[Mavis]

'Redemption comes stitch by stitch,' read the quilt in dark block letters appliquéd over colorful rectangular strips, pieced in a classic log cabin pattern.

Hung behind the bar, the quilt showed the effects of age and location. Dust and countless drink splatters blotted the surface, and time took its toll on the fabric.

I mumbled, "Gonna have to get it cleaned sometime."

I gazed at it for a moment, my first quilt, remembering the early days when Walt and I opened the Starlight Tavern so many years ago, now an iconic establishment on the Phobos Transit Station. The space station was a major hub for Mars traffic, asteroid miners, and space explorers — I've seen 'em all here. Most folk called me Ma, 'cause I'm kinda the matriarch 'round these parts fourteen-thousand kilometers above Mars.

The name Phobos was not coincidental, since materials from the disassembled inner moon were used to build it. A space elevator rode up and down along a super-strong tether that connected the station to the terraformed Mars surface. It was an incredible work of engineering.

Business was kinda slow now, but should increase later after the work shifts ended. We hadn't expected the deep-space colony starship Ark Hope to dock here for maintenance, returning from Tau Ceti Four, but it did. When the next batch of colonists arrived in a few months, this place will be hoppin'.

The tavern had an old English pub vibe, but with modern accents, and seated over a hundred. A holographic band performed classic-rock music on a small round stage. Monitors mounted around the perimeter displayed sports, news, or transit schedules. The scratched fake-wood bar extended along one wall, lined with two-dozen fixed bar stools. Behind the bar were the drink taps, neatly arranged bottles, rows of mugs and glasses, swinging doors leading to the kitchen, and oh yeah, the quilt.  

Lilli, a cute barmaid and one of my more empathetic employees, tapped my shoulder and pointed toward three women in the back corner, each sitting alone at separate tables. One woman I knew, one was new to the station, and the other I hadn't seen before. They all had that downcast look of despair that I've seen far too often.

Three lost souls in need of my special therapy. Three potential recruits.

"Bad day, Val?" I said, sitting down across from her.

Valeria Diaz came from a big family in Central America, and has been working as a station operations engineer for several years. She was a looker, with long wavy dark hair, light brown skin, deep honey-brown eyes under long flirty lashes, full lips, and a smile that would warm the coldest hearts. But there was no smile now.

"The worst," she replied, lowering her eyes. "I lost my job. And it's only a matter of time until they kick me off the station."

Living spaces were limited, so they didn't let the unemployed hang around long. "What happened, hun?"

"Substandard performance, my boss called it," Val responded with a huff, "but it's no such thing, Ma. Our 'esteemed leader' has it in for me." She paused, clamping moist eyes together.

That was obvious sarcasm. Brennan Kurst, the Station Director, was a misogynist hardass, and in no-way esteemed. When you think he couldn't get any lower, he brought a shovel.

"Why is that?"

After a pause, she shut down that line of questions. "I don't want to talk about it."   

I turned to a passing barmaid, who carried a round tray stacked with empty glasses. "Lilli, hun, bring us two of the therapy specials."

In no time at all, Lilli came back with two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. Val wrinkled her nose. "What is this?"

"Therapy," I replied, lifting my glass. "Drink up."

After Val took a sip, her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. "Oh, this is strong."

"Martian whiskey, with one hell of a kick." I downed my shot, letting the sharp burn flow down my throat. "Join our Quilters Guild meeting tonight in the back room."

Val shook her head. "But I'm not a quilter."

"Don't matter. It's more of a women's support group." Men were not excluded, but few ever showed up. Standing, I said, "See you there. Ma's orders."

As I turned toward my next patient, a petite young thing clutching a half-full glass of water, three scruffy miners with sour faces stomped into the tavern. The middle one halted, narrowing his eyes and extending arms to stop his companions. "There's the bitch," he snarled, eyeing her with bad intent.

These low-lifes worked on the asteroid mining ship Erobus, captained by an equally despicable she-witch Khlo Azrail. They were the wrong kind of trouble.

The poor girl nearly jumped out of her skin as he slammed down a fist on the table and glared into her widened eyes. "Do you know how much you cost us?" A sneer crossed his stubbled face, and he reached a dirty finger toward her shuddering jaw. "But maybe if you treat us right..."

