Welcome to Gaia! ::

The slogan used to be, "On the red planet, we're not talking about blood."
Now, that could be because once you leave the colony, there's no oxygen, and so you're taken apart so part blood isn't even seen, but most like to believe it was saying that there was no such thing as violence on Mars. Regardless, that statement has been dead for a while, the new one is, "On the red planet, you're better off dead." and no one could have been any more right. The only real way to avoid being robbed, raped or muderered is by working the mines for double your quota. Working that double shift allows you to sleep in the barracks, the only place dust rovers and bandits don't seem to approach. Heavily armed guards protect you as you mine for their precious space rocks, which are then transported back to Earth, which is repaid with all the essentials of a working civilization. Of course, only half of these supplies make it to us.

Yes, Mars, sweet Mars. Strangely enough, it has the sent of the sea, or so some old folks say. The old folks are the only ones on this planet that have ever been on Earth, and they say if their noses haven't failed them, it smells like the ocean. That is my home. I've never been to the oceans or the seas, but that is where I want to be. So, as soon as I've earned my keep, I'm gonna try and get out of here. The pick axe grows heavy in my hand as I hammer it home. Wiping sweat from my brow, and licking it from my lips, my eyes, much accustomed to the dark mines of mars, pick up some movement a little distance away. Slowly, quietly, quieter than an escaped slave stealing food from an open window, I make my way over to the source. A river, it appears at first, but as I dip my hands in for a taste of dusty water, an unnatural cool creeps through my hand. My fingers numb, I bring them to my face and sniff the substance, and then taste it. It's Mars Holtz. A cry for joy is stiffled, as I want this discovery to be mine. Earth here I come. Covering it over with rocks and laying my pickaxe against them (a sign that that sight is being worked on) I make my way up to the sun blazed red lands of Mars.
The overseear of the mind, knowing I am not a slave, offers me an almost pleasent smile. His face is battle hardened and he is missing five teeth. His eyes, though bright, are stern and concentrated. A bull of a man, he offers me his hand, which I shake, and seeing the stain on his palm, he gives me a quizzical look. Not a word is exchanged before he yells to the sentries, "Pull the minors out! I want everyone OUT!" Within two hours, two anxious, shivering hours, the mine is clear, and he orders me to lead the way. I walk to where my pickaxe is and pull feverishly at the rocks, casting them to the floor, cutting my fingers on the shark metals embedded and augmented with the stone I should have been mining and bringing to the refiners. Slowly but surely, I unveil my untoiled efforts. The Mars Holtz spills out generously. Jack pot. A clap on my back shoves me forward two paces.

"What a guy! Eh, Cortes?" the Overseear says to a figure that was not apparent before. A thin man, wearing circular thing frames over his eyes which constantly calculate, wiry hands play with one another as he glances from me to the Holtz, and back again.

"How did you find it?" His voice matches his figure uncannily.
"I saw movement, and I thought it was water... so I was going to drink it, but it was Holtz instead. What's my reward? Can I go to Earth?
"Haha," The Overseear laughs. "Go to Earth? That's a bit too much of a reward for you... no, you'll get a promotion. Maybe, with more advances, you'll get to your precious mud planet. But you got the body of a real man, a martian. That's the only reason I'm promoting you to a sentry. Can you hold a gun? Ahh, it comes naturally enough. Good job, and good luck with your new position, you'll start immediately, go get changed." He says, running out of breath.

It's true, my body is a martian body. Born to tough terrain, smooth skin is uncommon, and mine is quite rough. Though I am not so big, I am toned, and my skin is unnaturally dark from the sun and the dust of mars. My eyes are red, like the dust. My generation is known as the Dust Children, because we are more connected to Mars than any of the previous generations. Our skin, eyes, and attitudes are all results of being born on this planet. And so, I leave the mind, and head towards the barracks, where, rather than taking the familiar right towards the bed chamber, I walk straight to the cencus office. A boy, younger than myself, runs the recruitinary post.

"Sir," He greets me with an put on voice. "What can we do for you today?"
"I was told I am now a sentry, by Overseear Gaines." I reply. No one would ask any questions because the only position worse than the mines is the duty of sentry. Extended hours, constant march, carrying of heavy loads, and if you're not keeping watch, your picking up supplies, which all sane men fear.
"... Well, alright... what's your name?"
"[Not at liberty to disclose]"
"Okay. Ummm, proceed down the hall."

Sometimes, dreams take time, and this dream of living on Earth, I will do anything to obtain. All I want to do is live on Earth, near a sea, and if that means I have to fight bandits and possibly die in the process, so be it.

To be continued, C & C ap.