Steve Collins slumped into the seat in the stands, chugging morosely on his beer. It had cost him a fortune to buy season tickets for the Chicago Nubs and they were having a piss-poor season. He might as well have saved the money and watched the games in a bar - at least then he wouldn't be paying the extortionate prices for the booze at Quigley Field.

At half time, the Nubs were down, as usual. The fans in the stands opposite were celebrating and the Nubs supporters were looking miserable. Steve was staring into his beer, wondering if he could get a refund on his season tickets when a distant noise made him glance skyward. Around him, the rest of the crowd looked up too, startled exclamations emerging from their mouths.

In the sky above them, what looked like a flaming meteor was speeding toward Quigley Field. Steve realised numbly that it was far too late to run, even if he thought he could fight his way through the masses of spectators. Whatever was about to happen, there was no way to avoid it - he was stuck right there.

And as the meteor blasted down, three shapes detached from it and dropped onto the expanse of field. Less than a second later, the meteor hit the scoreboard, sending up a shower of sparks and flame.

Steve tore his gaze from the wreckage of the scoreboard and realised that the shapes he had seen falling from the meteor were in fact three motorcycles, their riders clad in camouflage and features hidden by their helmets. For a moment the bikes were stationary, then two of them pulled wheelies, the one in the centre accelerating away, the others following a moment later. The bikes sped up three separate sets of stairs in the stand and left his view.

Steve stood up and cheered loudly. "Now that's what I call a fuckin' half time show!"

The guy in front of him was looking puzzled. "Since when did the Nubs put on a half time show?"

"Who cares?" Steve looked back at the still-smoking scoreboard. "This was worth the ticket money!"

As soon as the bikes had cleared the crowds, Carbine screeched to a halt and took in her surroundings, not sure whether to be grateful or to curse their bad luck. They were all alive, thanks to leaping their bikes out of the ship moments before the crash, but she knew next to nothing about the planet Earth where they seemed to have landed. And they had drawn a lot of attention to themselves, something they could have done without.

"We need to get out of this place," she said into her helmet radio. "Meet outside, now."

"On it," replied Throttle.

Carbine waited for a second voice, frowning when she heard nothing. "Vinnie? You there?"

No reply.

Gunning her engine, Carbine took off to see if he was waiting for them outside – perhaps the crash had messed with the radio in his helmet. At least, she hoped that was the problem. He had seemed fine as they landed in the centre of the field, but that didn't mean he hadn't run into trouble the moment he left her sight. After all, finding trouble seemed to be what he did best.

Outside the stadium, Throttle was already waiting and a moment later, Vinnie sped out of the building and pulled up next to them. Carbine looked over at him, opened her visor and raised an eyebrow. "Vinnie, we just crash landed on an unfamiliar planet in the middle of some kind of public gathering while being chased by an enemy spaceship – and you stopped for food?"

Vinnie swallowed the last of his hot dog and gave her a defensive look. "I earned this 'dog' and its hungry work being a hero y'know…"

A bullet whizzed past them and the three turned their heads to see a group of security guards stood at the exit, obviously having realised the bikers were not part of the show.

"Party time!" Vinnie closed his visor and swung his bike in a 180 degree turn on his rear tyre.

"Vinnie, no," said Carbine sharply. "We get out of here, pronto."

"Aw, man…" Vinnie sighed, but took off after Carbine.

Throttle lingered a moment. "Sorry for the interruption citizens!"

The response was distinctly unfriendly and Throttle decided to follow the others and get the hell away from the stadium.

Night was falling as the three headed down the streets, trying to stick to the quietest roads. Carbine tried several times to get some response from the Freedom Fighters, but they were out of reach – by thousands of miles, she reflected gloomily. Stoker would be having a fit.

She was so engrossed with trying to reach Mars on the vid-com that she didn't notice the deterioration of the surroundings for a while. Frustrated by her failure to reach the others, it was only when Throttle began noticeably slowing that she began to pay any attention and pulled up at the side of the road.

"What's wrong?"

"Listen to this." Throttle revved his engine a couple of times and his bike made a clunking, grinding sound. "Sounds like a busted gyro."

Carbine sighed. "Is there anything else that can go wrong today?"

"No sweat, sweetheart," said Vinnie confidently. "We find us a cycle parts shop and I'll have it fixed pronto!"

"Be serious Vinnie," said Carbine, looking at the buildings around her and frowning uncertainly. "We've been on these streets for miles and I've not seen a repair shop yet."

