time. You will likely have a limp.”
 
Clear felt a cold pit in her stomach develop. A limp? How long would that last? Her whole life?
 
Man in Red: “Stop moving.”
 
She was squirming from panic.
 
Man in Red: “The flesh will heal faster.”
 
He had moved around her gurney and picked up the pulse monitor, but she then saw the hole in her arm, like a chunk had been gouged.
 
Clear: “What?”
 
She managed to gasp out a single-syllable word.
 
Man in Red: “I took samples for research. Your DNA is important to my employer, so I have taken several significant samples in advance. I expect Tiberion will want to carve the rest of you himself.”
 
She started squirming again.
 
Man in Red: “Stop moving. You have nowhere to go. Beyond this small box are members of the Crystal Bounty Hunters. I am only here to ensure you make it to my employer in one piece.”
 
From his words, she deduced that he was not a bounty hunter, but worked for Tiberion directly.
 
Clear: “Who?”
 
Man in Red: “Me? It would be pointless to tell you that…”
 
He had reattached the monitor and was checking her vitals.
 
Man in Red: “My name is Yuri Karnak. Biologist. You could probably guess for yourself I am a geneticist. Frankly speaking, I do not believe you were worth all this trouble. You are clearly just very fortunate and, I should say, tenacious. I doubt your DNA has anything to do with your survivability. You will be one more discarded attempt at the end of all this.”
 
Clear: “Fuck… you…”
 
Yuri Karnak: “Did that make you feel better?”
 
She wished she could at least see the expression on his face. The blank face was unnerving.
 
Yuri Karnak: “Still. Some of this is useful for my own research at least. It appears the regenerative qualities of Martians is better than most humanoid beings. Nothing outstanding, but given the similarities of your kind to humans, it could prove more compatible with splicing…”
 
He seemed to be talking more to himself now.
 
Yuri Karnak: “You will remain here for some time yet. I need to ensure your leg had started to heal before I move you. Then you will be transported to orbit. I suggest you make your peace with whatever deity you pray to.”
 
The only deity she would be praying to was the god-of-kicking-your-ass-soon-as-I’m-loose.

The small box-room and its medical equipment began to feel like a constant in the days of Clear’s confinement. The only interruptions to the stale dogma of her days were visits by the red-clad Yuri Karnak. He would arrive to provide to check her vitals. Though he was relatively uncommunicative, she came to understand that most of the data on her was being processed and analysed elsewhere. Beyond the door to her cage seemed to be some kind of compound, where the Crystal Bounty Hunters were. She did sometimes hear them talking just beyond the door, but she couldn’t make out much beyond complaints on how long it was taking for transport to arrive.
 
She was bound to the bed, full of tubes that were both keeping her nutrients up and dealing with the waste from the fluids. Whatever was being flushed into her body was keeping her languid and physically comfortable, but mentally she was in anguish. After the days rolled by, hours-upon-hours, she was furious at the tedium. She did nothing, could do nothing, and that was driving her to frustration even more than the fear of what was going to happen next. A few times she managed to cause a ruckus by flailing about, but it took a lot of effort and the result was just Yuri Karnak, with his blank mask, rearranging the tubes.
 
She was able to yell out a few times too, but nobody paid any attention. Her mind went through rescue scenarios; she imagined Eos, with an entire regiment of police from Saffron 5, bust the door in and free her; Dark Lancer, the kooky old bastard, tore a hole in the wall with his laser sword and they both then battle their way to freedom from the compound; Lomond Manse, the old rogue, shows up like an action movie hero with guns firing everywhere and saves her for a lucrative bounty issued by some benefactor; an army of Pashna’s automatons use their mechanical strength to smash through the compound and beat the living daylights out of the bounty hunters; Quiet, the mysterious green-skinned devra, manages to sneak in, break her bonds and they slink off in the night, avoiding search lights and sniffer-animals; her old friends, Green, Pully, Thrain, Ltexi, Ffion, Kokoro – they all arrive in a ship to bring her back; she even thought about the good-looking doctor, Cillian Hughes, swooping in like a handsome romance novel hero.
 
But none materialised. She was captive and alone.
 
The day of transportation arrived.
 
She heard Yuri Karnak speaking to someone outside about unexpected delays, bad weather, missing personnel and other fluke occurrences, but everything should go smoothly now. She was to be transported to a spacecraft in orbit of Mars, where their employer, Tiberion Asclepiodotus himself, was waiting. Clear expected that she would be untethered from the bed and marched to a shuttle. Unattached from the bed, and the tubes of inhibitors, she thought she might make a valiant attempt at escape. However, after a brief visit from Karnak, the door to her room was firmly shut and then she heard further sounds of what sounded like bolting. She was locked in.
 
Then the room shook. She could hear the faint noise of a craft outside, but she determined that the sound was significantly reduced from before. The box-room, this container, was to be transported whole, with her inside, into space. Inwardly she was panicking, but she could only manage to roll her head around in desperation. The ride was smoother than she would have thought, barely noticing the tremors of wind resistance. She supposed there must be some form of shield technology wrapping the container, which would also explain the diminished noises of the exterior world.
 
