They arrived at the launch complex without further incident. Zed didn’t see any more Chariots, but he couldn’t imagine that the Commanders were going to just give up either. How could they? With communications down, the entire colony would be effectively marooned if Johns and Andy made it off-world with the only ship currently on the ground. There were others at the Attic stationed in orbit, but the odds were high that Johns would sabotage things there before anyone had a chance to fix the array to call one down.

  “Time to move, lad,” Johns said, grabbing the back of Zed’s helmet and pushing him toward the cockpit exit.

  “Get off me!”

  Johns laughed. “Alright! Alright, don’t break your other ankle.”

  Before exiting the Monstro, Johns exchanged his turtle suit for a flight suit and helmet and made Zed do the same.

  “I’ll be having your CIG, if you please,” Johns said, holding out his hand.

  Zed had known this moment would come. He’d tried to think of a way to hold onto his CIG, but there was no getting around it. He took out his contacts, removed the audio ends from behind his ears, and uncoiled the wristbands. He placed the assembled CIG in Johns’ palm, but not without an admittedly pointless glare.

  They walked at a brisk pace through the airlock and down the long corridor toward the landing pad hub.

  Andy exited an adjoining airlock and matched pace beside Johns. He was interacting with something in his CIG as he walked.

  “Alright, the remaining drones are set on auto-patrol around the airlocks. No one’s getting in without also getting some C4 rammed down their throat,” Andy said with a breathless excitement that made Zed want to punch him in the throat even more than he already did.

  Johns didn’t reply but kept up his hard-driving pace, at times dragging Zed if he stumbled and pushing him if he slowed.

  “Only two of you now? Guess you shouldn’t have put so many eggs in one basket,” Zed prodded.

  Andy looked like he was about to reply, but a look from Johns kept him quiet.

  They reached the central hub within a few minutes. It was a round warehouse space. All passengers and cargo arriving on Mars passed through here. Several compact, automated forklifts sat at their charging docks, waiting for instructions.

  As they made their way across the open space and turned toward another corridor that led to the ship, something moved at the edge of Zed’s vision. Johns must have noticed as well because he turned on his heel and yanked Zed in front of him in one jarring motion.

  The Sheriff stepped out from behind a stack of crates, followed by Commander Jones, Baat, and Janice. A few moments later, more colonists emerged from one of the other entries, led by Jonah Gruene.

  “Andy?” Johns growled.

  “I don’t know how they got in! There’s no…” Andy paused, hands flicking at the air. “Wait. Some of the drones aren’t responding.”

  “Well, it doesn’t much matter now, does it, Andy?” Johns said through clenched teeth.

  Andy seemed uncertain of what to do for a moment. Zed wasn’t sure if it was Unen or something else, but as he looked at him now, he felt something new and surprising: pity. Andy was a beacon of insecurity and rage.

  And then, Andy did exactly what you’d expect would come from those emotions. He pushed back against his uncertainty with a wave of anger that he hoped would compensate for it. He grabbed a crowbar that had been set on a nearby container and brandished it at anyone who took a step toward him.

  “Back off unless you feel like scrubbing brains off the floor when we’re gone!” Andy shouted at no one in particular.

  Zed wasn’t sure how much good the crowbar would actually do with everyone still in their turtle suits.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Johns backed toward the exit to the launch pad, with Andy close behind. Zed’s would-be rescuers kept pace and followed.

  “Andy, why are you doing this?” It was Janice’s voice coming through the emergency voice link into their helmets. “It’s not too late. Whatever this is, it doesn’t have to end this way.”

  Andy faltered. His backward walk slowed as Janice moved ahead of the rest of her group to approach him.

  “You don’t get it,” Andy said with a bravado that didn’t match the moment of confusion Zed saw on his face. “I’m going to make something of myself. Make a name all my own. You think anyone will question the guy who brought alien life back to Earth? She’ll finally—“ Andy clamped his jaw shut and swallowed hard.

  Janice continued to gain on him, her hand reaching out. Understanding suddenly registered on her face.

  “She’s not going to be impressed, Andy. It won’t matter what you do. You have to understand that. Don’t throw your life away chasing something that you’re never going to find. Take a chance on us. Do the right thing before things get even worse.”

