Bones pressed buttons on the robo-medic, and the cuff around Floyd's upper arm deflated with a hiss. Frown lines on Bones's usually cheerful dark face showed something was wrong, but then Floyd had known that already. Middling nausea churning in his stomach, he asked, "What is it?"

"As far as I'm concerned, nothing. our vitals are fine, even if the blood pressure is too high." Bones pulled the stethoscope from his ears and let it dangle on his broad chest. "But other than that, there's nothing to write home about. That's what worries me."

"Why are you worried about there being nothing to worry about?"

"Because you're obviously having hallucinations."

"We all have them, right? We might have imagined those bones in the cavity."

"We have recordings of them. We know they were there. The tracks don't show on your camera. There's just nothing, nada."

"They were there! As were the handprints on the panels."

"Sure, sure," Bones said soothingly.

"I'm not nuts."

"I don't think you're nuts. I just think you need to take it easier for a couple of days. You've been running around like a blue-arsed fly, and that's no good for anyone."

"Have some OJ," Leela said. A yellow tube appeared in Floyd's peripheral vision, and he snatched it.

"What I need is a large beer."

"We haven't got that," Leela said. "It's against protocol." She pursed her mouth and examined the cupboards in the broom cabinet that passed for a surgery as if they hid contraband alcohol.

Well, there was some, but that was for disinfecting things.

"Someone should change the protocol, then." Bones shut down the robo-medic and rolled it back into the compartment where the thing lived. "Once in a while, a glass of a decent red for medicinal purposes can work wonders."

Floyd slumped in his seat and massaged his temples. The tracks had been there; he knew it.

Did he really? Somehow, the events of the last couple of hours melted and blurred into a puddle of doubt.

Through the open door that connected the surgery with the work-space pinged an alert.

"Incoming message from Mission Control."

As one, the prep-team sprang up and entered the work-space.

The communication screen flared and displayed the upside-down triangle of the Atlantic Association in yellow on bile-green.

Fortunately, the psychedelic logo was immediately replaced by the stubbled face of a sour-looking man in his fifties.

"Mission control to Mars base. Do you copy?"

Leela took her seat and flipped the lever that opened the comms channel. "Mars base to Mission Control. We copy."

"It's about your skeleton. The one you mislaid."

A wave of red-hot anger stabbed into Floyd's head, and it started throbbing like a faulty rocket. "We didn't..."

"Communication protocol!" Leela shot him a glance that could have frozen acid, so he shut up.

She smiled at the screen. "Continue, Dr. Paulsen."

The man scowled from the screen. "I can't say I was happy with your find, but I thought it might have been the remains from one of the, eh...failed landing attempts. We lost an awful lot of people there."

"Impossible. No spacesuit," Bones said. "And not only was the skeleton articulated, with all bones unbroken, the thing was also laid out as if someone was sleeping. No one who went through the earlier landing attempts would have been in a shape to lay themselves to rest. Not without a spacesuit, anyway."

"I know that," Dr. Paulsen bellowed, and banged on something hard—hopefully a table and not a control panel—outside their field of view.

Since no rockets launched and the klaxon remained silent, he must have hit a piece of furniture.

"You should have taken a sample when you could. Then we wouldn't have this problem now."

"The sample wouldn't be with you yet," Leela said.

Paulsen banged on the furniture again. "That's beside the point. You didn't, and now you lost that skeleton."

"We didn't lose it," she said. "It vanished."

"Skeletons don't vanish."

"This one did," Floyd said.

Leela rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Dr. Paulsen. He's right, though. It was there all right. Until it wasn't. This is not why you contacted us, correct?"

Paulsen ran his spidery fingers through his thinning hair. "No. That skeleton..."

"What about it?" Bones asked.

Leela raised her arms and let them drop again. "Why do I even bother. Make yourselves right at home, will you?"

Bones grinned. "We will."

"Oh, shut up."

Floyd was sorely tempted to remind her about the protocol, but decided against it. It wouldn't get him anywhere, and it wasn't worth the hassle.

"It's not homo sapiens," Dr. Paulsen said, with an expression on his face as if he'd swallowed a glass full of vinegar.

For a moment, a hush fell over the room.

"Come again?" Leela asked.

"I said, the skeleton is not human."

"You mean...an alien?" Floyd asked. The throb in his head increased. If his blood pressure was bad before, it was going south in a hurry.

"Oops," Bones said.

Paulsen snarled. "I said nothing of the sort. I told you it's not homo sapiens. Nothing to do with aliens. There are no aliens, at least not in this solar system."

"You sure?" Bones asked.

"Yes, for fuck's sake," Dr. Paulsen bellowed. This time, he banged the table twice. Something heavy crashed to the floor.

Leela shifted in her seat. "I'm not sure I understand you. The skeleton is not human, but it's not an alien either?"

"Of course, it's human," Paulsen snapped. "Just not homo sapiens."

The room fell as silent as a small space jam-packed with machinery could ever be.

"Um," Floyd said. "If it's not a modern human, then what is it?"

"Neanderthal," Paulsen said. "Female."

So, his guess had been right. "Those bones looked pretty old."

"The last Neanderthal man...human...whatever died ca 40.000 years ago."

That was pretty old.

"If I had a sample, I would have half a chance to date the blasted thing," Paulsen said, with a whine in his voice.

"We don't have it, so forget that," Bones said.

"Why would someone dump a Neanderthal skeleton on Mars?" Leela asked.

"To make our lives even more difficult?" Floyd suggested. "I'm telling you. It's the Pacific Alliance. They're here somewhere, and they're running rings around us."

"Stop it," Paulsen said. "Find that skeleton. That's an order. Until I actually get to see the thing, I don't know what to believe anymore. And concerning the Pacificos—they're about to launch, but they haven't—and I repeat—they haven't arrived yet. You're on your own for quite a while. So, continue to prepare the base for colonization, and find that skeleton. I expect an update in 24 hours. Mission Base out."

The image vanished and was replaced by the bilious logo.

Floyd, Leela, and Bones looked at each other.

"Shit," they chorused.

This chapter is dedicated to @nablai , one of the most generous and kind people I've had the honour to meet. She writes beautiful poetry - and wins contests for it. 

https://youtu.be/sHy9FOblt7Y

(1141 words/7795)

Have some music. Nothing spacey, something more earthy. 

PS: If you remember reading something about the skeleton being Neanderthal earlier, you're right. I adjusted the plot a bit, so it comes as more of a reveal. Sorry, but this is very much pantsing central.