Author's note (included for Terran readers):

Catena: A chain of craters on a planetary surface.

fossa: A long, narrow, shallow depression on a planetary surface.

patera: A shallow crater with a scalloped or complex edge.

In the wild days of the Martian Iron Rush, there were countless ways to strike it rich. The high grade titanium mines. The wide open frontier towns that provided supplies and other diversions. The vast underground cattle ranches that fed hungry miners. The countless dark, airless canyons, which afforded a perfect location to rob and murder. Riches were available to all, as was death. Laws were decreed by the wealthy, enforced by the strong, and sentences were meted out swiftly and without mercy by the ruthless, according to those who held sway. Many innocent people died.

Into this chaos rode the Martian Territorial Rangers. Known with fear and respect throughout the frontier as the Red Marshals, these hardened loners brought the one thing lacking, the one thing cried for by those who desired most to see peace on the red planet: Justice.

And of all the many deeds performed by these brave men and women who wore the red iron badge, one man most exemplified their thankless service. He was a man who's pure heart, swift hand and unerring judgment inscribed him forever into the tomes of Martian lore. He was a man who tamed what couldn't be tamed and brought to a raw, savage frontier the seeds of justice and order, watering them with the blood of those who fell under his guns. He was a man few knew, a man few loved, and a man who's name the guilty most feared. He was a man who helped decide the future of all Mars.

He was a man named Roids Cavanaugh.

Martian Territorial Ranger Log: 30 Tujun, 0010 MD

THE ALBA PATERA TURKEY SHOOT

by H.K. Devonshire

Roids jammed his hov's throttle full open and caught Chipped Tooth Moffa square in the face as the suit-slashing outlaw brought his gun up. Moffa let out a brief scream, followed by a hideous gurgling. Already badly injured by the impact, he was now crushed and burned by the overheated antigravity field of the Red Marshal's powerful Dustdevil Model 5 hov bike.

Knowing he was now top target, Roids pressed on toward the Martian rock building nestled up against the northwest edge of the Alba Patera, leaving Moffa's corpse to tumble and twist behind him. Gunfire, both slug and energy, started snapping up dust and chipping rock as Moffa's outlaw companions turned on Roids. His bike, Shitfer, was stupid by hov bike standards but had sufficient shields to protect the blond-haired, blue-eyed Marshal for a few more seconds.

That few seconds was far more than enough for the tall, lean Ranger. He ized his second Doombringer Colt to his hip then jerked his rifle from its scabbard and laid it over his lap. Now less than fifty meters from the building's doorway, Roids abruptly stopped the bike and vaulted over Shitfer's reins. In Martian gravity it was an easy task to shift into a dive and hit the ground less than five meters from the door. He must have been expected and welcome, for the door's energy plane snapped off a second before he would have hit it. He tumbled through the air shield and came quickly to his feet.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" he quipped, cocking the slug rifle. Outside, Shitfer had taken off to find a safe place until called.

Marshal Dixie Gomez gave him a nasty look as she turned the door back on. She was bleeding, of course. The tough, wiry Marshal with long black hair and fiery brown eyes always seemed to be bleeding from one wound or another. This time, it was from her upper left leg and right hand.

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