Martha's Diner came into view like a relic from another world—which, technically, it was. The word "diner" promised booths and jukeboxes, but this was more outpost than eatery. A metal prefab perched atop a sloping ridge, with solar arrays scattered like petals across the south-facing valley. The sign was crooked, but still legible in rust-red lettering. Below it, smaller boards offered promises: Free Air – First 24 Hours,  Kintalas Born Here. Still the Best..  Cheapest O₂ for 300 Clicks.

The land train rolled to a slow, deliberate stop beside a thick-choked power hub. Riley checked her watch.

"We're early. Victor's still out cold. No point waking him. Let's plug in, then get some food—my lunch, your dinner, Victor's breakfast."

The megawatt charger cable was nearly as thick as Riley's waist, and Colt was still learning the difference between what looked heavy and what actually was on Mars. He helped haul it to the connector. The land train began humming as it drank power.

Riley motioned toward the diner.

"Come on. You can interrogate the locals."

They stepped past dust-blasted placards and through the pressurised airlock into a space that smelled like deep-fried algae and recycled pine cleaner. Despite the red world outside, the inside felt halfway familiar. Tables. Coffee pots. Scuffed floors. Tired eyes.

Riley didn't linger. She pushed past a swinging door marked STAFF ONLY and led Colt into a cluttered repair bay. Fans whirred. Music played. Someone was cursing under a rover.

"I said two hours," a voice barked.

"We both know you're lying. That thing'll be ready in twenty," Riley fired back.

A scraper rolled and a woman in overalls slid out, soldering iron in one hand, scowl in the other. Then she blinked. "Riley? You said you weren't coming."

Riley grinned. "Change of plan. This is Colt—reason we didn't cancel. Just landed. Colt, this is my mother, Lenna. The reason I'm stuck out here."

Lenna Cross was lean, grease-stained, with a short haircut like her daughter's and hands that looked like they hadn't been idle in years. She stood, wiped one palm, and offered it.

"You love it here, Riley. Good to meet you, Colt. Let me finish this up and I'll join you. Be a minute—the damn lifter's still busted."

Colt looked at the half-mounted wheel. "I'll give it a go."

"You're not gonna—" Lenna started. But Colt ducked under the rover, planted his feet, and lifted. The pressurised vehicle groaned but rose.

"Holy crap," Riley said.

Lenna wasted no time. She slid the wheel into place, bolted it down in record time, and tapped the rim.

"That'll hold. Breakfast's on me."

They cleaned up and found a booth by the viewport. Beyond the glass, a trench dug into the ground gave the diners a view of the Martian horizon, blood-orange and pulsing with midday haze. The land train sat like a sleeping giant.

Colt handed over the folded printout. "This is Noah. My cousin. Might've stopped here a year or two back. Worked the ice run. Ring a bell?"

Lenna took it, squinting. "Doesn't ring. But... hang on."

She tucked the photo into a pocket. "I've got a trick. I'll be right back."

They ordered food. Riley introduced Colt to Martian cooking—spicy, sharp, mostly plant-based. Lenna returned after a few minutes, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other. Colt had the Kintalas they tasted the way Winders wife made them. 

"We've got a cam system at the front door. Picks up anyone we've banned. I hacked it years ago to do facial rec. Let's run your guy through it."

Colt and Riley leaned in. The screen scrolled through thumbnails, newest to oldest. Blurry faces, angled glances.

"Not him. No. Not him. Not her—obviously." Colt said,  "Oh... wait. That one. Could be him."

Colt leaned closer. The image wasn't great, but it was Noah. Thin. Gaunt. In a StarMines suit. Carrying a grey case.

"That's him," Colt said.

They enhanced what they could. A serial number on the suit: 4430321E. Colt took a screencap.

"He came through here," Colt muttered. "Northbound. Didn't stop on the way back."

"Which is odd," Riley said. "Everyone stops here."

"Exactly," Lenna said. "If he didn't... something went wrong."

Colt nodded slowly, eyes still on the flickering screen. A trail, at last. And a destination up ahead.

Lenna looked up and noticed Colt staring at a child's picture on the screen's background. It showed a blue ball with a cartoonish cat curled on top.

"One of Riley's," Lenna said. "She used to do loads of them. I've got hundreds somewhere."

Riley looked over. Her voice flattened. "Yeah. Looks like I really didn't want to come to Mars, doesn't it? I wonder why."

Lenna sighed.

"No," Riley snapped. "You don't get to sigh and forget about it." She turned to Colt. "She told me it was just a holiday. Then she packed my whole life like it was a picnic."

"I'm sorry," Lenna said.

"Sorry? Sorry! No, you spill coffee on someone's lap—that's sorry. You drag a kid halfway across the solar system to a dustball where the soil stunts your bones? That's not sorry. Look at me—I'm stuck here. I could work for twenty years and still not have a ticket home. And why? Just so you could escape your ex-husband."

Lenna's tone snapped. "Oh like you're so much more mature with men. Please. You run the same pattern over and over—fall for the first one who looks at you sideways, then act shocked when they leave. One lied, one vanished, and one used you like a meal ticket. You know what I think? You chase them to get hurt. Maybe I should've stayed and let your father teach you how to pick them."

"Better that than waking up on another planet."

"You think it was easy? You think I didn't know you hated me for it? I saw it. Every day. I knew it'd come back to this. You want someone to blame? Fine. Blame me. I chose the dustball. I chose the lie. But I did it to keep you breathing. Not to make you happy."

Riley's voice dropped. "I didn't want safe. I wanted the truth."

Colt pulled out his comm. "It's Victor. The land train's charged. We need to move it or start paying idle fees."

He stood and nodded to Lenna. "Thanks for the info."

Riley didn't speak. She stormed toward the women's changing room. Colt caught up to her later, just outside the airlock.

"Sorry," she said, strapping on her helmet. "There's always this golden hour before one of us explodes and ruins it. I hoped I could go the hour, let you leave thinking I was sane."

"Coming to Mars was hard then?" Colt asked.

"I get her coming out here. Chasing her girlfriend. What gets me are the lies."

Colt sealed his helmet. "She lied to you about coming."

"Yeah. You know the worst one? She told me the cat was coming out after us. Bailey. Every year I asked, 'When's Bailey joining us?' She'd say next year, next year. All she had to say was 'There are no cats on Mars.' I'd have lived."

"Let's go back."

"As a kid I learned about jump seats. You know about those?"

"Yeah. Spaceport standby."

"Exactly. I kept planning to run away. Sit at the terminal. Wait for a jump seat. Just sit there and pray."

"Why didn't you?"

"Back then? No suit. As a kid I tried to build one out of cardboard and duct tape.  You must think I'm totally broken."

Colt tried to smile. "My aunt used to say, sometimes we don't get to choose what gets broken. Just how long we live with the pieces."

If Riley answered, Colt didn't hear it. The air pressure dropped in the lock, and silence filled the space between them.