The crowds of people surged together, crossing paths, but never colliding. Every biped, from bots, borgs, brothel beauties, bums, and banditos bustled about. Each individual had his or her own business to attend to, and each minded their own business like the next.

Two types of union worker jumpsuits sprung out at Tracy. Those sporting navy blue and goggles he took to be water treatment plant workers, while those in cloud grey jumpsuits with respirators hanging from their necks had to be those of the oxygen treatment plant. They weren't working hard enough, by Tracy's standards. The bubble of bodies bolstered the natural odor of Mars, making the thick stench downright unbearable. How did these people ever get used to breathing it?

They'd never bothered to pave the freeway-wide streets either, since most vehicular transportation floated anyways.

Two seat speeders, hovercycles, and hovercoaches cruised at low speeds over the dirt broadway, passing modular buildings to park in front of more permanent fixtures like casino hotels, saloons, one of the many brothels, or the super Mars-mart, which boasted the driest of dry goods—powdered milk, powdered potatoes, powdered pancakes, powdered everything.

The bot run bank teemed with constant flow of foot traffic. But the jail? Not so much. Although, as Tracy watched, a speeder glided up to the front, blue and red lights pulsing, parking underneath the shadow of the hangman's gallows occupied by elongated corpses left in their noose neckties to fester in the sun. A sheriff's deputy exited the speeder with a bot in cuffs.

Tracy spat. Too many bipeds, all with their own desires, and too many trigger fingers. He kept his head low.

A bellowing public transport ship hovered over a heptagonal landing pad before resting on its tripod feet, exhaust steaming from its metal underbelly. No sooner had the boarding ramp drop lowered did a hoard of new people offload, eager for a fresh start in New Oklahoma.

The wail of an incoming bullet train drowned out all other sounds for a few moments as the train slowed to a crawl, then stopped at the station.

And this was all just the Main Street. The city sprawled out in all four directions, not to mention the network of interconnected buildings and passageways underground.

Roy Rothspalt could lurk around any corner, or reside in any building. It was all a bit overwhelming to Tracy, especially given his present state.

He dismounted Chasm and lowered the brim of his Stetson over his eyes, assuming the slouched shoulder gait of a dejected prospector. Wasn't too hard to be convincing. The deepfake holomask projected the face of a gaunt older man with a hook nose and greying five-o'clock shadow. The wear and tear on his body over the past few days was no act though. Thirst and hunger gnawed at his insides. And he needed a cool bath to shake the dust off and rest his bones. But his smartarm came first.

Tracy kept his duster draped over his shoulder, hiding his armless side. The smartarm lay wrapped in his bedroll until he could find an honest technosmith. In a city as big as New Oklahoma, Mars had to have a decent craftsman that melded the fine arts of metallurgy with the problem solving of operating system analytics and repair. Even now, underneath the noises of the hustling bodies, he could hear the sizzling sparks of his fractured prosthetic.

First, Tracy had to get his smartarm fixed, then find Roy. There was no way he could reverse the order of those tasks. He bit his lip, not knowing who to ask for directions. Who could he trust? Smartarms weren't a dime a dozen. They could rack up some sweet creds on the black market. And with the features his had—one in particular skirting the edge of legality—his smartarm was seated at the high end of market value, even with the damages. And who was more tempting to strongarm for a smartarm than a one-armed arm of the law?

At least he had no shortage of ammunition. Jorah and her mother had turned down all the ammunition he'd gathered from the rustler corpses, which, honestly, made him feel better. He needed plenty of firepower and no longer needed to visit an armory here in the city.

After squeezing his way through the crowds of the Main Street, he crossed several blocks until he saw a sign for SmitHuri's Technoforge . Under the sign, a caption blipped. All manner of smart tools, gadgets, and prosthetics. He told Chasm to stay and took the bedroll with him into the smithy.

Hanging jackshovels and drillpicks lined the walls. At that moment the technosmith himself hefted a smarthammer, striking a plate of metal, shaping it. A holoscreen floated above and to the side of a battered e-anvil displaying all kinds of readings. Tracy waited several minutes before clearing his throat. The technosmith noted him. "Howdy. Welcome to SmitHuri's. I'm SmitHuri. How may I serve you?"

Unlike most Rubruns, this man's shoulders were as wide as he was tall. Which wasn't saying much. He was only half as tall as Tracy, if that. His stocky arms hung at his sides like two starship cannons. And his legs resembled the tiny landing gear that propped up entire ships.

"Can you fix smartarms?"

"Depends on the damage level. But I certainly can take a whack at it."

Tracy peered out the front doorway of the smithy. No one approached. He opened the bedroll, exposing the dented and dinged alloyed arm.

SmitHuri flicked an optic oculus over one of his eyes to get a closer look at the intricate details and the damage done, particularly the exposed obtuse lines of the circuit board nodes. Then he transferred it over to the e-anvil. Several popup holoscreens enlarged displaying serial numbers, blueprint schematics, and highlighting internal damage. "Oh. I see. Hmmm."

"What are we looking like?"

"A fair amount of external damage, which I can bang out. Parts of it have been crunched, and those will need to be hammered flat. But it's these frayed wires and microboards. I'll have to double check my inventory and see what I have. Not sure I got the right components. This is top of the line. How'd you manage to bash it up this bad?"

"Got attacked by some kind of tendrilled feline."

"You mean, them tentafangs? Thems are nasty predators. You're lucky to be alive. And lucky this arm is salvageable."

Tracy gawked at the casual admittance of alien life. "You seen 'em too?"

"Nope. Hear about 'em. But, you saw it in person, didn't ya? Gnawed up your smartarm. What's not to believe?"