"Y'know, there's something strangely familiar about this place," said Throttle as he checked out their surroundings. Debris littered the area and not a single one of the buildings seemed to be intact. There were no people anywhere and no signs of life. "And it's not exactly a happy memory – I mean, check it out! Nothing but miles of deep craters and crumbling buildings!"

"It can't be what it looks like," said Carbine, but she didn't sound confident.

"Earth is the next planet in line," said Throttle.

"But the invasion of Mars is still going on. Why would they split their resources like that?"

"Look on the bright side," interrupted Vinnie.

Throttle glanced at him, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "What 'bright side'?"

"That bright side!" Vinnie pointed ahead to a dimly lit building they had previously missed. It seemed in better repair than the others and the light proclaimed it occupied. Even better, the sign above the door proclaimed "Last Chance Garage".

"I'll check it out," announced Vinnie, dismounting his bike and heading toward it.

"Just remember Vinnie," said Carbine before he could take off. "Low profile. We don't need any trouble from the locals panicking about alien invasions."

"Looks to me like the aliens have already landed," muttered Throttle.

"Keep your helmet on, get the parts and leave," continued Carbine, ignoring the interruption. "We have to get back to the ship and see if we can do some repairs."

"No problems babe," replied Vinnie, tipping her a wink. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse!"

Carbine sighed and leant over her handlebars. "Tell me when the explosions start so we can go drag him outta there."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Charlene Davidson was plenty scared, but more than that, she was mad as hell.

She had worked hard to set up the Last Chance, sinking every penny she could into the business and setting up in the only area she could, the low priced neighbourhood that had seen better days – better decades, she sometimes reflected. The City had announced about a year previously that a wealthy businessman had purchased large quantities of land in the area in order to beautify it – instead the residents had been chased out, some being paid off and choosing to take the money rather than battle eviction, others finding themselves being swayed by more 'forceful' persuasion.

As one of the few holdouts, Charley was next on the list for the unique brand of influence the friendly local businessman wielded. She'd had her problems before – vandalism, broken windows, petty thefts – but this was the first time she had been approached in such a menacing fashion. As the garage was open late six nights a week, when the vehicles had approached she had assumed she had customers.

Big mistake.

She had looked up with a friendly smile as the 'customers' had entered – and the smile had slipped when she realised these three men didn't seem to have any interest in having their machines fixed. And when they had produced the contract of sale and strongly suggested she signed it there and then, she knew that she had a major problem on her hands.

She just had to hope that their instructions didn't let them go any further than threats, or else she was in big trouble But there was no way she was going to give these guys the satisfaction of showing she was intimidated.

"Tell your slimy boss I don't care how much money he has. The Last Chance Garage is mine and it's not for sale!"

The first goon, presumably the guy in charge, stepped closer to her and waved the contract in her face. "Not smart lady. Mr. Limburger wants this land."

"And we're gonna make sure he gets it," added a second goon, braying laughter. The first goon closed in further and Charley backed up, the small of her back hitting the lift. She jumped over it, keeping the machine between her and the goons, but she was under no illusions as to how much protection it would be if they ever stopped playing cat and mouse with her and got serious.

I'm no mouse she reminded herself, glancing behind her and seeing the wrench lying on the side and grabbing it, waving it threateningly. "You've got ten seconds to vacate this place, or – or I'm gonna vacate your face!"

This didn't have the desired affect on the goons, who exchanged looks and burst out laughing. There was genuine hilarity in their voices, which seemed all the more sinister to Charley.

Without warning the third goon, who had so far said nothing, suddenly stopped laughing and ducked around the side of the lift. Charley turned and swung the wrench at him, but he leant back and the weapon passed an inch or so in front of his nose. Charley was rendered off balance and it was a simple matter for the goon to slam his fist onto her wrist, numbing it almost all the way to the elbow and forcing her to release the grip on the wrench.

Quickly, Charley turned and ran from the goon, only to run into one of his accomplices. The goon grabbed her and shoved her hard, slamming her into the wall. She cracked her head painfully, but managed to keep her balance as the lead goon leant his arm on the wall beside her head, waving the contract in her face.

"I think it's time you saw Mister Limburger's generous offer in a new light," he said, smirking at her.

Charley narrowed her eyes, furious. They might have her at a disadvantage but no way was she just handing over the garage. No way.

"Shove it!"

"You heard the lady, citizen – leave her alone."

Charley turned her head, blinking. There was someone standing in the doorway of the garage, leaning nonchalantly against the frame. A bike helmet obscured his features, but the body was definitely male, muscular and toned – but there was something odd about him too. The furry shirt he was wearing for example.