She tried to count the passing of time and rounded it to thirty minutes before there was a horrifying clang from above. Then a gut-wrenching clunk and a violent shuddering. The rumbling rattled the medical equipment and she got the very immediate impression that the container, and its contents, were in freefall. The shield was still in place, dampening the effects of inertia on her and the equipment, so she wasn’t sent sprawling across the room, but everything was, slowly, shifting upwards and to the right. She squirmed as much as she could, but to no avail.
 
Then the sudden stop. It jerked the box and everything inside to such an extent that the inertia dampener wasn’t able to stop the bed slamming into the wall and toppling over. Her face slammed into the cold, metal floor so hard she started bleeding from the nose. Had the shield not been in place, she would have been splattered to the four walls without a doubt.
 
Disorientated from drugs and the bash to the head, she found she was able to pull some of the tubes from her veins by hooking them to the bed and, with some encumbrance, rolled herself over. As she did so, she felt a hot flush through her body, the cold liquids no longer pumping into her, as well as some clarity of mind and awareness. She coughed and breathed deep, as though tasting air for the first time. She became lightheaded, and she felt a sudden tightening of hunger in her stomach, but she had presence of mind enough to try to crawl to the door. She managed to draw herself up to it and push the weight of her body up against it so that she was in a seated position, back against the metal. She sat there a while, panting with the effort of combating the lingering effects of the depressive drugs in her system. Then, abruptly, she yelped out aloud as the door swung open and she fell backwards.
 
The sunlight struck her eyes like a flashbang, but she could feel water spilling over her and into the room. She started to roll over, but then felt hands upon her, tugging at her. With great effort, she struggled against them and even tried to bite a hand, but could only manage a kind of nibbling on the palm of the man’s hand.
 
Voice: “I know you must be hungry, but I really wouldn’t taste good.”
 
Clear did not recognise the voice at all, though she was still confused and overwhelmed by everything going on.
 
Voice: “Actually, maybe I would taste nice? I think someone once told me people taste like pork. I suppose he would know, he was a human-eating giant.”
 
Through bleary-eyes, she could see a human man – a stranger to her – looking down at her. His face was sympathetic, clearly empathising with her plight, and she felt he was, at least for now, worth trusting to help her. They were on the bank of a lake. The water must have taken some of the impact of the landing, else even the shield wouldn’t have stopped her from being squished by the sudden stop. He helped her to her feet, though she was still wobbly and he had to support her as they waded to shore. Once there, she fell to her knees, shaking from the adrenaline and terror.
 
Voice: “I don’t think we should stay here, Ms Clear.”
 
She wanted to berate him for stating the obvious, but still couldn’t manage to speak coherently. She was also disturbed that he knew her name. But then he held out a protein bar to her and she snatched it without question. It was down her throat so fast she coughed.
 
Voice: “Feel any better?”
 
Clear: “Who…?”
 
Voice: “You mean me? My name is Mantle. It’s nice to meet you, Ms Clear. I came to ask for your help.”
 
Clear looked at him as though his head just transformed into a turnip, then at the crashed container that had been headed for space and probable death, then back to him… and he wanted her help?

She stumbled and staggered along with Mantle supporting her as they went. She had to make it up a small hillock that led away from the lake and the container, which she felt was staring after her like a hunter watching its prey. Mantle wasn’t buff, but he was fit and strong and easily held her weight, even uphill. He appeared to be a beige-skinned human, or ‘white’ as they were usually known, with bright blonde hair. The hair was long, draped over either shoulder and blown back – looking like he had stepped off of the set of an Earth movie with perfect, billowing locks – but had dark, brown eyes in contrast. She believed he was middle-aged for a human, but Clear was notoriously bad at figuring out how old humans were by their appearance. She generally went with any of them less than four feet was a child and any of them with more wrinkles than a scrunched up crisp packet was old. Everything else was somewhere in the middle.
 
When on even ground again, she saw that her benefactor had brought his own hovercar. It was definitely not a rental, but he also didn’t look like someone that had spent a lot of time on Mars, so how he came by such a nice vehicle, she had no idea. But she also didn’t want to question her good fortune, either. All the delays in her transport, then the drop, the shield, the lake and he shows up, knowing her name, and with an escape vehicle in place – she felt she was in some kind of grand plot in one of those heist movies she watched years ago with Green. Sea’s Nine, or something like that.
 
She half-scrambled, was half-escorted, into the back seat, where she lay in a mess of exhaustion. The vehicle bobbed a little as he got into the driving seat. He didn’t ask where she wanted to go, he just started driving away from the scene of her captivity. The gentle hum of the vehicle and the wind rushing over her started to bring her back to her senses, but she half-dozed for an hour, drifting in and out of warped dreams, before she felt strong enough to sit up.
 
Clear: “Where are we?”
 
Mantle looked around.
 
Mantle: “Mars? I thought you would have known that.”
 
She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head.
 
Clear: “I’m not in the mood for sarcasm.”
 
They were passing several great lakes, and smaller lakes, in quick succession, so she made the logical leap they were probably in the Lake District. This was a general term that encompassed a huge swathe of the north of the continent where the natural lakes were most densely located. At some point in Martian history, the area would have been under sea level, but as the waters receded over the last million years, the water trapped by the shape of the land wound up creating the plethora of lakes found there. Which part of the Lake District they were in, she couldn’t tell, but she guessed they were either in southern Cydonia, or eastern Xanthe. If they were in northern Cydonia, they would surely see signs of the Chryse Gulf, part of the Acidalian Sea, and if they were anywhere else but eastern Xanthe, the lakes would be replaced by the myriad of rivers and streams that region was famous for. There were other parts of Mars with plenty of lakes, but she had to try to make sense of something and knowing her own world was one thing she could hold onto while her brain reorganised itself into sensible coherence.
 
