Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel George Ellis (book series for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

“Might want to put on shoes first, Denny,” he said.

I hated being called Denny. Which is why he called me that. I was pretty sure my brother liked me, but I was damn sure he liked annoying me. He tossed me a spare cap and told me I would look older if I wore it. I put it on and he cocked his head to the side and studied my face.

“Nope, never mind. You still look like a girl. But hey, maybe they’ll think you’re cute and let you in because of it.”

* * *

Aside from the Earth, Mars was the only inhabited planet in the solar system. Earth’s moon had a few dozen colonies on it, but it wasn’t technically a planet.

The first colony on Mars, dubbed New Chicago, had been founded a hundred years earlier. It eventually grew from a few pods to the planet’s capital city. During that transformation, buildings were erected, underground subway tunnels were excavated, and people did what they do: made more people. Those new people, born on Martian soil, felt no emotional connection to Earth. To them, Mars wasn’t a colony, or just another extension of Earth. It was their home planet. Earth was a dot on the horizon to them.

I was born on Earth, but had spent the majority of my life in space, and I felt the same way as Martians. What did I owe that blue marble?

Still, as much as I admired the idea of Mars and the audacity of forming an entire society there, my first impression of the planet was that it could use a new coat of paint. The structures at least. They were all gray. Viewed from the Sheffield as our ship had broken atmo earlier that day, the surface of Mars was covered with a series of gray bubbles, all connected with thin corridors. I knew there were also subways underneath the planet’s surface, but that just made it seem worse, like Martians had been forced to live like rats.

Vinit Padma, perhaps the most famous Martian in history, and the planet’s first president, once said Mars should not be judged by the eyes, but by the human spirit itself. Meaning sure, the place wasn’t pretty, but it was damn impressive it even existed at all. The Republic of Mars was a triumph of human ingenuity and, in Padma’s mind, was man’s crowning achievement to date.

That may have been true in the theoretical sense, but the first corridor I stepped in smelled like whiskey and death. Maybe the guy should have said not to judge it with your nose, either.

This wasn’t exactly what I’d expected of the best bar on Mars, but I guess my idea of “best” was different from my brother’s. He had been talking about the Red Desert since we first heard our dad’s ship would be making the trip to Mars a few months earlier. I’d only joined the crew a few months before that, so I was still just a babe in the woods (whatever that meant), according to my brother.

The Red Desert was the oldest bar on the red planet, as the faded and crusty sign on the metal edifice proclaimed. It had been around nearly 70 years, and it seemed like nothing had been updated in that time. The walls were partially corroded and the windows that looked out onto the main corridor of downtown New Chicago were caked yellow. The sign said there was a max capacity of 50 people, which I found surprising given how small the building was. It couldn’t have been more than 20 feet wide.

Avery smiled at me as he opened the heavy black door to the establishment. If the outside of the place smelled bad, the inside wasn’t much of an improvement. There was so much vape smoke, it was like walking into a dirty cloud. I got a contact buzz before I made it to the bar.

The guy behind the long counter was in his late 50’s. His nose was a deep purple color and what was left of his hair was stark white with age. He grimaced as he saw us sit in two stools opposite him. Well, he mostly grimaced at me.

“Hey Joe,” my brother said with a casual nod. “What’s poppin’?”

The guy, whose name was apparently Joe, turned his gaze to my brother. He didn’t know him. Then he turned his purple nose back at me.

“How old are you? 12?” he asked.

“Old enough,” Avery responded, before I had the chance. Then he used his handheld to transfer a few credits. Joe saw this and thought about it.

“Still too young. The Mars Police show up in here, see this little pissant, and they could shut me down,” he said. It was obviously a lie. The Mars Police didn’t care about bars and licenses. But it was his place and he was squeezing for more credits. My brother shook his head.

“That’s enough,” he said. “We want two rum and sodas. You can either serve us or I’ll give an even better story to the Mars Police about the weapons smuggling business you run on the side.”

Joe’s face went red and I thought he was going to grab Avery with one of his huge hands and crush his skull, but instead he turned to make our drinks. Avery smiled at me.

“You gotta know how to talk to people, Denny,” he said. He then explained that dad had once delivered some weapons to Joe back in the day, so he knew the guy was dealing on the side. Avery called it having “leverage” on someone.

I just nodded as if I understood. While I was excited to be out in New Chicago with my big brother, I didn’t want any trouble. Avery said dad wouldn’t care, but I’d begged to be on his crew for years and now that I was, I didn’t want to do anything that might get me kicked back