The garage hummed with the sound of grating metal. Mark hugged one wall while Val slid a chassis across a skiff into one of the stalls. She didn’t bother closing the gate or flicking the caution lights. That was a hazard—Val was a hazard. Mark almost reminded her then remembered what day it was.

  “One hour till close, Val.” He said instead, “Raf should be here soon for that order.”

  “I’ll have it out in twenty, but Roman still needs to seal the wedges.”

  Mark blinked. No sarcasm, no jab. Not once all day, he realized. His stomach rumbled suddenly. Had any of them even stopped for lunch?

  Six months had flown by, and their backlog had doubled. So much success only after they decided to close up shop.

  He’d searched for a new owner of the garage in Tosamir among his family members, but his uncle was solidly retired, his cousins hated the shop, and he and Val’s parents were gone traveling—eventually he just decided to sell the building.

  He spotted Joyce, leaning over Snake’s shoulder as he showed her something on his holo. She smiled and motioned him over, passing Cenn who was sharpening a harpoon the size of a car in the middle of the shop floor.

  “You got those numbers for me?” Joyce asked.

  He flourished the stack of wrinkled, ink stained papers from his clipboard.

  “Ah,” she said, unsure whether to file them away or send them to the cleaners. “I know you’re a traditionalist, but we have digital books now, Mark.”

  “It felt right to end the day the way we started.”

  “A mess?”

  “Exactly.”

  Joyce gave Snake something to copy, then continued.

  “In all my years as a solicitor, I’ve never had a harder time selling a property,” at his pained look, she sighed, “I know this is hard, but did you know your uncle never had the deed? Your grandparents, who gave him the shop, had it locked in a safety deposit box inside a foreclosed bank. I needed a permit and a crowbar to get it out.”

  “That’s funny,” Mark scratched his head and glanced around the shop, which still needed work before they vacated. “I’m glad you came around, Joyce. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Thank Cenn, she’s the one who convinced me.” She laughed at a memory. “Told that girl I was retired and had no interest in fighting robots, now look at us.”

  “I hear you. If you would have told me we’d be turning down sponsorships from the biggest names in SportMeck, I’d never have believed you... Seems like we’re leaving just as we’re getting started.”

  A sudden weight fell on his shoulders

  “Hey,” Joyce gently grabbed him by the elbow and towed him onward, “we’re not closing shop, okay? Think about it as the business relocating. Westwood Motors has grown bigger than the circuits, bigger than the Primera! The family name is now tied to winning the war, your family will be proud of that.”

  “You’re right,” he sighed, “thanks. We’ll see you at the bar?”

  She rolled her lips inward and shook the papers in her hand. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Come one, we’re celebrating. Could be the last time on Dearth for all of us. You have to come.”

  “No, I will. Just later. I have to pass along credentials for the launch next week anyway.”

  “Oh. Right,” Mark winced. “Guess you have a lot more on your plate than we do.”

  Seeing his face, she patted him on the chest, “don’t sweat it. After today, we all get a little vacation.”

  She made her way to her office near the back—once a glorified broom closet before she came. Time really did fly. Watching her go, Mark caught sight of two lonely meck wedges sitting on the shop floor like untied shoes. He turned, and saw Roman beyond the back door, not installing them.

  He glanced back at Val hauling the chassis up. If she was working without complaint, Mark could do a bit of managing—that was his job, after all.

  He leaned out the back door to call after Roman, but an engine revved in the garage behind him, drowning out his words. He stepped through and closed the door.

  “Roman, Raf will be here soon for those wedges. Can we get them on?”

  Roman faced the other direction, watching a holo. A bald spot was budding at the top of his black mullet. As Mark approached from the side, he had to remind himself Roman was only thirty years old but it was hard to tell with those severe features and a nose that looked like it had been broken too many times.

  Then he saw what was on the holo and suddenly Mark forgot why he’d come outside in the first place.

  “Opening day?” He asked. “Who we got?”

  “Pastfin vs Tyger,” Roman said. “Would’ve been us if we’d accepted the tournament invite.”