"I thought those were a myth. Or Rubrum propaganda to get Terrans here."

"That's what too many Rubrums think. Ask around and most city settlers here don't believe it none neither. But you ask a homesteader, they'll tell you. Just 'cause them creatures don't come around often don't mean they ain't real."

Tracy wanted to learn more, but his worn mind begged for rest. "You think you can fix it?"

"Sure. Give me a day or two. Should have it back in the clear."

"A day or two? That's no good."

"Well, if you want it done right."

"It's just that..." Tracy leaned his head towards his vacant shoulder.

"Oh, well I can lend you a temporary prosthetic of course. All part of the service fees, my man. You'll pay no extra charge for it."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

SmitHuri gathered several prosthetic arms. One was the exact size and length Tracy needed, but had a claw instead of a hand. Made of cheap material too. Very light. Even though he intended to lay low, he still needed to be able to draw his revolver and fire it.

The other arm was a stubby excuse of a limb, made for a much smaller person.

But the only other choice that came with a full five-digit hand was a lumbering club of an arm. It was lighter than it appeared, but it still hung past Tracy's knee and the fist was as big as his head.

So it came down to choosing an arm that was too big, versus an arm that was too small.

He tested his quick draw with both arms. He also tested SmitHuri's patience. With the short arm it was hard to draw his gun at all. But the thick hand of the other almost dropped his gun.

And at the end of the day, Tracy needed to be able to draw both revolvers. He went with the log. He'd have hated it no matter what he settled on. While SmitHuri had the smartarm hooked up to the e-anvil, Tracy tried to pull Roy's wanted hologram poster. He managed to get that, and the subpoena for the courts both transferred via bluetooth over to his temporary arm.

"Good choice. It's only temporary anyways. So who cares, right?"

Tracy pursed his lips, holding back the explanation that it could very well be life and death if he ran into Roy too early.

"Oh, one more thing. Could you fix this?"

He withdrew the gov issued comm, placing it under the scrutiny of the technosmith.

"Nope," he said, after a few moments. "This thing is fried beyond repair."

Tracy shrugged and nodded. Figured.

SmitHuri didn't expect payment until the job was complete of course, which gave Tracy plenty of creds to find a place to rest his head.

***

Chasm knickered when he saw Tracy, as if laughing at his lopsided gate. "You keep that opinion to yourself, steeder. I don't like this oversized arm any more than you."

Knowing the casino hotel to be the best bargain, he and Chasm dragged their feet to the nearest one off the main strip. Several lights of the sign had burned out long ago, never replaced. Smoke fumes, sounds of glass shattering, much swearing, hollering, and guffaws spilled out of the entrance. The perfect place to lay low.

"You done good boy." Tracy patted the steeder with genuine affection. A greasy valet member took Chasm off of Tracy's hands and parked him in the underground speeder port.

He strode through a swarm of men in the middle of a drunken brawl to the counter and checked in. They assigned him a small room with thin walls, complete with a bath designed for a much smaller person. The water shut off automatically, long before he'd have turned it off if it weren't regulated. Bending his legs with his knees straight up was the only way he fit, but the water boiled away the soreness and cleansed his pores. Back home his waterproof smartarm almost never came off, so it proved challenging to wash himself one-armed, but the borrowed arm wouldn't have even fit in the tub.

He rested in the tub for a long time until the steam dissipated and the water turned cold.

Slipping into a robe, he hit the bed. The pillows were too soft for his liking, and the bed too stiff, but how could he complain after sleeping under the twin moons for most of his time on Mars so far. Turning on his side he realized that it was a bed for two. The empty space void of a warm curvy body saddened him.

Hina. He sighed from deep in his chest.

On the far side of the bed a comm unit sat on the nightstand along with a miniature HotThrusters toy dropship. Tracy closed his eyes. He was tired. He could call her tomorrow. It probably could not even make calls to Terra. And he didn't know what time it was back on Earth. But all the reasons racing through his mind only proved the other part of his conscience that knew he needed to call her. Even if it was painful. For her, yes. But for his own sanity.

Placing the call was less complicated than he anticipated. He did have to wait several extra minutes. Even with advanced tech, the distance between the astral bodies was great.

"Hello?" Her voice came through, grainy, but undeniable.

"Hey babe."

She breathed heavy on the other end. Choked up already. Or so he guessed. He had no way of knowing until she spoke.

"Complications came up. Wanted to comm earlier. Honest."

"You had me worried. It's been six days. Six, since I last heard your voice."

"This will be over soon. I'm close. I know it. I'll find my target and be back in no time."

Silence on the other end.

"You still there?"

"It'll take you months to get back. Or did you forget the warp hole is only one way?"

"I know. You know what I mean. Once I have him in cuffs, I'll be off of this hellfire planet, safe on a government starship, heading back to Earth. Nothing can harm me there."

"Anything can happen."

Tracy exhaled long through his nostrils. She wasn't having it. Nothing he said would convince her. She was still hurt that he left. "This wasn't my choice, Hina. I didn't want this."

Her sobbing filled his ears. The audio comm crackled, cutting out.

"You're breaking up. What?"

Her strained voice cried through the comm. "How am I supposed to do this by myself?"

Tracy could not find an answer. Any offering he had was wishful thinking at best, and lies otherwise. "I love you. Both of you."

Whether his time was up, or Hina had enough, he did not know, but the comm cut off completely. An automated voice informed him of the charge being added to his room bill. He wanted to smash the comm. But that would have just cost more.

Tracy palmed the HotThrusters dropship, imagining himself flying off of Mars, heading home.

Eventually he drifted into a fitful sleep devoid of nightmares, instead full of anguish, apprehension, and longing.