Clear: “Where are you taking me?”
 
Mantle: “Honestly, that was going to be my question for you.”
 
Clear: “You want me to drive? We’ll end up in one of those lakes.”
 
He laughed. It was a pleasant little chuckle, but his smile was bright and open, with nothing held back, in genuine amusement.
 
Mantle: “I meant you can tell me where to go. I really do need your help. I need to find something.”
 
Clear: “Is that what you tell all the girls?”
 
He actually blushed and stammered with surprise, even at this tiny joke. She started to think maybe he was younger than she had guessed.
 
Mantle: “I meant—I wasn’t suggesting—”
 
Clear: “This is painful to watch.”
 
He paused.
 
Mantle: “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
 
Clear: “I’ve been a solitary prisoner for – however many days. I’ll take the opportunity to joke at your expense while I can.”
 
Mantle: “Well, if it makes you feel better…”
 
Clear: “Trying to make me feel guilty?”
 
Mantle: “No! I really do—”
 
He glanced back and saw Clear shaking her head at him.
 
Mantle: "Teasing me again. Exactly how much bullying am I in for?”
 
Clear: “A lot. But for now, I’ll settle for knowing who you are.”
 
Mantle: “Mantle.”
 
Clear: “So now you’re teasing me?”
 
Mantle: “There’s not really much else to tell you. My name is Mantle, I’m from a place called Coaleashion and grew up with my Uncle Eq—”
 
Clear: “I didn’t expect to get your whole backstory.”
 
Mantle: “Um… so recent history?”
 
Clear: “Let’s just jump straight to, why are you helping me and how the hell you know my name?”
 
Mantle glanced back at her.
 
Mantle: “Well, you are very red.”
 
Clear: “The teasing only goes one way in this relationship.”
 
Mantle: “Understood, ma’am.”
 
Clear: “Damn right.”
 
Mantle: “But you are conspicuous. Anyone that wants to learn about Mars will know about the last Martian. Ambassador on the Cosmic Nullius. There are photographs, you know?”
 
Clear: “Why don’t I believe you?”
 
Mantle: “I don’t know, why don’t you believe me?”
 
Clear: “Why should I believe you?”
 
Mantle: "I have a trustworthy face?”
 
Clear: “You have a very punchworthy face.”
 
Mantle: "Wait, I do?”
 
He looked shocked for a moment before he saw the look on Clear’s face.
 
Mantle: “Teasing me again. I think, of the two of us, so far, I am the more trustworthy.”
 
Clear: “I can’t argue with that, but I still don’t believe you.”
 
Mantle: “Well…”
 
Clear: “And didn’t you say you needed my help? Specifically, my help?”
 
Mantle: “Well, I did come here to find you, yes.”
 
Clear: “Who are you working for?”
 
Mantle: "Working for? Myself?”
 
Clear: "Never heard the name Tiberion Asclepiodotus?”
 
Mantle: “That is a mouthful.”
 
Clear: “That’s what she said! Ha!
 
Mantle: "What? Oh! Oh right… I get it…”
 
She could hardly believe how bashful he was, even at such an immature joke. Yet, despite this immaturity and seeming openness, she felt he was holding a lot back from her.
 
Clear: “Hold on, let me get up there.”
 
Mantle: “Get up where? Oh!”
 
She started to clamber over the top of the passenger seat from the back. She was still groggy and felt sluggish, so her usual nimble spriteliness was dulled to the point that she half-climbed and half-fell into the seat.
 
Clear: “How did you find me?”
 
She started fiddling with her hair. It had gotten into an awful state over the past few days and was greasy and knotted from not being washed. Luckily it was usually kept in a plait, which prevented it from getting too rugged. She freed the locks of their confines and ran her fingers through it, shaking and loosening it.
 
Mantle: “Well… that’s a bit difficult to explain to you. I just… I was looking for you, then found you and helped you.”
 
She then glared at him. Either he was a very good actor, or his flustering was genuine.
 
Mantle: “I just—what really matters is where we’re going, right?”
 
Clear: “Or, how about you stop this vehicle and I get out and never see you again? That sounds like a better plan.”
 
Mantle: “Um… if I say please?”
 
Clear: “With sugar and sprinkles on top?”
 
Mantle: "Absolutely!”
 
Clear: "Still no. Stop the car.”
 
Mantle: "But, we’re in the middle of—”
 
Clear: “I said stop!”
 
The hovercar skidded to a halt, kicking up the red Martian dust underneath the plate-shaped vehicle.
 
Clear: “Huh, you actually did it.”
 
Mantle: “Should I not have? Were you teasing me again?”
 
Clear: “You should have, I just expected you not to.”
 
Mantle: “Do you really distrust me that much?”
 
Clear: “Yes.”
 