  Mark thought about the publicity opening day matches always brought in. His mind spun with the idea, regret poking him at the edges—he shook it off.

  “Does a part of you want to stay on Dearth, forge for another team?” Mark asked.

  “No. I was about done with the scene. I agree with the old man, we’ve done everything there is to do here and I doubt I could work with anyone else after working with him.”

  “Mhm,” Mark looked at the outside of the garage, realizing he was trying to savor every angle before he never saw it again. His gaze fell through the glass door to the unattended wedges.

  Mark snapped his fingers, but Roman beat him to it.

  “The wedges,” Roman said. “Yeah, I’ll do ’em now. Can you get Arthur out of that sim for me? I’ll need him for the last bit.”

  Mark turned to see Arthur in one of the meck simulators along the garage’s exterior wall. It looked like an enormous jelly bean made of transparent plastic. He heard the door to the garage open, and turned to Roman before he went inside.

  “Roman, don’t forget about the bar tonight.”

  “Oh I won't. By the way, you know when the old man is going to be here? Gotta ask him about something.”

  Mark looked at his watch, “should be right around closing time.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mark approached the pod from its side after seeing the look of consternation on Arthur’s face. Erin leaned against the other side, acknowledged Mark with a nod, then returned to whispering some sage pilot advice to Arthur.

  The garage was in its final hour and they still had so much to do before they could truly relax. Mark spotted the kill switch. He had a mind to turn it off but saw what had drawn Erin halfway inside… The sim display showed the record time for this track at 00:03:52:03. The initials EK were next to it, of course, but underneath that was the timer for Arthur’s current run, and it was flashing between a record-breaking green, and red every few seconds.

  Mark looked past Arthur in the sim and made eye contact with Erin smiling on the other side.

  “You got this,” Erin said to Arthur, “Ease that clutch on the next turn, then punch it.”

  Here was the reigning Primera Dash Champion coaching Arthur to beat his lap time. Suddenly, Mark was revisited by the feeling he got sitting in the stands six months earlier. Westwood Motors had opted out of competing in the circuits this season to focus on the garage and leaving the planet, but now he wished they would’ve said hell with the orders and spent more time doing this again.

  He settled in to watch. Arthur’s movements were stiff in comparison to a well seasoned pilot like Erin, but they were precise. Of course, Arthur’s face turning purple as his focus amplified was also in stark contrast to Erin’s smooth features when he piloted.

  “Good job,” Erin said, “Last turn here.”

  Mark watched as Arthur’s timer flicked back and forth even faster than before. It was going to be close.

  Arthur hit the turn, and Erin winced. Even Mark could tell the pitch was off, and he was moving too fast. The visual inside the pod showed Arthur hit the last turn’s rail broadside. The following crash sequence was so real, Mark had to take his head out of the cockpit.

  “Gyahhhhh!” Arthur yelled, and practically collapsed against the sticks.

  After a minute, Erin gave him a slap on the shoulder.

  “That was intense. How do you feel?”

  “Like I had you, and I just—I don’t know. What happened?”

  “Same as last time, you’re going too fast,” Erin said smoothly. He tapped the dash, rewinding the simulation to the moment Arthur lost control. “Gotta take this with more control. Drop the clutch a little earlier, then go wider so the cut isn’t so tight.”

  “If I’d gone wide, I wouldn’t have beaten your record.”

  “That’s one point, but was this better?”

  Arthur leaned back in the cockpit, “a real meck would’ve handled it.”

  “Maybe, but the sim is really only good for practicing technique and focus,” Erin said. “Until the circuit unbans inertia dampeners, you’ll still deal with hazards like g-force and other mecks shoving you off your line.”

  “Wait,” Mark said, a little offended, “this sim’s less than two years old. It should have the rumble feature.”

  Erin gave him an easy smile, not judgmental in the slightest. He pressed down on the top of the pod, and it shook slightly.

  “The sim measures impact in eight cylindrical sections. Contact with a real meck is far more chaotic. It might hit your shoulder, but you’ll feel it in the knees.” He patted his legs to emphasize the point.