  Zed found the turmoil on Andy’s face disturbing. The others probably saw sweat dripping down Andy’s nose and collecting above his grimacing lips. To Zed, Andy’s face looked like a clay sculpture that was being actively worked on. It was grotesque chaos, and it wasn’t clear what form of thought or emotion it would take when it set.

  Johns saw it too. Apparently, he had no intention of waiting to find out.

  “Sorry, Andy. I’ll tell your mum you fought the good fight,” he said.

  Johns gestured with quick strokes in the air and muttered, “Target Andy Foster’s position, maximum speed, detonation on impact.”

  Then he lifted Zed off the floor and threw him over one shoulder as he ran for the exit door a dozen meters down the corridor.

  Before the others could pursue, the hall was violently ripped apart, starting from the ceiling over Andy’s head and rippling down the hall.

  There was no fireball in the fuel-less environment, but the dust and debris filled the area, making it impossible to see the aftermath.

  Johns tossed Zed through the exit terminal door and then sealed it behind them.

  Zed rose and limped as quickly as he could to the porthole in the door, eyes searching, desperate for signs of movement in the settling dust. Everyone had been in suits and helmets. There was still a chance they had all survived, as long as no one had been too badly hit by shrapnel.

  A shadow moved through the haze, then another. Bit by bit, a picture of the destruction emerged. A gaping hole several meters across cast a spotlight from the evening sun onto the terminal's floor. At the center of the spotlight lay Andy.

  Zed looked for the injured among the survivors. While all were clearly stunned, Andy was the only one down. He seemed to be struggling, grasping at his left arm. With horror, Zed saw what remained of Andy’s left hand.

  The glove, and presumably the hand inside, was torn to shreds. What had been fingers looked more like a gnarled bush soaked in blood. Worse still, Andy was suffocating. If this had happened to one of the others, they would have been maimed but survived. The turtle suits could seal off a limb if necessary, even at the risk of potentially losing an appendage altogether. It was a sobering option but better than spending your dying breaths choking on the thin Martian atmosphere.

  But Andy wasn't wearing a turtle suit. Like Zed and Johns, he was wearing a flight suit. It would protect him against the vacuum when intact but lacked any features beyond that.

  As Andy’s body contorted with dying desperation, one of the others rushed to his side and knelt down, assessing the situation. Zed caught a glimpse of a face through the figure's faceplate as they looked around. It was Baat.

  With a firm, swift motion, Baat knelt on Andy’s arm and chest and twisted the metal wrist seal, yanking the shredded glove free. Andy twisted in pain, pulling feebly at Baat with his uninjured hand. Baat ignored him and put his gloved right hand on his own left wrist suit seal.

  Zed gasped as he realized what Baat was about to do.

  “That crazy Mongolian,” Johns muttered as they both stared at the scene unfolding.

  Baat seemed to pause and take a breath before twisting the wrist seal and removing his own glove. He winced as the suit reacted by clamping down at the elbow in an attempt to maintain suit pressure. Ignoring what had to be incredible pain, Baat attached his glove to Andy’s suit.

  Andy clutched at his chest, his shoulders heaving as fresh air was allowed to fill his suit. The others were gathering around now, helping Andy and Baat to their feet. They would have to exit through the hole the explosion had left to make it to one of the external airlocks and get back inside. Zed knew that even if all went as well as it could, Baat was probably going to lose his left arm.

  Why had he done that? Andy was a murderer, Zed thought. He pitied him in the moment, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it.

  “That poor moron,” Johns said, shaking his head. “Andy is certainly not worth losing an arm over.”

  Zed turned from the porthole and stared up at Johns.

  “Wasn’t he your partner in all this? How could you just toss him aside like that?”

  “Oh, come now. I had nothing against him, but when that girl he dated started to get to him, well, there really was no other way. Don’t tell me you couldn’t see it. If there was even the smallest chance she could turn him, I couldn’t risk it. Now enough moaning over things past and finished.”

  Johns pushed Zed forward.

  “Everyone’s fine. Or they’ll live, at any rate. Now move. I will not miss my launch window, do you understand?”

  Zed didn’t turn to respond but continued hobbling forward. He wondered if Johns included whoever had either been injured or died when the drones were hammering the Chariots in his estimation of “fine.”