Mantle: "I’m… sorry. I don’t know what I did seem like such a bad person…”
 
Clear: “I was just kidnapped by a guy that took a pound of my flesh and wanted to send me into space to meet a crazy geneticist that wants my parts to create some kind of genetic monster. So yes, it will take a lot for me to just start trusting some random guy.”
 
Mantle: “Right. Of course. I’m sorry, this must have all been a terrible experience for you. But I did help to save you, right? I really am not working for this Tiberion person, I really am looking for your help. I just have this… ability to… see things.”
 
Clear: “I think the line was ‘I see dead people’.”
 
Mantle: “You see—what?”
 
She rolled her eyes.
 
Clear: “It’s a human movie.”
 
Mantle: "I mean more like I am good at seeing where things are and where they will be...”
 
She pushed the door open and stepped out. She found she was steady on her feet again and jogged on the spot to check the feeling in her legs. She felt sore, aching – which was better than not feeling much of anything for days of inhibiting drugs. She rolled her neck to get some feeling into her muscles and then flipped her hair about to get some life back into it. She groaned to herself when she felt it flop like a lump.
 
Clear: “Gross.”
 
Mantle: “Your hair isn’t gross, it’s beautiful.”
 
Clear: “Are you flirting with me?”
 
Mantle: “What? No! I wouldn’t—teasing me again.”
 
Clear: “I can’t figure out what your game is.”
 
Mantle: “Game? I like playing chess.”
 
Clear frowned at him.
 
Mantle: "That was a joke.”
 
Clear: “I couldn’t tell if you were joking or if you’re a dumbass.”
 
Mantle: “Can’t I be both?”
 
He grinned at her, looking even more of a fool. She feared he was going to break out into dad jokes next.
 
Clear: “I need you to be straight with me.”
 
Mantle: “Well, I—”
 
Clear held a hand up to him.
 
Clear: “Don’t make a joke about being heterosexual or whatever.”
 
Mantle: “Huh? Oh. Haha, I wish I had thought of that one.”
 
Clear: “Well, I suggest you hurry up and give me the details of why you need my help, or I am going to walk away now.”
 
She looked around. They really were in the middle of nowhere and she did not like the idea of randomly roaming around the lakes in hopes of finding something resembling civilisation, dead as said civilisation was.
 
Mantle: “I am looking for something and I think you might be able to help me find it. Really, you are my only lead.”
 
Clear: “You just said you are really good at finding things, and where they’ll be even.”
 
Mantle: “Oh right. The thing I need to find… I can’t find it.”
 
Clear: “I am so out of here. Putting up with Dark Lancer’s shenanigans was one thing, but after all that crap with the bounty hunters and Karnak and space geneticists, I have no patience for whatever bullshit you’re pulling.”
 
As she turned away from him, he panicked and hopped out of the car.
 
Mantle: “Clear, Clear, wait, wait. I’ll—try to explain. I just… I just don’t want you to be in more danger just because of me. If I explain everything about myself to you, you might get involved in trouble you don’t need. But I really am begging for your help.”
 
She was still marching off and he hurried after her.
 
Mantle: “I have this kind of ability to see things.”
 
Clear: “You said that.”
 
Mantle: "Well, if I explain it to you like if you imagine a tapestry made of threads. That’s kind of how I see the universe. The universe is a tapestry and the bits inside it are the threads of the tapestry. How they weave together is how I can, like I said, find things. Like I found you. I saw your thread and… helped you.”
 
They reached the nearest lake. It was small, but deep, and the water was very clear. Because of the red soil within, the water had a red sheen in the daylight.
 
Clear: “So why do you need my help to find this thing?”
 
She tugged her boots off. Her bare, red feet touched the dust and she scrunched her toes in it, feeling the solid particles stroke her sore soles. She felt very dirty and saw even her feet had rough dirty marks on them.
 
Mantle: “I can’t. I mean, the thing I am searching for, I can’t see its thread.”
 
Clear: “How convenient.”
 
Mantle: “Well, no! It’s very inconvenient, honestly!”
 
He paused as her meaning ran into his brain.
 
Mantle: “Oh, you mean because you don’t trust me. Well… I don’t really know what else I can say? I told you the truth.”
 
Clear put a foot into the lake, the cold snapped through her, but it came as a great relief against the aches. She put the second foot in and started tugging her jacket off.
 
Clear: “Why would knowing this thread-stuff put me in danger?”
 
Mantle: “Well, there—oh, are you going to bathe? Sorry! You should have said, I would’ve—”
 
He turned swiftly away from her, but Clear just tutted.
 
Clear: “I’m not just going to get naked in front of you. We’re not in a romcom.”
 
Mantle: “Oh. I don’t know what a ron con is.”
 
Clear ignored that and strode into the cold waters, still wearing her outfit sans boots and jacket. The clothes were just as dirty, so some water would help get some of the grime off of those too. But she mostly wanted to ease some of the physical stress and weariness her body was under. She bobbed her head under the water and her hair flowed gently with the motion. When she surfaced against she rubbed her face, sensing the grime falling from her cheeks.
 
Mantle: “There are people that don’t like me because of what I can do. I don’t think you’re one of them, but the more you know about it, then I think people might target you to get to me. I just… I don’t want to seem unfriendly, I just don’t want to see you get into trouble because of me.”
 
Clear: “You heard me tell you about being kidnapped, tortured and almost shipped off to space, right? I’m already in danger. It sort of follows me wherever I go.”
 