  “So you’re saying I’d have done way worse in a real race,” Arthur said, climbing out of the pod.

  “Probably. But being able to do this part well is a real achievement, man.”

  The sim began scrolling through various stats and compared them to existing records on a leader board. Every leader board spot was accompanied by the initials EK, which wasn’t a surprise, but when the lap leader board appeared Erin only held the top nine spots. The tenth had the letters AE next to it.

  “You broke the top ten,” Mark said, poking his head into the cockpit to get a better look. “How’d you do that?”

  “What do you mean how?” Arthur said, and Mark coughed to gain a minute.

  “When, I mean,” he was saved by Mina calling to them from the satellite garage in the corner of the back lot.

  “Erin, can you help me with this?”

  “Sure thing,” he waved to her, then turned back to Arthur. “We’ll still have access to the shop this week, so we can get a few more sessions in before the launch.”

  “Maybe,” Mark said, “Daiko is taking over the place till then. I’m not sure we’ll have access.”

  Arthur sighed, “I’ll just have to settle for 10th.”

  Erin proffered his fist and Arthur bumped it, leaving the two of them alone.

  Mark started after Erin then noticed Arthur fiddling with the sim. Arthur was covertly throwing a few cushions out of the pod before anyone saw that he’d used them to reach the pedals and sticks.

  “Roman was looking for you.” He said to Arthur before looking at his watch. “Yikes, we’ve got five minutes till that order needs to be completed. Mind finding him asap?”

  Arthur nodded, looking exhausted, and went inside. Mark couldn’t blame him, they were all tired.

  Mina waited with a slab at the foot of the satellite garage. For months, they’d been assembling, testing, dismantling, and reassembling the half-built skeleton tilted at a 45-degree angle inside the door.

  It was certainly different from the mecks they’d built so far, if only because it was unfinished.

  “That’s good, now drop it,” Mina said to Erin who slowly let out a winch, dropping a greave into place. Mina clicked something on her slab and the casing sealed.

  He peered over Mina’s shoulder, “Nearly closing time.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Yeah,” Mina said, “we’re all done here anyway…”

  Mark sensed her tone and wondered if something was wrong,

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Mina said.

  Erin dropped down from the meck’s chassis, “Mina doesn’t like puzzles she can’t solve.”

  She shot a hot glare past Mark, Erin caught it with his teeth. Daiko had his own unnerving glare, but where his was ice Mina’s burned like magma.

  “What’s the puzzle?” Mark asked, leaning beside her to get a closer look at the slab. In moments he knew he’d be completely useless to help. Luckily Mina didn’t notice his wide eyes.

  “The puzzle is the meck itself. I’m wondering what he’s going to do with it tonight.”

  “You mean he hasn’t told you anything?” Mark asked, incredulous, trying not to fan the flames coming from Mina’s glare.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Erin said gently. Then he patted Mark on the shoulder and backpedaled toward the main garage. “I’ll grab the skiff to tow her in. Mark, bar tonight, right? You’re buying?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be there.”

  Mina placed her slab hard on its dock, “honestly Mina, when he said no one would be allowed in the garage this week, I thought he meant everyone but you.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Mark imagined Daiko on his way now, sleeping the day away so he could pull another all-nighter.

  “So he hasn’t told you anything, but obviously you’ve got some idea, right? I mean, we’ve been helping him so far. How much could he really change in a week?”

  “We’ve been helping him with the mechanical aspect, but he’s doing his loner thing with the software…I don’t know, Mark. We’re talking about a man who pioneered much of modern Meck tech. Wouldn’t surprise me if he pulled another stunt like he did a few months before the Primera, springing the immersion sync on us like that.”

  All Mark knew was that the prototypes that won the Primera were only halfway there, according to Daiko. He’d shared some of the plans with Mark, though most of it went over Mark’s head—which was probably why Daiko felt comfortable sharing it with him in the first place.

  “The secrecy’s probably just superstition. We are dealing with your father after all. Once we get to Jupiter we’ll have our hands full making the things.”

