Seagulls were the first thing Floyd heard. Their hoarse shrieks really were unmistakable. Seagulls on Mars? Well, the planet was full of surprises. So why not seagulls? Carefully, Floyd unglued one eye.

A flock of the white and gray scavengers were circling over him. Not liking the look in their beady eyes, he sat.

"Shoo. Eff off."

Not much effing-off happened, but at least the avian bastards didn't come any closer. They kept shrieking, but over the bloody racket Floyd could now hear another sound, the boom-boom of a pretty heavy surf. Tangy air laced with ozone found his sensation-starved nostrils. After so many months of living in a processed environment, all this raw nature was pure, joyful overkill.

It didn't take the cockle lying close to his foot, nor the sand clinging to one cheek to tell him he was on a seashore.

There were no seashores on Mars.

Once there were.

Something cold that wasn't wet sand oozed down his spine.

But the sand wasn't orange. And the sky was clear and blue, dotted with the type of puffy clouds that spoke of good weather.

Corrosion. Mars had been rusting away for millennia. Before, it might have looked quite different.

He should have paid better attention to the history files. But he was the navigator cum maintenance worker of the mission, not a bloody librarian.

With a groan, he stood.

And found himself covered in furry hides that covered his shoulders and back. Another crudely tanned hide, this one without the pelt, had been wrapped around his midriff, and dangled to his knees.

He made another discovery. The air was bloody cold.

Not the I'll-freeze-you-to death-in-five-seconds-flat sort of night-time temperatures that existed on Mars, but cold enough. The draft now swirling under hides that unerringly found bits of Floyd not covered by the fur was reminiscent of an arctic outbreak. Unpleasant, but by no means lethal.

Seriously unpleasant.

Damn it, this place was an icebox.

Whatever else this place was. Or whenever it was.

He walked up and down and stomped his bare feet on the sand. His breath came out on puffs of white, and the blasted sand frosted his toes.

But moving sent the blood coursing through his veins, which helped at least a bit with the chill, allowing him to take stock of his surroundings.

He seemed to be in some sort of half-moon bay, cradled by rough rocks that glistened with water. On all sides, steep cliffs rose. They appeared to be reasonably stable, not some sandstone crap. If need be, he could scale them, he was sure of that. A lot of his astronaut fitness training had contained serious hiking and rock-climbing.

The sunlight of what had to be a cloudless morning outlined the cliffs in sharp relief. Some parts of the rock face hid shadows deeper than he would have thought possible.

Caves, perhaps?

Caves were trouble. Recent past had proven how much trouble they were.

At least those holes in the rock face weren't underground. One had to be grateful for small mercies.

Floyd slapped his forehead. Why was he thinking such rubbish? Why were his thoughts skedaddling all over the place like a bunch of upset ants? This would get him exactly nowhere.

There had been this woman, El. The apparition in red heels. She who moved the cave around. She who put the writing on the cave's wall. Somehow, she got into the camp. She claimed Mars was a dream, or something like that. And she wanted something from him. For that, she had to show him something.

Most likely, this was it.

Whatever it was.

"Okay, I get it. You can make me fall asleep and dream funny stuff. Consider me wowed. Can I now return to Mars?"

The sea boomed on, the seagulls shrieked, and somewhere in his chest, his heart bonged away, rather fast.

Other than that and the rushing of the wind, there wasn't much noise.

There certainly was no response.

The base camp on Mars had been a bit of a shite place, but at least it was what he signed up for. He'd expected processed food, sterile air, and cramped lodgings.

He'd even expected danger. Astronauts lived for danger.

He never expected standing at a seashore wearing a crude collection of hides and furs that did little for his body temperature.

"Shit," Floyd said. "Hey, I expect an answer."

Boom, hiss went the surf on the pebbles. The seagulls shrieked, and it sounded like laughter.

He put his hands to his mouth and hollered, "Hello, El. This is getting old."

"Help," someone shouted.

Floyd froze. Not because he was cold, which he was, but because this wasn't the response he'd expected. In all fairness, he'd expected no response. His Neanderthal tormentor seemed to be the kind of person...apparition to tease him a lot longer.

She certainly didn't strike him as someone who'd shout for help.

"Who's there?" he hollered.

"Who are you?"

"I asked first."

"What sort of attitude is that?" The voice, female as far as he could work out, sounded vaguely familiar.

"Do you now want help or not?"

"Uh. Well, I guess I do. What else was I supposed to shout? I needed to announce my presence."

"You could have sung a song, for example."

"I can't sing. Can you?"

"No."

"See?" That sounded distinctly smug and even more familiar. But the voice wasn't El's. It was too sharp, clipped—heavens.

"Leela? Eh, Dr. Kalal?"

"Navigator Floyd?"

"No chance of navigating anything in this outfit."

There was a short, embarrassed silence. "Uh, are you also so...so scantily clad?"

"Furs?"

"Yes. What's this supposed to mean?"

"You're asking me?"

"Who else would I ask when Bones isn't here?"

"He isn't? Are you sure?"

"Very. I combed the whole shitty beach, and he definitely isn't there. Where are you?"

"Do you see some cliffs and rocks and stuff?"

"Yes, right in front of me."

"Okay, that's where I am. Let me see if I can get out of here."

"That would be appreciated." She sounded just as lonely and lost as he felt, and suddenly the urge to be close to another human being, another real person, even if it was Leela became overwhelming.

"Just a mo. I might have to do some climbing."

"Be careful. These cliffs look nasty."

Leela worried about him? That was a first. He suppressed the urge to gloat about his manly pectorals—there was no point, was there?—and scanned the cliffs for a navigable path. Soon he was up where he wanted to be, traversing along a narrow ledge that led to a dip in the cliffs. He peeped over the barrier down at a much larger bit of beach, its far end lost in some sort of opaque mist that could hide a lot or nothing.

Sure enough, there she was. Leela, bitch queen of Camp Mars, the bane of his life—and someone he was mighty glad to see.

Her dark hair, cropped short for the mission, was standing on ends, and she was huddling miserably in a motley collection of furs. There weren't enough of them around to hide the fact she wasn't wearing even the skimpiest fur bikini.

Somehow, the hides and pelts El had worn looked a lot more stylish. But then El hadn't been carrying a spear. The one in Leela's pudgy hands looked distinctly business-like.

Leela looked up and waved.

"Yoo-hoo. Be down with you pronto." He was, too.

"Hey," Leela said, a smile lighting up her austere face. She had pretty eyes, though. Sort of chocolate-brown.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

"Guess so. You?"

"Mh. Apart from the idiotic getup, I guess I'm doing all right."

Leela snorted. "Don't mention the furs. What happened? One moment I'm walking back to the camp with Bones...Dr. Jones...oh, to hell with it. The next, there's this beefy broad wearing a pair of fuck-me pumps and grinning like a maniac."

"El."

"Huh?"

"Her name is El. Or so she told me."

"Oh-kay. She said she needs you to understand something, but she believes you'll"—she quoted bunny ears in the chill air—"do better with a companion."

"Well, thanks a bunch."

"Wasn't me who said that."

"I didn't mean you."

Leela shivered, poked the spear into the sand, and pulled her furs closer to her body. "What is this place? Apart from freezing. And what the heck is going on here?"

"I seriously have no clue. But I intend to find out. You with me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

That sounded a lot more like the Leela he knew. Funnily enough, it made him feel better.

Much better.

(1362/12431)

https://youtu.be/2s13X66BFd8

This chapter is dedicated to fellow ONC writer @BrianMullin0 who's also going all out in science fiction. Check out his great story "Ctrl Alt Del".