André leans forward. “Let me get this straight José: first you smuggle yourself to Mars, and then right away you want to turn around and go back?”
“Won’t be a moment too soon, lady.”
“I don’t get it. Isn’t being here the dream of a lifetime? A new world?” Quizzical look.
It’s Beth’s turn. “You don’t get it. Sure it seems like a glamorous adventure at first, but it doesn’t take long before you realize you’ve walked into a submarine, shut the door and likely won’t be able to leave. For. The. Rest. Of. Your. Life.” She draws the last bit out.
From a drunk in the corner, “Eating crickets!” From another, “Drinking your own pee!” And another, “Drinking everyone else’s pee!” A groggy still-drunk Engineer Class III staggers over to the bar. “Hey listen girlie, until you’ve been out here for a while you can’t imagine how badly you’ll want a double cheeseburger, fries and real ketchup.” General nodding all around. “Also the constant danger of a horrible death.”
The three new arrivals are silent. Heine takes a quiet sip from his zombie, sits down and gives a long slow sigh.
Marigold adds, “Also our connection to Netflix is down.”
Issac breaks the silence. “So, what’s the plan?” Beth breaks it down for them.
“That’s the plan? Deliver a pizza to a madman, get a credit card, go to Phobos and order stuff from Amazon? I don’t think even ol’ Kilgore here could come up with that on a double-dose of windowpane.”
From José: “That’s the plan. You wanna stick around this rock, maybe get tú nombre on a crater, someday? Or would you rather be having fresh seafood on the beach while getting a tan? Feet in the sand, wind in your hair.”
The drunks pipe in again: “Sun in your face!” “Sand in your trunks!” “Half-naked girls!”
The three refugees are silent, a long quiet nearly sober silence. Then Issac turns to the severed head.
“Kilgore old friend, what would you do?”