  Mina stood still, thinking for a dark moment before Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her out. “Why don’t you go open the tab at Talin's, we’re just about done anyway.”

  She sighed but agreed. Erin came back a minute later with the skiff and Mark helped line it up, but he kept stealing glances at the meck, and imagining how it would look with Jupiter shining huge on the horizon.

  Talin’s was part bar, part boutique nail salon. The one-windowed dive had a saloon-style counter on one wall with a single rickety long table beside it. The light was dim, but the discolored bottles on the mirrored shelves twinkled. Bill ran the alcohol business, and his wife Muriel ran the salon. The two businesses shared the shoebox building, divided by a thick green velvet curtain down the center—regulars barely noticed it anymore.

  The Westwoods and Talin families had been neighboring business folk since well before the Jupiter war. The two establishments, not one block from the other, looked like older times compared to the modern infrastructure leaping from the concrete in recent years.

  Mark watched as Val turned from the bar with a crooked smile and thirty shot glasses of something squeamishly yellow. The rest of the crew was distracted, watching the next round of opening day on the only holo in the tavern. Those didn’t look like drinks from the specialty order Bill prepared for their celebration tonight.

  Snake swept in and placed the tray of shots down just as Val made to slam it onto the table. Cenn and Roman took a glass before anyone else, one in each hand, and helped pass them around. Mark and Mina shared the same hesitant look.

  “Just the one,” Mina said.

  “As you wish, princess. More for us,” Cenn called, already lifting a second.

  Mark took a tentative sniff, “Alfa, Val, is this yak piss? And did you have to buy a round for the whole bar?”

  “I didn’t buy them—”

  “I did,” Mark said at the same time as Val, “yeah, yeah.”

  “To Mark!” Arthur shouted.

  “To Westwood Motors,” Mark downed the drink, then gagged. “That might actually be yak piss.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ve got a game,” Val said, turning toward the holo. She sat on the table with her feet on the bench. “We’ll do a shot each lap for every second the leader is ahead.”

  Erin whistled. “Bold.”

  “We’re celebrating, not killing ourselves, you drunk,” Cenn said, putting the second shot back right after her first. “Better to wait for the clash matches. Then we can shoot for every one left standing at the end of regulation.”

  Val, being Val, probably didn’t hear her. She tossed back her second shot and smacked her lips.

  The crew slipped into a familiar and companionable rhythm mark felt as much as saw. He glanced at the door of Talin’s, knowing they were missing one crucial member, but Daiko wouldn’t be coming. He told Mark himself just before he left for Talin’s an hour earlier…

  Mark had just been closing shop as Daiko’s truck pulled into the open garage door, the bed so low it nearly grinded against the driveway.

  “Be there in a second,” he called, but leaving his office—which was his uncle's, and his grandfathers before him—took longer than he expected. When he finally did jog to meet Daiko, the man was talking to Roman in a calm, albeit private way. Mark loitered out of sight for a few minutes, then heard Roman walk away.

  “Everything okay?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah,” Daiko said, sounding tired, “everything’s fine.”

  As Daiko began to unfasten the tarp fastened to the bed of his truck, Mark knew he wouldn’t say any more and inspected the equipment Daiko had brought with him.

  “What do you have here?”

  “Oh, just some stuff you can’t get in the stores anymore,” He spun in a small circle, inspecting the garage. “Y’all set it up like I asked. Much appreciated.”

  “Yeah, had Mina do a once over too. And, uh, she gave me a message to give to you, but I’m not going to share.”

  Daiko’s smile shone with pride.

  “She’ll understand one day. If she’s anything like me, she’ll learn that dreams need to be kept secret until they become reality, otherwise they’ll simply run away.”

  Mark didn’t think he ever felt that way about anything, “whatever you say, boss. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  “I could use a lot of help, but I don’t want it.” He must’ve seen Mark’s confused face, for he added, “It’s a superstition. Thank you for asking, though.”

  “Come by Talin’s then before you start.”