Mantle: “I did see that.”
 
Clear: “What?”
 
Mantle: “The threads around you, it’s all very chaotic.”
 
Clear: “You’re telling me you can see, what, my life in these threads? I thought it was just where people are.”
 
Mantle was on edge again.
 
Mantle: “Not—well—Yes, I guess. I can see… things happening in the threads, not just where you are. I saw where you were, captured, and what their plan for you was, and where they were going to take you, how they would do it, the whole process really.”
 
Clear: “So, because you could see those threads, you knew that the container was going to malfunction and drop? So you knew where I’d land?”
 
Mantle hesitated.
 
Clear: “Don’t lie to me, Mantle.”
 
She thrust a finger at him, accidentally splashing water at him too.
 
Mantle: “I may have… done that…”
 
Clear: “… you’re going to tell me you can change these threads?”
 
Mantle: “A little tweak here and there. I started by making things happen to delay their plan, I thought maybe I could come and free you, but then I saw the whole plan of theirs and decided it would be easiest to make the connection between the container and their shuttle break—”
 
Clear: “And sending me plummeting into that lake. You really thought that was the best plan!?”
 
Mantle threw his hands towards her, encompassing her visage.
 
Mantle: “Yes! You’re here, alive and free!”
 
Clear: “You could’ve killed me!”
 
Mantle: “No, no, no. I would have seen the thread for you dying. I knew you’d be safe.”
 
Clear: “Why do I not feel reassured?”
 
Mantle: “Because you still don’t trust me?”
 
Clear: “Can’t you see that in these—“
 
She lifted her fingers to form air quotations.
 
Clear: “—‘threads’ of yours?”
 
Mantle: “It would be rude to look.”
 
Clear: “I’m not naked, I told you!”
 
Mantle: "I mean, to look at your threads like that. I… I’ve learnt to be… respectful, whenever I can. I won’t pry into all the details about you, your life and all that. I can see there’s a lot there, but I won’t touch anything unless necessary. I tried to help people before and give them better lives but… they told me… well, I just try not to interfere so much these days. I just want to find these Seals.”
 
Clear looked at him doubtfully. She had met a great many odd people with odd abilities throughout her experiences over the past few years. She met space wizards, girls that could make plant monsters, void police, even supposed gods. She usually found that these abilities might appear to one person to be one way, but someone else would interpret them in another way. There was even some that believed existence was one big story and they would probably judge Mantle’s ability as reading the pages of that story, or reading plot points or something. If he could somehow predict and influence the future, he may well see it as threads. Or perhaps he was just very lucky to be around. Luck was one thing she was increasingly becoming a firm believer of and she had high doses of the bad kind.
 
Clear: “Fine, I’ll bite.”
 
Mantle: “Oh, sorry, yes, you’re probably still hungry. I do have—”
 
Clear: “It’s a phrase. I mean, tell me. What’s the Seal thing you want.”
 
Mantle: “Oh! Like a fish biting the hook! I get it! That’s a clever one.”
 
Clear: “The Seal?”
 
Mantle: “Well—”
 
Clear: "Wait. I want that protein bar.”
 
Mantle: “Oh! Right!”
 
He tossed the bar to her. It soared through the air and she expected it to land straight in the water, but, to her great fortune, it landed straight into her open palm.
 
Clear: “Huh.”
 
Mantle: “As for the Seal, that’s the really tricky part. I actually don’t know what it looks like, where it is, if you even have it or have seen it, or if it’s even on this planet at all.”
 
Clear spoke, through a mouthful of granola.
 
Clear: “Good plan, hot shot.”
 
Mantle: “But you are still my only lead at all. I believe the moment that it could have arrived on Mars is exactly the same time as you.”
 
Clear: “You know I’m Martian, right?”
 
Mantle: “I mean, when you arrived last. When… The Hopeful vanished.”
 
Clear stared at him. She was shocked, but also annoyed, as though him merely uttering the name was some great offence to her. But she couldn’t help but bite on that hook once again.
 
Clear: “You mean destroyed. It went into the sun.”
 
Mantle: “Oh? You thought it went into the sun? No! It jumped at the last moment. The Hopeful is still out there.”
 
Clear dropped the granola bar into the lake.

Clear trudged towards the parked vehicle, her wet clothing slapping and sloshing, leaving wet puddles in her wake. Mantle scuttled after her in some surprise.
 
Mantle: “You have an idea where to go?”
 
Clear: “I’m going to Saffron 5.”
 
Mantle: "Good idea. The Seal could easily have wound up there. But, could you be more specific?”
 
Clear: “I’m going to Saffron 5 so I can get to The Unbroken and find The Hopeful.”
 
Mantle: “But-!”
 
Clear: “I don’t care about your magical wotsit. You told me my ship is out there, and nothing will stop me from getting it back. That’s my home.”
 
Clear got into the driver's seat and turned the hover engine on, closing the door behind her, leaving Mantle outside the vehicle looking like a lost puppy. She paused.
 
Clear: “I’ll drive you to Saffron 5.”
 
Mantle: “That is my vehicle, you know?”
 
Clear: "And you can have it back when we get to Saffron 5.”
 
