Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Hey, HEY!” Van croaked, as Ashtar’s chokehold threatened to squeeze the life out of him. “Easy! I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Ashtar eased her grip a bit. “Talk,” she said. “You play nice, I like what I hear, I’ll let you live. But the second you’re more trouble than you’re worth, I will snap your neck and leave you two minutes of contemplation before you die. We clear?”

Van gasped as Ashtar’s grip relaxes a bit. “Crystal,” he said. “Can’t blame a desperate man for trying, can you?”

“No more than you can blame a desperate woman for not putting up with it,” Ashtar replied. “Talk. You’re starting to bore me.”

“Okay, okay,” said Van. “All the administrators abandoned Dome B a while ago. They took the last working crawler to Dome Q.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Ashtar. “How long ago?”

“A year, maybe two. The sols kind of blur together after a while, you know?” Van smiled weakly. “I don’t remember a Dr. Sheran Quiria specifically, but then again I couldn’t tell you the names of any of our admins even before they abandoned us to die.”

“You’re doing well.” Ashtar eased her grip a bit. “Now tell me what things are like in Dome B.”

“Where have you been, under a rock?” Van said.

“Dome A,” said Ashtar.

A hint of curiosity flitted across Van’s face. “You tell me about Dome A, I’ll tell you about Dome B.”

“Fine,” Ashtar said with a light squeeze to Van’s trachea. “Dome A is dying, and people there are fighting over scraps. The two biggest warlords each have less than a dozen guns apiece, and they’re fighting tooth and nail for the right to die last.”

“Sounds nice,” Van said. “There’s no law here in B. Not even any warlords. We’re all just scraping to get by. We get the occasional person from C or D, but no one from A.” He paused, then continued: “What do you care about this Dr. Quiria anyhow?”

“He’s my father,” Ashtar said. “Good enough for you?”

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Another beautiful day in Bloomville.

Red light filtered dimply through the dome, which was every shade of filthy both inside and out. The plants in the arboretums—and, increasingly, the ruins—were doing their job and keeping oxygen flowing, but just about everything else had broken down.

Ashtar Quiria sucked greedily on her electronic cigarette, letting the faux-nicotine solution wash over her. Even the synthetic stuff was getting hard to find, as there hadn’t been a supply ship from Earth in months, years. But resorting to an actual cigarette was suicide—the halon fire suppression system still worked, and an open flame was a great way to die. Even if it failed, a single spark could start a conflagration that would make the thin Martian atmosphere look awfully inviting.

Another beeeautiful day in Bloomville.

“Hey there, friend!” A figure emerged from one of the buildings on what was once the Main Street of Dome B. It was an ordinary-looking man, very well-groomed, and sporting a big giant smile.

In Ashtar’s recent experience, there were only two people in the failed colony that smiled like that. Peddlers, and robbers. She put her hands behind her back, one hand wrapping instinctively around the taser pistol she kept in the small of her back.

“Hello,” she said calmly, evenly, coolly. “I’m looking for Dr. Sheran Quiria. Scientific administrator for Dome B. If you’ve seen him, then we have business. If not, you’d better just mosey on.”

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