  “I’ve already celebrated once this year, I’m over quota as it is.” They looked at the shop together as though it were freshly painted. “Well, I better get to it...”

  Mark blinked, and he was back in Talin’s. He checked his watch. Two hours had gone by already. The tray of shots had disappeared, replaced by pitchers, bottles, and baskets of half-eaten food. They had the run of the place, watching the rest of opening day.

  The next match was a dud, though Erin was impressed. Some up-and-coming team called Logicks beat the field of Dash mecks by twelve seconds.

  “Glad we didn’t play your game,” Mark said to Val who hicupped.

  “I would've loved to race against them,” Erin was standing and stretching behind the bench as though he was about to run across town and challenge them tonight.

  On screen, the winning pilot climbed the podium. She smiled once, seemed to catch herself, then snapped her mouth shut like a bear trap.

  “Haven’t heard of her before.” Mark wondered aloud.

  “That would make sense. You don’t see very many Martian pilots in the circuits,” predicting Mark’s next question, Roman pointed at the screen, “Ovaya’s a martian name, and since her manager’s answering for her in the interview I’d say she’s very new.”

  Mark nodded, uncertain as always whenever Roman brought up his own people. He just couldn’t tell if the man wanted to talk about it or not. Cenn had no such reservation.

  “I didn’t see the black-mouth on her.”

  Mark cringed, but Roman didn’t seem to mind.

  “Watch the replay banner, I bet a picture pops up any minute.”

  “I see it!” Arthur said only moments later.

  A photo appeared catching Ovaya’s open mouth when she smiled for just half a second. In that small window the photographer captured a blackened tongue, the side effect of eating martian crops and drinking martian water. It was the first thing people looked for if they questioned your citizenship.

  “Fair enough,” Cenn said, taking another swig, “What’s your mouth look like these days, Roman?”

  “Cenn,” Erin shook his head at the woman, “Why?”

  Roman grinned and opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue. The roof was inky black, though only the back of his tongue was darkened.

  Cenn whistled, “almost a decade eating Dearth food and you’re still stained?”

  “So if she’s martian, doesn’t that mean she came here through the loyalty program?” Mina asked, probably attempting to change the subject but this, more than Cenn, darkened Roman’s features.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you know her?” Arthur asked.

  “Mars is a planet, not a small town. She probably turned in a member of the Circle. That’s about the only thing that gets you a specialty citizen visa.”

  Roman rarely talked about the loyalty program, let alone how he qualified. Everyone knew a martian had to give Asparian intelligence collateral to escape Mars, and being that the descendants of the first colony were impoverished, the cost was never money.

  Arthur looked at the holo as the pilot was allowed off the podium. “I think I’d like to visit.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” Cenn said, “trust me, kid.”

  “Stop. Calling. Me. Kid.”

  Cenn repressed a laugh, “honestly, I forget how old you are sometimes. Should you even be drinking?”

  Arthur tried to smack her glass from across the table, but came up short.

  “I’m the same age as Mina,” he pointed toward her, “but you don’t call her a kid.”

  Val laughed. “Okay, okay. We believe you… if you show us the birth certificate.”

  Before Arthur could protest, Roman put a hand on his shorter friend’s shoulder.

  “There’s a good reason he hasn’t shown us his birth certificate, guys.” Roman paused, gave Arthur a reassuring nod, then said, “Because he doesn’t want people to know his middle name is Perceval.”

  Roman leaned back, swatting away Arthur’s jabs like he was being attacked by a puppy. Then the front door creaked open and Joyce walked in, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Hey Auntie,” Cenn said, “you’re late.”

  She carried a basket brimming with manila folders and a cloth sack. “Oh I’ve already started. You should catch up.”

  “Joyce!” Bill called from behind the bar, “The usual?”

  “Hey Bill, yes please.”

  She sat down heavily into a seat beside Snake.

  “This is yours,” she said, handing him a folder. “And yours,” handing another to Mark, and so on until everyone had their own.

  Mark opened his folder, and glimpsed the inner workings of Joyce’s well-organized brain.