Mantle’s face set and he ran around the back of the car to get into the passenger seat. Clear took off, at high speed, across the dusty Martian landscape. Mantle turned to her.
 
Mantle: “I’ll make you a deal.”
 
Clear: “No.”
 
Mantle: “But you don’t know what the deal is!”
 
Clear: “Don’t care. I’m leaving. Nothing will stop me.”
 
Mantle: “I can find your ship.”
 
Clear: “You’re threatening me now?”
 
Mantle: "What? No! I mean I can find The Hopeful for you. I can take you straight to it.”
 
Clear glanced at him. Then a mask of frustration crossed her face.
 
Clear: “Or you can just tell me now.”
 
Mantle: “I… please, Ms Clear? I know the ship must be important to you, but finding this Seal is just as important to me. You are my one and only lead to finding it. If you could help me, I want to… use the Seal to help people. You’d be doing a good thing for many people, not just me. I know you’re a good person.”
 
Clear: “You can’t guilt trip me.”
 
Mantle: “I’m not trying to. I just… I want to spend my life making a positive impact on the universe. No matter how great or small. The Seal, I hope, will let me do that. I promise I will help you too.”
 
Clear held her lips tightly, trying to be stubborn, but it finally relented and she groaned with annoyance and capitulation.
 
Clear: “You are added to my list of very annoying people.”
 
Mantle: “It’s a very long list, isn’t it?”
 
Clear laughed along with him. She shook her head, but was also feeling good about the future. Her beloved home was out there, waiting for her to return and Mantle was a guidance system that could get her there.
 
Clear: “Where do we go to first?”
 
Mantle: “That’s up to you, isn’t it? If the Seal arrived here on Mars almost the same time as you, could it have come with you? How did you get here? A ship?”
 
Clear pondered that. There was a lot of very weird stuff on The Hopeful, a lot of secrets and depths that she had only just started to uncover before it appeared to blast to bits in the sun. It was conceivable to her that the Seal, whatever it looked like, could have been on The Hopeful… and come down to Mars with her. She tried to focus events in her mind. She tried not to think of those days, the end of The Hopeful and the dissolution of her friend-circle. She had wallowed in her misery ever since then and hadn’t talked about it.
 
Clear: “At the end… when… Mother sacrificed herself…”
 
Mantle: “Your mother?”
 
Clear: “This is so awkward… No. Not my mother-mother. Mother, the A.I. of The Hopeful who… also had a body that imitated the appearance of my mother…”
 
He said nothing.
 
Clear: “No sarcastic remark?”
 
Mantle: “Definitely not. You said it was awkward for you, and it sounds awkward. I feel awkward. So… you have my respectful silence.”
 
Clear: “That sounded like a sarcastic remark.”
 
Mantle: “Unintentional.”
 
Clear: “Well, a crazed grey tried to terraform Earth and kill its entire population, using the terraformer on The Hopeful. And so, she had to be destroyed. So I thought.”
 
Mantle: “A very noble sacrifice.”
 
Clear: “That also sounded like a sarcastic remark.”
 
Mantle scrunched up his face in anxiety.
 
Mantle: “Sorry. You have my respectful silence.”
 
Clear: “But there were a lot of people on the ship. A lot of… friends.”
 
Mantle smiled, but didn’t look at her.
 
Clear: “They all abandoned ship. All of them came down to Mars. Now, most have left the planet. I don’t think most of them even know I’m still alive.  This Seal could have come down to Mars with any one of them. But there is one still here, and isn’t going anywhere. So he’s our best place to start your search.”
 
Mantle: “Thank you, Ms Clear. I am sincerely grateful. What is your friend’s name? I can scout ahead.”
 
Clear: “Scout ahead?”
 
Mantle: “I can follow your thread into the future, but I don’t want to poke around indiscriminately.”
 
Clear: “Kara Pashna. Or Pashna. He was a kara from his homeworld.”
 
Mantle seemed to stare off into the distance, not looking at her or anything around them – just staring off at nothing, seeing something beyond. Then he frowned in obvious confusion.
 
Mantle: “Very strange. I can’t fully understand his thread. It’s like… it’s… well, like it is one of the rare threads I’m not able to interact with. I can see it, but it’s unclear. Not fully whole. Touched by something…”
 
Clear: “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But he was certainly touched by fate or destiny or probability or however you put it. He’s like me, the last of his kind.”
 
Mantle: “That is unfortunate. What happened?”
 
Clear: “His world was destroyed. Erased from existence. I was there. One minute Indra was there, then… it wasn’t.”
 
Mantle turned to her with some surprise on his face.
 
Mantle: “Huh!”
 
Clear: “What?”
 
Mantle: “I’m starting to wonder if someone is manipulating my thread! Ha!”

Mantle: “One of my goals is to see if I could somehow alter the fate of that doomed world. It was, like you say, erased from existence with a power so… unpowerful? Anti-powerful. Whatever way you put it, I can’t seem to interact with it, even in the past when it did exist.”
 
Clear: “You mean you want to try to bring it back?”
 
Mantle: “I would like to, if I could!”
 
Clear drew a breath. Then released.
 
Clear: “You are walking a minefield of morality there, you lunatic.”
 
Mantle: “I think it’s kind of simple, myself? A planet full of people murdered. Or… unexisted. Language gets tricky when you get all metaphysical.”
 
