Once there, I help her carry the groceries she stuffed into her tote while she tends to her son.
“Kiran’s not back yet?” I ask, surprised.
“Your brother had a meeting with Esteban and Viktor. He’ll stop by tomorrow if he has anything important to tell you.”
“Okay. Tell him I said hi.”
After saying goodbye on her doorstep, I head home.
A white rabbit darts out from behind a pine. I stop my snowmobile and watch it disappear into its burrow. What a joy it is to share this world with animals—thanks to the Polarians, they were reintroduced to Mars alongside humans.
The local saying is‘Thank Ares!—Ares being the Greek name for the Roman god Mars. But really, the ones we should thank for the miracle of being alive here, alongside creatures from our original planet, are the Polarians. Mars has nothing to do with it—though it’s now our world, our home.
On a whim, I restart my engine and head toward the lake nine miles east. Last week, I spotted the snow lynx mom who set up her den nearby a few months ago—she’d finally let her kittens venture out. I want to check on them. Not to bother her, just snap a few photos. She’s seen me around enough to know I mean no harm.
When I reach the edge of the frozen lake, I park and get out. From the rear bag, I grab my camera with the powerful zoom. It’s practically glued to me—I’ve used it to collect plenty of “evidence” for Kiran and Esteban’s file.
No one ever questioned my sudden passion for photography. Unofficially, it lets me spy on the Palace from a distance. Officially, it provides local education centers with nature shots. We start teaching our kids early about the dangers out there—and wildlife is part of that, in all its beauty and savagery.
A faint movement to my right… There! A tiny ball of fur appears. Drawn first by scent, then curiosity, the lynx babies have emerged. They’ve plumped up since last time. A deepgrowl rumbles nearby—the mother’s way of warning me she’s watching and won’t tolerate any threat to her young. I stay perfectly still, giving her time to recognize me and calm down.
After a moment, she settles and returns to her kittens, keeping them close to the den.
Suddenly, she freezes, lifts her head, and sounds the alarm. Within seconds, they’re gone.
I look around, searching for what spooked her. Another predator? If it’s a bear or wolf, I shouldn’t linger—they won’t be as polite as this feline.
Then I see it… a flying object descending dangerously fast. A plane? No—it doesn’t look like the ones in old Earth movies. More like a spaceship. And it’s going to crash! Right here! Just a few dozen yards away!
I tense up, unsure what to do. Aside from the Polarian shuttles that brought humanity to Mars,nothinghas ever flown through the reddish skies of our new home. We’ve only seen such things in movies and old Earth archives.
The craft hits the ground—or rather, the frozen lake. The impact is violent, but the pilot’s clearly skilled. Instead of exploding on contact, the ship skids wildly across the flat surface all the way toward the base of the mountain.
The noise is deafening, and fragments scatter in its wake. For a moment, I fear nothing will stop it—it’ll smash into the mountainside. But it doesn’t. It crashes into a tiny island jutting from the lake, and its momentum abruptly halts.
I haven’t moved. I still don’t know what to do. I can’t warn Kiran. It’s getting late, and most people are already safe inside their housing units. This area’s on the mountain’s far side. I doubt anyone else saw what just happened.
Frozen in place, I watch the wreck. Did anyone survive? Who are they? Why come to Mars? Are they peaceful?
As questions race through my mind, a sudden sound tears me from my thoughts. A chillingcrack—the ice is breaking under the ship’s weight. It’s already starting to sink.
Horrified, I watch the catastrophe unfold. If anyone’s still alive, they’ll be dragged down with it.
With morbid fascination, I witness the disaster. The craft sinks slowly, then vanishes beneath the ice.
Only the howling wind remains. The thick white layer begins to reform in eerie silence. A few scattered fragments on the slick surface are all that’s left of the crash.
I’m about to hop back on my snowmobile when I spot something in the distance—right where the ship went under. A piece of debris? A bag?
As curious as those lynx kittens, Ihaveto investigate. I won’t risk crossing the fragile, freshly frozen lake—that’d be suicide.
Instead, I circle around, steering as close as I can along the shoreline.
The closer I get, the more I question what I’m seeing. It looks… like aperson. Could someone have made it out before the ship sank?
I finally stop the vehicle and decide to find out. I’m on the bank—maybe a hundred and sixty feet from the body.
Carefully, I step onto the ice. My boots are non-slip, so I’m not worried about falling. I’m more concerned about the ice’s true thickness.
