This is one of the saddest stories I've written. It sad not because of violence or death. Nor because of evil winning over good. Nor is the timbre of the story sad. At least, not until the very end. What makes this story so sad is that is without hope.

The Martian society had achieved many things in its brief, 350 year existence. This is the last of those achievements. It is Mars' legacy to mankind.

Wednesday, December 25, 2390

Martian Date: Tudec 25, 181

"Gotta bio, Sarge!" Hagan called out, snapping everyone’s attention to him instantly. Fear that death could still reach them, especially now, so close to the end, was a constant companion.

"Where?" Sargeant Portyansky hollered back. His platoon of forty marines were the last living souls remaining in the gutted husk of Vermilion, once Mars’ second largest city, and they were to ship out in two days. Despite the size of the ruins - Vermilion had once held over a million people - they’d been scanning for months now, and had been certain no-one was left. Hagan’s sudden shout was therefore very unnerving, though Portyansky would never admit it.

"Two kilometers up and in. It’s the old Vermilion sector. Sensors indicate one person."

"Awright." He looked over his group, deciding who to send, but knowing it had to be himself; to have any of his men die so close to lifting off was unthinkable. "Stanton, Izard, Welch, Mitchell, you’re with me."

The squad armed and armored themselves, then made for the airlock. Though Vermilion had once had its own breathable atmosphere, the orbital bombardment had long since opened the city to the bitter Martian environs and surface suits were required. Without a sound, and shouldering a considerable amount of dread, they worked their way north into the desiccated corpse of a once great city. Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of a collapsed structure that had the word "Jonesy’s" scrawled over the front in red paint.

"The bio’s in there," Izard said quietly. "Ten meters in and not moving."

Portyansky lifted a hand and made a quick circle. His men spread out, toggling their laser pistols to heavy stun. Portyansky took point beside the front opening. The ready lights in his helmet came on one by one as his men got into position. The last one flickered green and Portyansky went in, low and quick.

(continued)

Appearing in Short Story Form on

DOUBLE DRAGON PUBLISHING and FICTIONWISE in 2006

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