Clear: “Do you remember that human station I mentioned? Saffon 5? Do you think that would exist if my people were still alive?”
 
Mantle: “I could check the threads and see for certain if—okay, you mean, hypothetically, the station wouldn’t be there if your people were here.”
 
Clear: “Exactly. And before you say, ‘what is a station worth compared to people’, how many people have been born on Mars since the humans came here? They didn’t choose it, they were born into it. Should they be erased for the return of my people?”
 
Mantle: “I would have thought you would be all for it?”
 
Clear: “Secretly, I am. Or not so secretly. If I had your power, and you can really do what you say, then yeah, I’d bring them back in a damn instant. But I also know that’s because I’m a selfish, broken fool… And the consequences be damned. You, on the other hand, you aren’t thinking of it because you want someone you love to come back, you want to fix things. I’ve met plenty of people like you. Want to fix everything so everyone is happy. Fact is, you can’t. It’s impossible. What makes one person happy, makes another person unhappy. I like punching stormtroopers… they don’t like it when I punch them.”
 
Mantle: “Surely a world of people--?”
 
Clear shrugged.
 
Clear: “Hey, what do I know? We have humans on my planet for a couple of generations now. Who knows what has taken the place of Indra? Maybe not today, but centuries or more down the line, Indrans existing could negatively change conditions for others, right? So what will you do?”
 
Mantle: “Well I—”
 
Clear: “Try to fix it. Again. You fix that. Then something else needs fixing because you did that. You’ll never stop, and you’ll have to make a choice between making someone happy and depriving the happiness of another. Do what you want, fate master, I’m just saying, I know where that road leads.”
 
Mantle: “I’m not a fate ma—urgh. Why do people always complain when all I want to do is help?”
 
Clear: “Some people just want to be left alone, you know? Not have some busybody poking around in their… threads.”
 
Mantle: “I saved you, remember? Wasn’t that good?”
 
Clear: “For me? Sure! For those mercenaries? Not so much. And who knows, saving me, I may snap and go on a kill crazy rampage and kill all the humans! Humans must die!”
 
Mantle: “I just want to help.”
 
Clear: “You do you, fate master. But if you show up one day, crying because you messed up and, like, broke the universe or something, then be prepared for the biggest ‘I told you so’ you have ever heard.”
 
She turned the vehicle, blasting up a large cloud of smoke in its wake.
 
Clear: “Besides, maybe some things are better off broken. I think they call it character building. And there’s always alcohol!”

In the distance were soft, glowing lights of habitation, but they weren’t enough to illuminate the dark shadow that concealed the dark, night sky. Looking very ominous in an otherwise empty landscape, the details sharpened as the hovercar drew ever closer. What had been black, blank silhouettes were now the Indran trees that wooded the area around Pashna’s home in the remains of Clear’s old Bug. Clear, used to the endless plains of Mars, found the trees both wonderous and scary. The glowing lights turned out to be the cocoons of the light bugs she had seen before. The light flickered as the creatures flew about the inside of their little home, giving an ethereal quality to the light that splashed across the trees and skyglass floors.
 
Clear slowed the hovercar as they drew up to the edge of the wood, and called, as she exited the vehicle;
 
Clear: “Kara Pashna! It’s me, it’s Clear!”
 
Mantle opened his door and slipped out of the passenger seat, marvelling at the tiny utopia on the surface of Mars. He started stroking one of the trees. Clear ignored him being weird.
 
From the small path emerged Pashna himself.
 
Clear: “Pashn—ack! Where are your pants!?”
 
He glanced down, just realising he wasn’t wearing any.
 
Pashna: “Oops! Sorry. My society didn’t hold many scruples about being nude, and you come up in the middle of the night! I was asleep.”
 
Clear: “I would apologise, but flashing your Indran todger at me cancels out the offense.”
 
Pashna: “Not sure that’s how that works. But come on in.”
 
He turned from them, flashing his pale butt cheeks at them.
 
Clear: “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
 
Mantle: “He seems nice!”
 
Clear: “Why can’t I have normal friends?”
 
Mantle: “We’re friends now?”
 
Clear: “I definitely was not talking about you.”
 
Mantle: "Now I am very sad.”
 
Clear: "I have enough friends as it is.”
 
Mantle: "I count just this one?”
 
Clear: "That is already too many.”
 
They trekked through the little wood to the shelter that had been partially carved from the rocky land and the remnants of the old carrier ship. One of the automatons stood at the doorway, its joints jerking about like a puppet on strings, as it cleaned the wall. Inside they found a small firepit on its final embers, and around it were some makeshift armchairs and a ratty, old sofa. Clear leant down and took her shoes off and motioned for Mantle to do the same. Bemused, he did so, surprised by the custom, but obliging.
 
Clear sat down on the sofa and slumped into its well-worn, very soft cushions. She threw her head back against the rear of the seat and closed her eyes. Then she felt Mantle sit next to her.
 
Clear: “…dude.”
 
Mantle: “Me?”
 
Clear: "All these chairs and you choose to sit right next to me?”
 
Mantle: "Oh. Is that not the custom?”
 
Clear slowly forced her head back up, knowing she wasn’t going to be able to sleep through the inevitable conversation between Mantle and Pashna. She stared at the back of Mantle’s head – he was perched, rather than seated, on the edge of the sofa and his back erect and his eyes alert. She wished she could bore holes with her eyes.
 
