The Colonists (The Movement Trilogy) by Jason Gurley Page A

though. He says fourteen years. I don't think he's taking into account the orbit. At some point, Deimos is going to destabilize, and drop onto Mars like --
    Like a moon dropping onto Mars. I know, it's terrible. I'm sorry. I want to be supportive of your anger right now, but all I want to do is take these fucking bandages off --
    No, Hatsuye says. You mustn't.  
    The person on the bed groans. I can't stand them. I want to rip them off.  
    They stay on. We don't know if the room is monitored.  
    Hatsuye, her companion says.  
    Linset. Get it together, Murray. Bandages stay on. We use the right names. If you give us up this early, so help me, I will --
    Stop it, Murray says. I get it. Okay? I get it. But next time, you're wearing the goddamned disguise. And I'm going to soak it in pepper sauce before you put it on.
    Agreed. I brought food.
    Oh, good, Murray says, sitting up. What is it?  
    Carrot stew.
    They don't serve anything else on this shitbox, do they? Carrot stew. Carrot stew. Every day, it's carrot stew.
    Or beet salad.
    Worse, Murray says. Fine. I'll eat it. I'm going to turn orange, though. When you take these bandages off and I'm a carrot, don't be surprised.
    I'll visit the supply lounge tomorrow, Hatsuye says. See when they're expecting more food shipments.  
    Mars is orange because it's covered with carrots. Carrot planet. Let's blow it up and create a new asteroid belt made of carrot chunks.  
    Have you been sleeping?  
    Not enough, Murray admits. I can't sleep. I'm tired of waiting. I want to do something.  
    Not yet, Hatsuye says.  
    It would make a big enough statement on its own if we just did it now, Murray says. Pull the pin and jump ship.  
    That isn't enough, Hatsuye says.  
    If it means I don't have to sit in this compartment any more, I say we do it now.
    It isn't enough, Hatsuye repeats.  
    You're not the one --
    It isn't enough . Do you know what this facility is for?  
    It's a mining station. A processing hub. I'm not ignorant, Hatsuye.  
    Linset , Hatsuye hisses. Jesus Christ, Murray.  
    Calm down. God.  
    Hatsuye takes the bowl of carrot stew out of Murray's hands.
    Hey, Murray says.  
    Hatsuye puts the bowl down on a shelf, then turns quickly and shoves Murray down onto the bed.  
    Hey! Murray says. What are you --
    But Hatsuye leaps onto the bed and straddles Murray's chest, pinning his arms with her knees.  
    Get off, Murray says, struggling. Get off of me! You're crazy, you --
    Do you know what happens if someone hears you call me by that name? Hatsuye asks, her face so close to Murray's that his eyes blur. Do you know? Can you tell me?  
    Murray struggles, and Hatsuye presses his arms tighter to the bed.  
    Answer me, Hatsuye says.
    Get off of me! Murray says.  
    Answer me.  
    Murray fights back, and then abruptly stops, sagging beneath Hatsuye's grip.  
    I don't know, he says. Whatever.  
    No, Hatsuye says. Not whatever. Never whatever. There's no whatever in this life, Murray.  
    Stop calling me --
    No , Hatsuye says. You are Murray. You're Murray Handler. You live and breathe Murray Handler until I tell you it's safe not to be. Do you understand that? Do you get it? It isn't safe. It's never safe .  
    Fine, Murray grunts. Get off.  
    Hatsuye leans even closer, then presses her mouth to Murray's bandaged ear.  
    Do you know what happens if I'm found out? she asks. Do you know?  
    Murray turns his head from her, straining.  
    Stop fucking fighting me, Hatsuye snaps.  
    She pushes Murray hard, using him as leverage to hop off of the bed. Murray doesn't get up. He rubs at his arms, breathing hard.  
    What the --
    Hatsuye paces around the small compartment. I've been found out before, she says.  
    I know that, we've talked --  
    No, she says. Listen to me. Before, when they caught me, they took pieces of me.  
    Murray sits up a little. I thought those were accidents. From the bombs.
    This was, Hatsuye says, holding up her right hand. People blow their hands