"Let her be, boys," I ordered in a firm voice, crossing my arms. "Or I'll throw your arses out so fast you'll land yesterday." To emphasize the point, Hugo, my mountainous tavern manners enforcer, strolled my way while flexing massive arm muscles.

Scruffy swung around, smelling like hygiene was not a priority. "This bitch took away our claim!" he spat — literally.

"Don't give a damn," I countered, taking a step forward. He was a head taller than my old skinny frame, but this was my turf. "Back off, or your life will become hell on this station. You know I can." He paused, realizing the truth. I had that much pull 'round here. "Tell you what," I said in a calmer voice. "The first round at the bar is on me. Won't get a better offer than that."

"Whatever," he grumbled and turned away. Hugo extended his arm, graciously, yet firmly, guiding them to the bar stools.

As I sat down across from the trembling young woman, I caught Lilli's eye and held up two fingers.

I studied the woman for a moment. A pretty little thing she was, with a gentle oval face and baby-smooth freckled medium-brown skin. Not glamorous lookin' like Val, more like a sweet hometown girl, but so far from home. Thick curly dark hair obscured the sides of her downcast head. A tear rolled down a cheek, glistening in the flickering light from the holographic stage.

"You're Cassy, right?" I said. "The new bio-inspector?"

"Yeah," she replied in a weak voice.

"Sorry about those ruffians."

Cassy tilted her head up, revealing big, moist amber eyes. "He was right, though. I did cost them a valuable claim."

"How was that?"

"I found unique microbes on the asteroid, maybe a completely new kind of life. So I deemed it off-limits until further study." Cassy wiped the moisture from her cheek. "I was just doing my job, but they didn't like it."

The regulations required clearance from an exo-biologist before mining operations could begin. But then, there are rules, and there are how things actually work. Too much money was at stake, so by threat, bribery, or indifference, rarely was mining ever restricted. The last inspector that did got run off real quick. That girl must have gone through hell on the Erobus after that.

"I see. So what happened then?"

"No one will hire me now and I'm out of money," she replied with a sniff. "Then they kicked me out of my cabin, so I took a bunk in the Traveler's Hostel. But they'll only let me stay a week and I have nowhere else to go."

"Where you from?" I asked.

"Hays. A little town in western Kansas, in the former United States. But there's nothing there for me now."

Lilli placed down two shots of special on the table, and I slid one across to Cassy.

She shook her head. "I can't afford it and I don't usually drink."

"It's on me," I clarified, "and it's medicine."

Cassy took a sip, then stammered between coughs and sputters. "What is this stuff?"

"Martian whiskey. I call it a therapy special." I tilted my head back, draining my shot in one swallow and feeling the burn. "Good for spirit and soul."

"I'm not so sure about that." After a series of sips and sour facial contortions, Cassy finished her drink and slid back the empty shot glass.

Leaning back, I said, "Do you know how to quilt?"

She wrinkled her forehead. "I've done some sewing, but--"

"The quilters guild meets this evening in the back room. Be there. We might help you out."

Cassy stared for a moment, then stammered, "Umm, okay. I guess?"

"Good." I slapped the table and stood. "For what it's worth, Cassy, I admire you for doing what's right, despite the pressure. Stay strong, girl!"

That drew a small smile, which warmed my heart in return.

Two more quilter recruits. Let's see if I can get a third.

A newsfeed monitor caught my eye, showing footage of recent food riots on Earth. An angry mob ransacked a food distribution center and skirmished with security bots and armored police. Turned out famine was not popular. Then Andras Toth, the smartly dressed leader of the New Emancipation, a nihilistic spin-off even more radical than the libertarian-leaning Free Alliance, screamed and pounded a podium like a toddler throwing a tantrum. And he made just as much sense. I might have been more inclined to listen to his anti-society words if he wasn't an entitled son of a wealthy industrialist himself.

"Damn anarchists," I mumbled as my blood pressure rose. I really should avoid the news broadcasts.