Clear: “What are you doing?”
 
Mantle: “Waiting?”
 
Clear: "Why are you waiting like that?”
 
Mantle: “I don’t know what you mean.”
 
Clear: "Are you looking for your miracle doodad?”
 
Mantle: “It could be anything.”
 
Clear: "Could be this sofa—ack!”
 
Mantle was on his feet and yanking cushions off of it. Pashna walked in, holding cups of tea, saw the commotion and walked back out again. Still not wearing his pants.

Mantle stopped his erratic search and stood still.
 
Clear: “What are you doing now? Is it your—”
 
She wiggled her fingers.
 
Clear: “—tingly thing?”
 
Mantle: “The threads, yes. I should be able to find it in here.”
 
Clear: “I thought you said you couldn’t sense it?”
 
Mantle: “I can’t, but that just means I should be able to single it out. Kind of an absence, or warping, of threads.”
 
Clear: “If it turns out to be Pashna’s pants, I’ll be very upset.”
 
Mantle: “I hope not! That would mean he’d had an object of immeasurable power right against his—”
 
Clear: “Got the image. Thanks. An image I hope never to witness ever again.”
 
Mantle: “Um… there seems to be a problem.”
 
Clear: “…it’s the pants isn’t it?”
 
Mantle: “No. It’s… your fr—ah! Found it!”
 
He suddenly rushed across the room and tapped one of the skyglass tiles.
 
Mantle: “Sneaky.”
 
Clear: “It’s one of the tiles? But Pashna made those with the replicator.”
 
Mantle: “It disguises itself. It saw these tiles were being laid, turned itself into one. It would have sat here for years if we hadn’t found it!”
 
He got down on all fours and was careful prying it from the floor. She assumed he was manipulating the threads of the tile to loosen it, but not to such an extent to be dangerous. He was looking at it with such glee, she was actually happy for him.
 
Clear: “Now. The task is done. Information.”
 
Mantle: “Of course! But first, we need to go.”
 
Clear: “Why? We just got here!”
 
Mantle: “I was about to tell you—”
 
An explosion went off outside the Bug, and the shockwave sent the two of them reeling to the floor. Clear groaned and winced with the ringing in her ears. She wasn’t healed from her time spent under Yuri Karnak, and now she just felt drained. She looked up at Mantle, who was also getting to his feet, but seemed less hurt than she was.
 
Clear: “You didn’t see that coming!?”
 
Mantle: “I was trying to tell you, but, the Seal.”
 
Clear: “I hate you.”
 
The sound of gunfire erupted. Shots were being fired at the little oasis, but she could hear shots being fired back. She wobbled on her feet, steadied by a hand from Mantle, before she made her way through the rooms to find Pashna. He was peeking over a windowsill.
 
Clear: “What’s happening?”
 
Pashna: “My automatons have defence systems in them. But I don’t think they’re doing very well against whoever is out there…”
 
Clear: “Sorry, it’s my fault. As usual.”
 
Pashna: “I’m sure it is!”
 
He smirked at her.
 
Clear: “I’ll go and hopefully they’ll follow me, or at least enough of them will to leave you alone.
 
Pashna: “Are you sure? I will stand to the last, you know that?”
 
Clear: “I know that, but you have a divine quest, remember? I want to see my world alive again. I won’t be around for a while when I’m gone, Pashna. But I’ll send word.”
 
Pashna: “Take care, Clear.”
 
Mantle: “This way.”
 
Clear turned and saw Mantle at the exit.
 
Clear: “Through the front door!?”
 
Mantle: “Trust me. I see the threads.”
 
Clear: “I’m getting tired of all this mumbo-jumbo.”
 
She went after him and he grabbed her hand. They lurched outside and managed a few metres before a shout came up from the attackers. To their left were lights aimed at the woodland and the flashes of blaster fire – both projectiles and lasers. She also saw several vehicles parked, and when the shout was heard, those vehicles sprang to life.
 
Shots rained down around them. They were deliberately shooting at them, but not to kill them, she realised. Mantle moved them forward, jerked to the right as a blast nearly hit them, then back to the left. He got them to the hovercar, where they hunkered down, listening to the pitched whine of slugs against the metalwork. She knew they were now trying to cripple the vehicle.
 
Clear: “Well, you managed to get us to the car, which is about to become slag in a moment.”
 
Then, from the woodland, a small troop of automatons emerged and blocked the fire, returning their own. The mercenaries took cover. She couldn’t see it, but the reduced rate of fire told her it. Mantle opened the door to the hovercar and slid inside; she followed.
 
Clear: “I can drive.”
 
Mantle: “I have to.”
 
Clear: “My trust only goes so far, you know?”
 
Mantle booted up the engine and turned to look at her, his face placid.
 
Clear: “I really hate you.”
 
The hovercar stuttered and stalled and coughed its way to life.
 
Clear: “Hate might be too light a term. Loathe. I loathe you.”
 
The car set off, but it wasn’t long before the bounty hunters were in pursuit. Clear hoped that none stayed behind to harass Pashna. Even in perfect condition and peak performance, their hovercar was never going to outpace the machines that the hunters had acquired and Clear started panicking. They were gaining.