  “Firstly,” she said, “I won’t be making copies for anyone . My vacation started today, same as yours, so don’t lose it.”

  Val closed hers and immediately handed it to Mark, who took it without much thought.

  “You’ll need to complete your own packing forms. That’s the green one. Note anything you’re bringing that’s not already included in the common items list.”

  Cenn squinted at hers, and Mark wondered if it was such a good idea for Joyce to do this two hours into their open tab.

  “If I list it on the form will they still search my things?” Cenn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What if I don’t list anything?”

  “Still yes,” Joyce ignored Cenn’s growl. “I’ve already filled out everyone’s consent forms, freight security has us either way.”

  Mina pointed to a blue document, “It says here we need to take supplements three days before the launch?”

  In response Joyce lifted and shook the cloth sack, producing a multitude of rattling sounds. She pulled out a clear pill bottle and tossed it to Mina.

  “You’ll need to take two pills every six hours, three days prior to launch.”

  “What the hell?” Roman said after receiving his bottle. “I didn’t have to take these before. Do we even know what’s in them?”

  “I know they’ll keep your insides from curdling while in cryo.”

  Cenn put a hand to her stomach and pampered a belch. Mark felt much the same, thinking about freezing his body for the six month trip to Jupiter.

  Snake tapped Joyce on the shoulder, pointing at yet another document, this one orange. She leaned over and nodded. Everyone else shuffled through their folders to find it .

  “That’s your itinerary. We launch out of South Tosamir Navy base.”

  “The old Estrellador fort?” Arthur asked excitedly.

  “Yep. Government transport will pick you up at the addresses you gave me. Snake, I didn’t have any address on file for you, so you need to hitch a ride with the Westwoods.”

  He nodded.

  “Lastly, the pink sheet is the storage unit our fearless leader set up. It’s practically a warehouse the government’s letting us use during our time away. If you want something stored, just call and schedule a pickup.”

  “A warehouse? What should I leave behind?” Erin said.

  “Couldn’t tell you, but I can’t bring my vintage lamp collection to Jupiter, now can I? The rest of the documentation in the folders are copies of your medical records, birth certificates, and—”

  “Oh ho!” Val lunged for Arthur’s folder, but he yanked it away just in time. The crew laughed.

  “And,” she went on, “your ID badge must be worn at all times on the freighter. Your ID prints will have been updated with this clearance, but rules say we have to be identifiable from a distance.”

  “So we have to wear these on Jupiter too?” Roman asked. “Thought we were special citizens.”

  “Just for the launch. I’m told our IDs will receive different prints and permissions once we arrive.”

  Cenn shoved her forms back in her folder. “I’m starting to regret not being passed out before you got here. Anything else?”

  Joyce took a long pull from her drink before responding.

  “Yeah, don’t be idiots.”

  Mark boiled with excitement. Months of planning, and it was finally happening. The war awaited them and while they weren’t necessarily going on vacation, he felt like a kid again, days away from a holiday vacation.

  “What’s that smile for?” Val asked him.

  “Hm? Oh, it’s just a little unbelievable, ya know? Even after all this time… I was all for this plan the night we cornered Daiko, but honestly I was pretty wasted and would’ve said anything. It wasn’t ’till your plan, Arthur, to lock up the garage that I realized it was more than a joke. And now, we’re actually going.”

  Snake pointed a finger gun at Mark, and Mark shot one back.

  “I know what you mean,” Erin said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you all this, but years ago I almost joined the CORP. After a few hundred hours in the sims, I thought it was my calling.” He glanced at Mina as he said it.

  “I didn’t know that. What happened?” Mark asked.

  “Well, Cenn—”

  “I set him right!”

  He gave her a wry smile. “More or less. I was at the arcade down the street from where she was competing in a doubles exhibition. I think you’d beaten up the partner you were supposed to be with that day and was hunting for someone to take their place.”

  “No, that was a different time. This one hadn’t paid a speeding ticket and was picked up by TPD on his way into town. I had an hour to find someone to take their place and knew the arcade had top of the line sims. I picked the best-looking stock among the pimple-faced gamers and held my breath.”