The third lost woman sat slumped in her chair, swirling a half-finished mug of ale, and gazing out a wide portal window. She let out a long sigh and took a swig. Judging from the prominent tattoos on her arm, she was ex-marine, with a tall, strong body to match. Her plain brown tank top and khaki cargo pants contrasted with short, fiery-red dyed hair and dazzling take-no-crap blue eyes. But there was something else in those eyes, a hidden vulnerability, mirrored by a morose expression. A broken heart, perhaps?

Every seventy-five seconds, stunning images of Mars appeared through the thick recessed windows as the station ring rotated around, creating artificial gravity. Because of the terraforming, Mars was no longer completely red. Now vibrant greens and aqua-blues smudged the surface in streaky blocks, overlaid with thin white clouds. Travelers passed through the station often come here just for this sight. Then I sold 'em drinks. 

"Beautiful, isn't it? I never tire of the view." I sat down at her table and extended a hand. "Welcome, my name is Mavis, part-owner of this joint, but folks 'round here just call me Ma."

The woman straightened and accepted my hand with a firm grip. "Pleased to meet you, Ma. My name is Kate Jones, crew on the Ark Hope." She tilted her head toward Cassy, four tables over. "Saw what you did for that woman. Was going to help, but you handled it well."

"I look after my customers." I put my arms on the table and leaned forward. "But I sense not everything is well for you?"

A long sigh escaped Kate's lips. "Why are men so clueless?"

"That's the basis of many problems."

As Lilli passed by, she said, "Bring you two more specials, Ma?"

I nodded, confirming her perception. "Thanks, hun."

I turned back toward Kate to address her question. "It's the nature of the beasts. But men can't help it — it's in their DNA." I pointed at the bar. "See that man over there with gray hair and handlebar mustache? That's Walt, my husband, father of my children, and business partner. We've been married twenty-two years, that's forty-two Earth standard years. Even after all that time, he still does dumb stuff sometimes." I leaned closer to Kate. "Don't tell him I said that."

A wry grin rose on Kate's face. "So, what's your secret?"

"No secret. Marriage ain't all fairy-dust and angel song, that's for sure, and God knows I ain't an easy woman to live with, but we stuck it out through the tough parts. And you can't change a man who doesn't want to change. Although, it don't hurt to use your feminine wiles to nudge him in the right direction." I glanced over at Walt, who busied himself cleaning the bar. "Don't tell him I said that, either."

I caught Walt's eye and blew him a kiss, to which he responded with a wink and a grin. These simple gestures warmed my heart and lady parts, even for an old gal like me. Maybe, he trained me.

Lilli came back with two more filled shot glasses, and I passed one to Kate.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Liquid therapy. Drink up."

We raised glasses, clicked them together, and in synchronized motion, knocked back the contents in single gulps.

My mind swirled as the strong liquor warmed my gut. Any more therapy sessions today and I will become rip-roarin' drunk.

Kate sucked in a breath and pursed her lips. "Oh, this is good."

"Martian whiskey from my private stock." I clunked down my glass. "So, what's happening with you, Kate?"

The whiskey did its job, and Kate answered with a sigh. "I left Paradise to be with John, and it was good at first. Exceptionally good."

"But then?" I prompted.

"Then he got wrapped up in his duties. I mean, I respect that — he is the Captain — but he ignored me. And he won't open up to me about anything." Closing her eyes, she exhaled while slumping down.

"Oh..." I lifted my eyebrows. "But there's something else?"

Kate let out the breath. "I got jealous and did something incredibly stupid that made things way worse."

I imagined what that could be. "Do you still want him?"

"I think so — yes, I do. But that may not be possible now."

"Do you know how to quilt?" I asked.

Kate tilted her head and wrinkled her forehead, apparently confused by the abrupt subject change. "No. I only know enough sewing to do simple clothing repairs."

"We can teach you. The Quilters Guild is meeting this evening in the back room. Join us."

"How is quilting going to help?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"It's not really about the quilting. We are more of a support group." I stood. "See you there."

I wandered slowly over to the bar where Walt stacked clean mugs, feeling the buzz of three therapy specials.

"So, more recruits for the Guild?" He asked, lifting a gray bushy eyebrow.

"Three more, I reckon."

Walt grinned. "You just might save humanity yet."

"Yeah. Stitch by stitch."