[center] [h2]The Sol System, Inner Mars Orbit[/h2] [/center] “Alba Mons isn’t a dead-end, Gatsby.” The way the geologist said it – the way he’d precisely tuned his pale green hologram to nervously smile [i]just[/i] enough to feign innocence, ever the purely curious academic – was almost enough to send Gatsby into a fritz. He knew precisely what the geologist meant, of course – perhaps Gatsby would’ve also once cared to see the largest mountain on Mars still standing and mostly untouched over the quiet centuries, were he still one for being awed by such things. But Gatsby [i]could[/i] remember when it served as the ground launch station for the Mensura Nous orbital array – the key to their escape from Earth. It [i]should[/i] have still been there, even as some kind of graveyard full of worn out scrap and abandoned construction drones, but… It was gone. Like a cracked seashell on the beach – a handful of support structures picked clean of anything useful, and the databases wiped clean having long been… not merely degraded, and deleted entirely. The majority of what machinery was still here had been brought by Gatsby and Columbus as part of their investigation - an eclectic swarm of drones and ampere engineers, the perimeters of their dig sites patrolled by kelvin-class soldiers. A set of transports had been brought with all the tools they would need, as Gatsby and Columbus' personal ships rested in orbit. Beyond this excavational swarm was the view of the Martian landscape, a cold and barren red in the thin and radioactive atmosphere, dotted periodically with abandoned markers or rovers from countless failed missions to try and make Mars a habitable second home for humanity all the way back in the early 2200s… before the gateways were revealed and humankind got a second chance. [i]He[/i] got a second chance, even if it was with people he’d learnt to despise. Still, part of maintaining a sense of who he was – not just a facsimile of a man who died centuries ago, [i]himself[/i] – was being [i]patient[/i], even with those he hated. An unpleasant but vital part of any business – dad had taught him that back in the day. “Okay,” he said, his digital avatar having been meticulously refined to always reflect the version of the clean-cut, charming, once-a-playboy-upon-a-time who had dominated the newsfeeds and gossip columns of old America. “Columbus, I need you to understand. I get it. Geological structures, I understand they’re your…” he wanted to say ‘obsession’, but settled for “...field of expertise. And that Mars is your old haunting ground too, y’know, the Mensura owes a lot to your work, but…” He raised his eyebrows slightly and gave the sweetest smile he could muster, all pearly whites and just a hint of stubble – ‘attractive’, not ‘scruffy’. “It is [i]vital[/i] that we figure out what happened to the Body of Nous. You know that, and it would’ve been undergoing key early construction on its launch systems [i]here[/i]. So where in a diplat’s right ass-cheek [i]did it go?[/i]” Columbus shrugged, raising a gnarled finger to his chin – having long ago chosen to abandon his original human appearance, now instead hunched over like some kind of fairytale goblin made out of gravel and moss and with a pair of binoculars projected around his neck. “Sorry, Gatsby. The amperes and drones have been bringing back preliminary scans and seismic pulses for the past four hours and there’s nothing artificial of value left here; it’s been worn down to jack all.” “But [i]how[/i], Columbus? How?! Mars hasn’t been touched for 300 years and there’s no signs of battle, what the hell happened to it?!” “Maybe someone stole it.” [i]Now[/i] Gatsby was feeling pissed – a strange experience, considering the reconstruction of his mind didn’t actually have any of the organs that normally helped a human body [i]feel[/i] emotions. “I actually can’t believe I brought you along for this. If Roselle wasn’t so busy ‘spying’ on the bloody anarchists I’d-” “{Sir, new Gateway activity detected in relative proximity. Earth Lagrange 5.}” The message struck him like a ton of bricks. The scarab-like cyborg housing his consciousness and projecting his holographic form reeled internally as it reviewed the data transmitted. Reviewing the data with lightning speed, it was true; several somethings had emerged from a new Gateway, and were making a beeline for the Meeting Place. Thankfully for Gatsby, this presented a unique opportunity. “Understood, thank you for informing me. Columbus, sorry to ask, but would you be a great friend and focus on widening and deepening the surveys? All my memories and records indicate the launch site was here, there must be [i]some[/i] kind of evidence of what happened to it and the Body. Did they try to launch it and it blew up? Did they modify it into some kind of subterranean bunker? It can’t have literally just vanished… there’s got to be [i]some[/i] explanation, even if it’s bizarre.” “You won’t be helping?” Gatsby gave an apologetic smile and steepled his fingers together. “No, so sorry, I’m afraid something has come up. I’ll be back when I can though-” “Don’t rush back, Gatsby,” Columbus sneered with haggard teeth, “It’ll be easier to focus on my work without your breathing.” Gatsby froze for a moment, blinked, then let his own feigned politeness drop away. “Fair enough. Don’t trip and break a neuron.”