Day 10: beyond Steinhelm.

A few days later, Colt was farther from humanity than he'd ever been. No one for hundreds of kilometres in every direction, nothing but cold red dust, the low hum of engines, and the occasional ping of telemetry.

Victor was out cold in the rear pod. Colt was in the pilot seat. Riley sat beside him in the front cab, short hair tucked behind one ear, helmet resting between her boots. Outside, it was night. Dust storm blowing sideways across the beams. Visibility was lousy. They drove by headlight, each flake of grit like snow in a blizzard. For the last few days they'd only moved at night, recharging during the day. Slow going. Quiet miles.

"This place should feel like home," Riley said, watching the nothing roll by. "Instead it feels like the bottom of the sea."

"We close to your old place? What is it now—a hospital?"

"Hard to say in the dark."

Then Colt leaned forward, squinting into the blur. "What's that?"

Up ahead, something sat crooked in the storm, low-slung and unnatural.

"Looks like an overturned truck," Riley said.

The silhouette grew clearer. Metal. Tires up. Flashing hazard light barely visible through the dust. Riley reached for the remote camera joystick and zoomed in.

"There's someone inside," Colt said. "Waving."

"Yeah," she said. "I see them."

"I've got a bad feeling."

"We can't just leave them."

"We can," Colt said. "We shouldn't. There's a difference."

"We're required by international regs to render aid. You know that."

"I know. I just did the training test."

"Well, it's my shift. I'm stopping. You want Victor's opinion, wake him."

Too late. She was already slowing the train. The braking signal moved through the chain of connected pods, back to front. Giant mechanical inertia grinding to a halt.

"We don't need Victor shooting holes in everything," Colt muttered.

He flicked through public radio bands. Emergency calls were supposed to go out on Channel 7, but that was an Earth-centric ideal. Mars didn't do universal anything.

Then a voice crackled in. "Hello? Anyone receiving?"

"This is Groundtrain Echo Four, en route to Snow Mine," Colt said. "What's your status?"

"Oh man, are we glad to hear you," the voice replied. "We rolled. Airlock's pinned shut. Can't get out."

"We see you," Riley said into the mic. "Stand by. We're assessing."

She muted the channel. "They're stuck like a beetle on its back. Let's flip them and get out before Victor wakes up and starts playing cowboy."

They suited up. Air tight. Sealed. Helmet checks. Out through the airlock. The storm clawed at them, fine particles dancing in the beam of the crawler's lights. They moved through it like ghosts, boots heavy on ancient stone.

"There's a winch on the crawler," Colt said, already walking toward the utility module. "We hook it to the axle, pull them upright."

Riley stepped close to the upturned rover, waved at the faces inside. Two of them. Maybe three. Colt hauled the winch cable out, thick and cold with Mars dust, and hooked it into place under the wheel strut.

"Be careful," the man on the radio called. "The ground gave out on us. We were just driving—then bang—we were upside down."

"We got you," Riley called back. "Sit tight."

Colt crouched behind the crawler's wheel, out of line with the cable in case it snapped. "You run the controls. I'll watch from here."

Riley nodded. "Everyone in there, suit up. Strap in. If this goes bad, you don't want to be flung loose. Confirm when ready."

A pause. Then: "We're good to go," the radio said.

Riley's voice came over the intercom. "Winch starting now."

The cable groaned. Tightened. Colt watched the straining tension, ready to duck.

"You never said your name," Colt said over the open channel.

"Denver," the man replied.

The rover shifted, slowly rolling back onto its wheels. The dust beneath Colt's boots trembled. Then thunk—the weight settled. The winch stopped. The rover door cracked open and Denver climbed out, a little stiff but moving.

He unclipped the hook, walking fast.

"Let me get that for you," Denver said, faster than the auto-retract.

Colt turned, satisfied. The rover was stable. No fuel leak. No sparks.

Then Riley's voice came over the line, sharp and calm.

"Hey Nathan? Come back inside."

"Copy that," Colt said. "And Victor's still snoring."

He climbed back into the cab.

And froze.

A man stood inside. Gun leveled at Riley's head. From the rear of the pod, another figure emerged from the shadows, weapon raised. Both men looked comfortable holding them. Both wore dusty suits and scuffed boots. Both spoke with South African accents.

"Hold it there," said the one near Riley.

"Who else is on the land train?" the lead man asked.

"Fuck you," Colt and Riley said together.

The man grinned. "It's good. That was more of a rhetorical question."

"We're not even carrying water yet," Riley said.

Colt raised his hands. "StarMines doesn't negotiate. It's policy."

"You assume we care," the man replied. "You think we'd hit a train without doing our homework?"

They weren't wearing masks. Didn't bother hiding their faces. That told Colt one thing—they didn't plan on leaving witnesses.

The radio crackled again.

"Captain, we got a third one in the trailer," another voice said.

The leader grabbed the mic. "Well done, Sergeant. Take him to the beacon."

He looked at Colt.

"This one too."