Correctly assessing my competence as nonexistent, the captain secured my safety line to the pen and issued strict instructions to stay where I was. I was happy to comply. As the rest of the crew arrayed themselves in front of the holding structure, and prepared to “catch” cargo, I examined the pen. It was anything but high-tech.

Bright orange plastic netting had been stretched over a metal framework to create a massive box or “pen” into which the cargo could be shoved and temporarily stored. Lights strobed off and on to warn ships of the pen’s presence, and a system of moveable partitions had been installed to divide one load of cargo from the next.

I watched in amazement as Wilson launched the first container in our direction and the captain jetted out to intercept it. The captain was surprisingly graceful as she hurtled through space, caught the incoming module, and pushed it towards me. “Time to earn your keep, Maxon. Catch the sucker and shove it into the pen.”

Mars-light winked off the top surface of the container as it tumbled in my direction. The captain had met the module with the correct amount of force, but her aim was off. To correct for that, and direct the cargo into the pen, I would have to move to the right. I gritted my teeth, fired my jets, and jerked to a halt when my safety line ran out. I felt the cable tighten under my armpit and pull me around. I was still in the process of turning back and raising my hands when the container hit. It pushed me into the net, dropped through the opening like an eight ball entering the corner pocket, and drifted towards the back wall. My jets pushed me out, the cable jerked me around, and the captain sounded cheerful. “Good going, Maxon. Keep it up.”

I had barely recovered when the next module arrived, closely followed by the next, and the one after that. I felt like the goalie in a reversed hockey game, as the team fed me pucks, and I bounced them into the net. It became fun after a while as they warmed up and I gained skill. Still, the hours took their toll, and I was glad when it was over.

The captain towed me towards the ship. A pair of shuttles arrived, jockeyed for position, and disgorged a dozen space-suited figures. They headed for the pen. Their motions were so smooth, so coordinated, that our efforts looked clumsy by comparison.

A few hours later we were packed, paid, and floating around the lock as one of Marscorp’s shuttles made contact. The captain had come to see us off. She extended a bejeweled hand. I took it and was surprised by her strength. “You’re sure you won’t stay? Kreshenko is soft on sweet buns, and your head makes a good mirror.”

I shook my head. “Thanks…but we’ll be moving on.”

The captain shrugged. “Okay, have it your way, but a word to the wise…”

The hatch opened and we pulled ourselves through. I turned around.

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“Be sure to duck.”

The hatch closed, and I never saw her again. The stewardess had purple hair and matching day-glo nail polish. She wore a blue jumpsuit and a bored expression. She pointed towards the main passageway. “Grab any seat that’s open.”

We nodded and used the conveniently placed handholds to pull ourselves along. I considered what the captain had said. “What did she mean ‘duck’?”

“She meant ‘take care of yourself,’” Sasha replied easily. “What did you think she meant?”

I frowned. “It could have been a warning.”

“You worry too much.”

Sasha spotted some empty seats and pulled herself in that direction. I followed. A tiny maintenance bot, one of hundreds that roamed the ship, scuttled across the overhead. It had a screw clamped in its tiny jaws and appeared to be in a hurry. Whatever the problem was, I hoped it wasn’t critical.

The rest of the passengers, an eclectic group gathered from five or six different ships, stared as we strapped ourselves in. They were what I imagined to be the usual mix of freelancers, corpies, and a zombie or two. They watched with dull, self-absorbed eyes, thinking of what lay ahead, and wishing it was over. And no wonder, since it was common knowledge that even easy Mars jobs were hard, and not everyone who came lived long enough to go back. Not a particularly friendly crowd, but not especially hostile either, so I forced myself to relax and watched Sasha out of the corner of my eye.

She looked okay, which was amazing considering what she’d been through. But appearances can be deceiving. Watching her had become a hobby of mine, and I thought I saw tension around her eyes, plus a pallor that no amount of artificial tanning could hide. And why not? The poor thing had been abducted by corpies, chased by poppers, lost an eye, and been assaulted by a sexual psychopath. All in spite of my rather questionable protection.

It made me feel like children do when their parents are troubled. Scared, vulnerable, and helpless to do anything about it. Which was strange, since I was the one who was supposed to protect her rather than the other way around. I wished we could talk about it and knew she’d refuse.

The deck tilted, then leveled out as the shuttle banked and dived towards the planet below. My stomach did flip-flops. There were no view ports, so I looked for something to do. A screen had been built into the back of the seat in front of me. I pulled it down and an infomercial appeared. The actor was happy, and why not? He was on Earth. He smiled and his teeth sparkled. “Hi! My name is Tom. What’s yours?”

I ignored the question and he switched to the noninteractive mode. “Marscorp and its affiliates would like to welcome you to Mars. Regardless of whether you work the interface, or are passing through, our personnel will do everything in their power to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Now settle back and relax while we tell you about your next destination.”

Sasha looked at my screen. “What the hell is that?”

“Some stuff about Mars. Wanta watch?”

She shook her head and yawned. “My mother pays flaks to say nice things about Europa Station too. Most of them are lies.”

I shrugged and turned towards the screen. She closed her eyes and settled back for a nap. A digitally created Mars had appeared and was overlaid with text. The narration continued, but I was pleased to discover that I could read most of the words myself.

I learned that Mars has a diameter of 4,200 miles and an orbital period of 686 days, each of which is 24 hours and 37 minutes long. Mars is known as the “Red Planet” because of the pervasive orange-red color caused by the dust that blows through the atmosphere. The atmosphere is extremely thin. Ninety-five per cent is carbon dioxide, two-point-seven per cent is nitrogen, one-point-six per cent is argon, and the rest consists of miniscule amounts of oxygen, carbon monoxide, and water vapor. Not a good place to visit without a space suit. And then just to keep things interesting, there are incredible fluctuations in temperature, dust storms, and relatively light gravity. The shots of the surface faded away and the actor appeared. He smiled.

“Now, while Mars is not the wild and wooly place that the vids would have you believe, it does have an exciting history.”

Smiley disappeared and was replaced by footage from the Viking lander. I pressed “scan,” waited for the first landing and subsequent colonization stuff to run its course, and hit “play.” The picture steadied and lost resolution as amateur video came on. I had watched the footage a hundred times back on Earth and never tired of it.

A ragtag army of men and women charged a corporate strongpoint, staggered under a hail of darts, and struggled forward. And then, just when it looked as though they might have a chance, a contingent of Mishimuto Marines, the same outfit I had belonged to, stood up from behind a barricade and gunned them down. The tool heads didn’t have a chance. They danced under the impact of plastic and steel and fell in bloody heaps. Horrible though the pictures were, they provided a glimpse into the life I couldn’t remember, and in spite of the fact that I had searched the faces many times before, I did so again. Maybe, just maybe, I’d been there. The narration continued.