“Hermit crabs? That’s your idea of important?”
“No—the lesson in the file. Size matters! Did you know male crabs with longer penises are more likely to find a mate? A bigger, longer organ lets them mate from farther away, reducing the chance of losing their precious shell.”
I nearly choke laughing at Kiran’s horrified expression. He looks like he bit into a lemon.
I meet Prax’s mischievous gaze, and somehow… the future doesn’t seem so bleak. Heading into the snowy unknown with this male by my side? Almost feels… exhilarating.
“Go,” Prax tells Kiran. “Once you’re home, I’ll broadcast those photos your sister took on every screen in Cydonia. Your leaders will be too busy scrambling to notice you or your family. Oh, and take my dice. Get used to the symbols. Next time we play Ryu no Saikoro, it’ll be with those. And I won’t go easy on you.”
“Thanks,” Kiran says, eyes glassy. “I’ll return them in person. Good luck.”
We watch him ride off. It’s the first time we’ve ever been apart. I stand there, on my doorstep. The wind tugs at my hair as I stare at the shrinking silhouette of my brother. The sun’s already setting, bathing Mars in red-gold hues. My chest tightens. How many days, weeks, months will pass before I see him again? Before I see Meg or my sweet little nephew?
I think of our shared laughter, our wild dreams. Now I’m walking into the unknown. Leaving them behind. And it kills me.
Kiran turns back one last time, offers a sad smile. I return it, my throat too tight for words. So I just watch… until he’s gone.
I close my eyes. Exhale.
And silently promise him: I’ll think of you every day. I’ll send you strength, across the stars.
A single tear escapes.
Maybe that’s why Prax leans in and whispers:
“Don’t worry. When it comes to size, I always deliver. Whether we’re talking claws, reflexes… or other assets.”
17-Prax
I pack for our departure with speed and efficiency. My backpack already holds a change of clothes for both of us and a few nutrition bars I rescued from the Bakartia’s wreckage. I’ll keep both my weapons close at hand. To save space, I skip the water purifier—melted snow will do. I do, however, grab my mini solar oven. It'll help cook whatever prey I catch along the way. Of course, I don’t say any of this to my sensitive little Human, but if we don’t find anything else to eat, she’ll have to get used to meat. I figure it’ll go down easier cooked than raw.
“Here, take this,” I tell her, handing her the container. “Fill it with whatever you can from your greenhouse. Pick things that aren’t too fragile and are high in calories. And eat as much as you can right now, too.”
She studies me briefly, then nods and rushes off to her garden. I’m not entirely sure she’s realized we’ll both be riding her snowmobile—and space will be tight. She’s quick, though, and comes back with a wrinkled expression.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“I didn’t know what to bring! I packed a bit of everything that was ripe and wouldn’t take up too much space. This container’s way too small!” she grumbles.
“I could be wrong,” I tell her, trying to ease her mind, “but I think some of the temporary shelters between here and ArabiaTerra might have stocked gardens. I can’t promise anything, but it’s a possibility.”
She gives me a grateful smile. I mentally kick myself for not bringing up the whole meat issue—but hey, I’ll deal with that later. Time’s ticking, and we need to move out before full nightfall. Chances are that Vassili sends someone first thing tomorrow to finish Marjorie’s dirty work. I want to be far from here by then.
Before we left, I made sure to broadcast Neela’s photos across every screen in Cydonia. Weapons. Animal remains next to incinerators. That should give the colonists something to talk about and, hopefully, draw attention away from us for at least a day or two.
The snowmobile’s saddlebags are full, and I’ve strapped our sleeping pod on top. Now I just wait for Neela. She finally appears at the threshold with a small extra bag. I’m ready to protest until I recognize her medical satchel. Fair enough.
My little Human is all bundled up—good girl. She remembered we need to ride for at least two hours before stopping. The temperature has already dropped sharply, but the swirling winds have died down, which should make our journey easier. Plus, Phobos—the larger of Mars’s two moons—is bright enough to light our way.
I’ve studied our route carefully. I’ve got a good sense of direction when I’m on foot, but with this machine, I’ll need to stay sharp. We’ll have to navigate around obstacles the snowmobile can’t cross.
She pauses at the snowmobile and glances back at her house. I don’t want her eyes misting over again like earlier, so I call out,
“Come on, Purrsong, hop on and hold on tight. This is gonna be a Mars road trip like nothing you’ve ever known!”
She climbs on behind me, and I fire up the engine heading east. About 25 miles out, we’ll hit the edge of the Human-designated zone—and I have no intention of stopping before then.
An hour later, despite the cold burning through even our thermal gear, we’ve made it. Unlike downtown Cydonia where geothermal wells bring magma heat to the surface, this boundary is marked with fork-like heat rods placed every 300 feet. On one side: Human territory. On the other: reserved for terrestrial animals. The good news? The air near the rods is noticeably warmer. It smells like minerals—a mix of sulfur and soil. Steam rises from the ground like the planet’s exhaling, and where it touches the freezing air, condensation dances like breath. Yellow-white sulfur crystals form at the base of the rods, and heat-loving algae cover the rocks in vibrant green carpets. It clashes brilliantly with the red and orange hues that dominate Mars.
