‘Hunter Graves,’ poor old Nathan repeats, staring at me like I’m about to disappear, or start sparkling, or something.
‘Hunter Graves,’ I confirm. ‘Of GravesUP Industries, on my way to join my family. I’ll really owe you one if you can get me down to Pax today.’
‘Yes, of course, Mr Graves. No problem at all,’ he replies, trying to … stand to attention, I think? ‘Why don’t you get yourself settled on the shuttle, and I’ll get the paperwork figured out for you. When you arrive, just tell the port crew you need a message transmitted to your compound, and they’ll get that done for you.’
‘Nathan, you’re the best.’
Slipping past him, I stride onto the waiting shuttle, stow my bag, and sink down into the last remaining chair. The shuttle’s crowded, mostly with folks in United Nations jumpsuits, and it smells like ozone and feet.Seriously, get me to my family compound. I have seen the real world, and it’s a red-hot no from me.
It’s strange, walking into an unknown crowd like this with zero security – feels like I left the house in just my underwear – but nobody seems to pay me any special attention.
As I pull on my shoulder straps, I can see the red planet below through the viewport. The ground’s rough, the gleam of the sun just gilding the horizon as it starts to rise. Huge craters look like little polka dots, and mountain ranges are flattened by distance.
This is home sweet home for the next while – assuming Mom doesn’t sling me back up into orbit and onto the first ship heading for Earth. I’m sure it’ll be my twin sister’s first suggestion.
Despite everything that’s coming, I feel an unexpected tug toward the planet below. From Earth this place is nothing more than a red star, but up close it’s so solid, so real.
Hey there, Mars. This should be fun.
2.
CLEO
7 HOURS, 55 MINUTES REMAINING
BREAKFAST IS THE BESTtime of day to hustle people – they’re still sleepy.
I scan the Pax cafeteria for a target, and zero in on a woman who’s trying to carry a breakfast tray in one hand and a kid in the other while herding an extra kid through the busy morning crowd with a bump of her hip.
‘Let me take that for you,’ I say, swooping in and relieving her of the tray before she has a chance to protest. ‘There are some tables on the other side of the hall there, we’ll get you settled.’
She glances at me for a moment, but she doesn’t care that she doesn’t recognize me. The usual population of the United Nations Mars base is about fifteen hundred people, but at least a third of that turns over weekly, as people head out to nationalor corporate compounds or return from duty. That’s what’s helped me stay anonymous in the three months since I got here.
It’s no effort to let the crowd part me from my target, and a moment later I’m twisting away with her breakfast tray, ducking behind a couple of Martian-tall engineers and on my way to freedom.
But Cleo, I hear you ask.Why don’t you just grab one of those yummy, yummy muffins yourself? Why did you steal that poor woman’s breakfast? The line’s really not that long!
Well, to get breakfast, I’d need a registered handprint. And to get my handprint registered, I’d need to be a legal resident of Mars. And that’s where we run into a problem.
I hitched a lift in on the sly and scammed my way down to Pax, but getting to a larger station is proving a lot harder than I anticipated. More often than not I’m hungry, and every minute of every day is spent figuring out how to blend in – because if I’m caught, I’ll be deported quicker than you can sayCleo has not-so-nice friends waiting for her back on Earth. The life of a hitcher isn’t all I hoped for, to be perfectly honest.
By this point, I know my way around Pax better than most of the residents, partly because I hide out in places they’d never go. I have to be creative, because every centimeter of space here is precious. Most of Pax Station is underground. If you flew over the top of us, the solar arrays would be most of what gave us away – big black panels angled toward the distant sun. This place is all about efficiency – nothing like the chaotic Jerhattan neighborhoods I grew up in.
Lucky for me, though, the hustles aren’t that different, and the people here are the kind of easy marks I could have taken before I learned to read.
I scoot through the crowd and try not to reflect on the fact that, for all the people here who are pretty scammable, I’m not really coming out on top.
Still, right now I’m cruising out the cafeteria door, and taking a left to head toward water reclamation and the hydrogen plant. I’ve got muffins to spare, so not everything’s terrible. I’ll hole up somewhere in storage to eat them, and then I’ll go check the transport bays. Optimism comes easier on a full belly.
Maybe today’s the day I’ll find a way onto a transport to one of the really big settlements, where an easier life awaits.
Maybe today’s my lucky day, just waiting to begin.
3.
HUNTER
7 HOURS, 43 MINUTES REMAINING
