Day 7 

"I'm guessing the red flashing isn't good," Colt said. He was in the lead cab with Victor, watching the indicator pulse above the forward nav board.

Victor sat forward from where he'd been watching an old noir movie on his pad. "Yeah, press the square one. Rounded edge. Next to it."

Colt hit the button. The light went green.

Outside, one of the tanker trucks slowed, then pulled off the main road and came to a halt.

Victor checked his watch. "That's T-28. Riley's up now. Go with her. I'll take the wheel."

Colt nodded, slid into the suit hatch at the rear of the cab. His suit clicked into place around him. The system sealed with a hiss. Readings flickered across his visor—oxygen half full. Good enough.

He climbed the cab, passed the sealed gun turret, then hopped from one tanker to the next. The Martian terrain rolled out ahead, jagged and dusted in blood-red hues. He made it to the rear trailer, found Riley already suited, standing beside T-28 with her tools.

"Took your time," she said.

Colt chuckled. "I walk like a man twice my size."

She opened a side panel. "Looks like venting. Might've been a stone."

Colt walked to the far side. "There's a second hole. Same height."

Riley paused. "Unlikely. Kickbacks don't go through like that."

A hiss of dust sprayed up inches from her boot.

Colt didn't hesitate. He dove, tackled her behind the wheel housing. Her tool bag scattered.

"Sniper!" he said.

An instant later, the oxygen tank in the kit exploded. Shrapnel rained against the undercarriage.

"You okay?" Colt asked.

Riley checked her seals. "For now."

Colt tried Victor on the radio. Static.

"He's gone out of comms range," Riley said. "We're on our own."

She flipped to public frequency. Her voice went steady. "This is Groundtrain Echo Four, civilian convoy, supply route to Snow Mine. Repeat, Echo Four, unarmed transport. Disengage."

A pause. Then a voice.

"Get off my land."

Male. Slurred. Heavy static.

"This is a public corridor," Colt said, switching to the same channel. "You're firing on civilians."

"Trespassers die."

Colt pulled the bag toward them. Inside: patching gear, thermal blanket, tools. A mirror. A laser pointer. He handed the laser pointer to Riley.

"We're gonna need this."

She looked at it. "What's the play?"

Colt peered around the tire. Another shot cracked, punching into the dirt.

"I circle wide," he said. "You stay here. Keep talking to him. Make him think I'm still with you. Use the mirror to find his glint. Point the laser when I'm close."

She nodded once. No argument.

He flipped to private comms. "How long you got?"

"Hour and change. You?"

"Forty minutes. Less if I move too fast."

Colt took the mirror and peeked around the edge of the tanker. He started a timer on his HUD—tracked the delay between the shot and the dust bloom. Eight hundred meters, maybe more.

He lobbed a rock. A shot followed. Colt bolted, low and fast.

Back on the open channel, Riley kept him engaged.

"Look, we can pay you. Oxygen, food, cash."

"I don't want your things," the man said. "I want you gone. You all think Mars is yours."

Another pause. Then the voice again.

"The beta's gone. He's leaving you. Doesn't matter. I'm the alpha."

Riley smirked behind her visor. "You keep telling yourself that."

Moving Colt found a broken dune buggy. Two bodies. One still in the driver's seat, eyes ruptured from vacuum exposure. A secondary oxygen tank sat strapped inside. Still sealed. He ripped it out, patched it into his system. Just enough to buy him another half hour.

He started climbing.

A minute later, he was on a ledge above the shooter's position. A makeshift camp sprawled below—travel pod, solar panels, a dirt bike.

The sniper lay prone in green. Big rifle. Steady hands.

"On Three," Colt said over the comm.

"Ready," Riley said.

"Three... two... one..."

The sniper flinched, distracted by the reflected beam of light from Riley.

Colt charged. Fast, low.

He leapt, landed hard.

The sniper rolled. Colt slammed him down. Fought for the knife. Jammed a screwdriver into the shoulder port. The man screamed, clutching the breach as his suit lost pressure.

"This isn't your land," Colt said. "It's your grave."

He ripped off the sun visor.

Recognition hit.

"Charlie?"

The sniper's face was pale. Bloodied. Hair falling out.

"Colt? Holy hell—help me."

Colt hesitated. Then kicked the rifle aside and waved Riley up the slope.

"What the fuck are you doing here Charlie." Colt said. 

Charlie gasped, clutching a patch kit. "Got scammed. Suits don't fit. Food costs more than oxygen. I won this land in a poker match and the  pod... the rifle. I decided it was my turn and could hold a toll."

Riley joined Colt, breathing heavy.

Charlie got up and walked towards his travel pod. 

"What are you doing?" Riley said , "He shot at us. Killed at least two. We should—"

Before she could finish, the rock behind them exploded along with Charlie. 

A silent flash. Then smoke. Chunks of shrapnel rained down.

They turned. Looked back at the ridge.

The land train sat at distance. The turret smoking.

Victor's voice came over the comm.

"Don't fuck with a StarMines convoy."

Colt didn't speak. He just stared at the crater where Charlie had been. Then holstered the sniper rifle and turned to Riley.

"Victor and I are gonna have to talk about that."

She nodded slowly, already reading the same thing in his face.

Trust was harder than it looked on Mars.

----

Authors note: 

A new chapter on Friday the thirteenth. Well it's not like anything is going wrong can it?

thanks for your votes, plus 100 reads and 30 votes! that is an insanely high read to vote ratio, you know that right ? Also already doing well in a number of sci-fi categories  - 14 in near future and 1# in space colonisation, which is welcome.  Thanks for your time. I know the ending and it will keep you guessing down to the line. RK.