Chapter 1: The Martian Relocation Clinic 1 THE MARTIAN RELOCATION CLINIC
There’s a storm coming that looks right nasty.

It looks like a heavyweight boxer, swaggering out from the opposite corner of the world. The kind of storm that whispers “Stay down” after landing another hook across the world’s jaw. I watch the darkening vortex set its eyes on our city and know we’re in for a treat. Storms that big unearth the best treasures. Time to get moving.

I glide through the other rooms in the house, waking up the early-shifters and hushing the late-nighters. There are twelve other boys and girls who call the Martian Relocation Clinic home. It’s a garbage name, honestly. None of us have been relocated in years. The adoption list we’re on is a long one. Praying for a rich donor to come sweep us away is a waste of breath.

Calling it a “clinic” was a real choice too. That word makes it sound like we’ve got a nurse on staff who tucks kids in and makes sure everyone’s getting the right vitamin injections. But no one like that has stepped through the front door in years.

“Martian” is the only word that fits. We’re Mars-born, each and every one of us. Dusty kids with iron bones and sharp faces. Never not been in a fight. Never known a world that wasn’t trying to grind us under its heel. So far, the world hasn’t been quick enough. We’re slick like that.

“Feet off the table,” I grumble, entering the kitchen. “Sylvia, get moving. If you’re late again, they’ll pack you up and ship you out with the rest of the scrap. Hey, John, are you and that coffeepot dating? No? Well, if you’re not gonna propose, pass it over here…”

The rest of the kids shift and shuffle. I watch Sylvia tuck a piece of toast into her zip suit before ducking out the back door. John pours me a cup of coffee, but his eyes are glued to the tablet that’s self-scrolling in front of him.

“Earth is cutting us off again,” he mutters. “One month with no supplies. Guess we won’t see any dragonships in the sky for a while.”

I take the mug before he spills. “Oh yeah? Who needs Earth? Or their dragonships for that matter? We live like kings and queens out here on Mars.”

John snorts at that. All of the trade and travel between our two planets happens with the help of dragons. We learned about them in science class when we were just five years old. How human crews partner up with dragons and form flight crews. On planet, the crew rides on the back of the dragon like something out of an old-school fantasy book. But up in space, the dragons can power massive ships that fly faster than any human-made tech that exists.

Every math problem in elementary school focused on them. “If your dragonship has room for thirty passengers and one trip to Earth takes two hours—how many trips would you have to take to escort one hundred and fifty friends for a birthday party on the moon?” As a kid, I remember dreaming about that stuff. How cool it would be to board a dragonship and go to someone’s birthday in some distant part of the solar system.

These days, I know better than to dream about dragons or other worlds. The same goes for my crew here at the clinic. I want them focused on what’s right in front of them. The next shift at work. The next exam in their trade studies. The stuff that actually matters.

“This means no more chocolate,” John says.

“Never liked the stuff,” I reply. “Tastes like another world.”

“Chocolate. I’d fight every single one of you just to try some.” This comes from Muriel. Our youngest roommate. Girl is tough as nails. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t fight Lunar. If I knifed him, we’d have to find a new dad.”

I almost spit my coffee out. I’m thirteen. About to be fourteen. Not that we keep track of birthdays around here. Thirteen, and I’m getting called “Dad” at the breakfast table. It’s an insult and a compliment. Muriel grins at me over the rim of her bowl.

“Whatever,” I snipe back. “You couldn’t take me down if you tried. Look at you. Nothing but bones. I’d have you flat-backing before you reached for your belt.”

John pounds his fist twice on the table in agreement. I reach over his shoulder and swipe his screen. Away from the headlines and back to the engineering lesson he’s supposed to be studying.

“Eyes on the prize,” I say to John. “When I get back this afternoon, you better be able to walk me through Ohm’s law, forward and backward. Otherwise, I’m booting you out of this house for good.”

He reaches out and taps my coffee mug with his. I take one final sip, ruffle John’s hair, and throw a scowl at the rest of them. “For crying out loud, someone do the dishes.”

By the time I reach the back door, Muriel is already at the sink. I take one more look at the dusty group and then I’m out the door. Sometimes I wish I had more to give them than food. I wish I had words that could actually brighten their mornings. But I was never all that good at lying. Either they keep their feet moving and their stomachs full, or this planet will rust them.

Mars is a place for survivors, and that’s exactly what I am.

A survivor.