  “And you won?” Mark asked.

  “They were destroyed,” Joyce said, holding back a laugh.

  “I thought you won your first fight,” Arthur said.

  “No, we won the next one,” Cenn said, then gave Erin an appreciative nod. “Then he was hooked.”

  “Actually, I was hooked after that first one. Helped me realize that it wasn’t really war I was after.”

  “Hear, hear,” Cenn said. “We don’t need anybody wasting their lives fighting in that stupid war.”

  The energy drained from the table suddenly.

  “Cenn, that’s exactly what we’re all doing,” Mina said.

  “Er—well, sure, but it’s different.” She searched for the words. “We’re not just going as grunts. We’ll be scientists and shit.”

  “More like grease monkeys,” Roman said.

  “High-profile grease monkeys,” Val corrected.

  “I don’t care what they call me,” Arthur said. “I’ve been trying to get over there my whole life—since I first heard of HVM3. I’d do anything.”

  “A good little Asparian soldier,” Roman chided, but it was companionable, and Arthur took it as a compliment. It surprised him how close they were, despite having very different views of the empire.

  Joyce nodded to Arthur, “I saw in your file that you’d applied a few times and not just to the Navy or CORP. How many avenues did you try?”

  Arthur considered before shrugging.

  “Why not just go over there?” Mina asked. “As a citizen, I mean.”

  “It’s just me and my mom here on Dearth, and she won’t go to the planet my dad died on.” His eyes grew distant, “I just needed a reason to be there, you know? At least it felt that way. But after so long waiting for one, I was just looking for any corporation that would take me. That’s when I met Daiko though. He gave me this job almost six years ago to this day.”

  “Right!” Cenn said. “You came to the shop to get The Asparian Dragon’s autograph and he ended up hiring you.”

  “Yeah…” Arthur’s gaze remained far off, perhaps remembering the first time he met Daiko. Mark certainly did.

  Mark clapped him on the back, “Well perfect. We all get to go together now.”

  Another hour spun away as they constructed full-blown fantasies about the life they were embarking on—the budding frontier, the wild west, a new life. Truth was, none of them knew what was coming.

  Soon Mark was sliding his ID print across the holo and thanking Bill without looking at the total.

  “And you too, Muriel!” he yelled.

  But the lights on that half of the building were off.

  “She went home two hours ago, but I’ll tell her goodbye for ya.”

  Mark checked his watch, bug-eyed. “Thanks, Bill. Now to get these hooligans outta here, amirite?”

  “I think the only hooligan is you.”

  “Come on, Bill. We’ve known each other long enough. I’m not a—”

  “I mean, you’re the last one here, Mark.”

  Mark spun, incredulous that his crew would…But the bar was empty; chairs were on the table, and a mop and pail lay waiting at the bar’s end.

  “Huh,” Mark said. “I swear I left them there.”

  The world lurched, and Bill guided him toward the door.

  “Maybe that last shot wasn’t the thing, eh?”

  “Maybe.”

  The door seemed to ripple as Bill opened it and yelled to the blurred clump ahead that might have been his friends. “You left your purse!”

  “I’ll take him,” Val said, appearing at his side, “You’re worse than Mom.”

  “You gonna make it?” He heard Cenn ask.

  “Sure. What are roommates for?” Val said, laughing to herself.

  “We’re not roommates—you live in the condo upstairs,” Mark said. In his head he pushed her away and stood on his own; in reality he still hung on.

  “Snake, grab his other arm. We’re just a few blocks away.”

  Silent—like a snake—Snake picked up his other arm, and Mark felt himself floating.

  He heard farewells from behind and meekly replied in kind as they made their way toward home. Some stars were out, but tonight they seemed more like streaks of light than dots, overlapping ground and sky alike. Somewhere out there, was their destiny.

  “What about destiny?” Val asked. Apparently he’d said it out loud.

  “It’s coming,” he said, “that’s all.”

  The stars winked out of existence, and Mark fell into the most peaceful sleep he’d ever had.

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