Olympus Mons!

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Haley Surra watched Taylor walking toward her across the Mar-sport concourse. “Cocky kid,” she muttered to herself as he came nearer. Why couldn’t he leave her alone with her misery? He knew that she was a freaking jinx, a lousy albatross, just like everyone said. Hadn’t she already done enough to screw him up? Hadn’t the jinx made him lose the race? Hadn’t her lousy bad luck nearly killed them?

What the hell did he want now?

The first time Taylor saw Surra was in a cheap bar frequented by Mars grubbies and indentured workers; people who could only afford the cheap spiced liquor they served there. He’d taken a cup of the clear, searing, pepper-infused whiskey and nearly choked on his first sip.

“Grew the peppers in the old lady’s dirt,” the barkeeper had boasted proudly as she topped off his cup. “Gives it that added zip, y’know. What brings you to Jovus bubble?”

“The Chu San race,” Taylor’d replied. “I thought that was obvious.” With his expensive clothes and pale skin he knew that he stood out among these hard scrabble types like a beacon on an orbiter. “But right now, I’m looking for a grubbie who knows Mons,” he added.

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