The goon in front of her smirked. "And who's gonna make me?"

"Who's gonna make me? I'm gonna make ya!" The amusement was clear in the biker's voice – and so was the seriousness of the statement.

The head goon didn't move from in front of Charley, merely indicated to the other two with his free hand. "Take care of that guy."

The two goons advanced on the biker and the lead goon turned back to Charley, grinning. "Looks like your rescue just went…"

"South?" asked Charley sweetly, raising her knee and connecting squarely with his balls. The goon went cross-eyed and sank to the floor, cradling his wounded sack. Charley stepped over him and gazed at the scene unfolding before her in disbelief.

The two goons had pulled out guns and begun shooting at the mystery biker. To Charley, the guns were weirdly futuristic laser types. But they didn't faze the biker in the slightest, who dived across the floor out of their way.

A laser took out one of the windows and Charley winced. Still, better the window than her, or the mysterious man who had intervened.

The biker rolled across the floor and ended up on his back, somehow producing a gun in each hand. She hit the floor as the biker opened fire, the goons crashing down too as lasers rained around them. The biker scrambled to his feet and took aim at the goons again – and then there was a crash from another window and two more bikers smashed their way in.

Charley didn't know whether to hold her head and groan about the damage or goggle at the sight. One of the new bikers was another guy, wearing one of those furry vests. The second was female, dressed from head to foot in camouflage and a helmet covering her face – and what looked like a metal tail.

Great, thought Charley wearily. I need help and my rescuers turn out to be furries.

"Vinnie, what part of low profile didn't you understand?" asked the woman, whipping the metal tail around and wrapping it around the throat of one of the thugs, pulling him from his feet and sending him flying.

"Sweetheart, it's just your usual hero rescue stuff!" The first biker shrugged and blasted at the remaining goon standing, sending him on the run. "But if ya wanna join the party…"

"Can't let you have all the fun," replied the third biker, reaching out and grabbing the running goon by the collar. "Hey, who sent you?"

"L-Lawrence Limburger," stammered the goon nervously. "He wants this land…"

"Yeah?" The biker yanked the goon closer and got in his face. "Well, tell this Limburger that the Biker Mice from Mars are in town – and the party's over. Got that?"

Abruptly he released the goon and the man took two awkward steps backwards, almost falling. "You're – what the hell are you? Some kinda rat?"

"Something like that." The biker removed his helmet and Charley gasped, nearly running off. The Biker wasn't human.

The goon fled and the bikers watched him with varying states of amusement.

The girl took off her helmet and shook her long hair out around her ears. "Low profile guys. Low profile."

"We don't do low profile well." The biker with no helmet turned to Charley and smiled. "You okay ma'am?"

Her mind racing, Charley grabbed the wrench she had dropped previously. "Don't you come near me you – you…"

"Don't break a nail; we just came to get my bike fixed."

"Talk about no appreciation." The first biker removed his helmet, showing that he too wasn't human and on top of that, half of his face was covered in a metal plate. Charley began to feel dizzy.

"I don't believe this." Charley let the wrench drop slightly, staring in wonder at the strangers. "I've just been saved by a bunch of giant – gerbils?"

"Mice." The girl rolled her eyes, her steel tail whipping agitatedly. "We're mice."

"Mice." Charley laughed in disbelief. "With antennae's and biker clothes and motorcycles and… and…"

"Don't forget your basic studly bod," said the first biker, the light glinting from the metal on his face.

Charley bristled. "I've seen better."

"Maybe. But not with this much charm!"

"Vinnie," said the girl wearily. "Do you always have to do this? Women are not some weird alien species – okay, this one is a weird alien species – but you can treat them normally!"

"I'm not an alien!" Charley glared at the woman for a moment, but curiosity got the better of her. "Where on Earth did you guys come from anyway?"

"Mars," said Carbine nonchalantly.

"MARS!!"

"Mars," agreed Throttle.

"MARS!!"

"Is there an echo in here?" The mouse with the metal plate – Vinnie? – smirked."I don't think she likes our answers," said the girl, leaning against the wall. "Think we'll have to go through this every time we meet a human? Because it's getting old already."

"Mars." Charley laughed in disbelief. "Right. I don't believe this. You guys better explain yourselves."

Throttle sighed and began to tell her their story, using his antennae to relay a visual. About the war, the Plutarkians, the Freedom fighters. He left out some of the more personal details – their families and friends, the refuge camps, the missing and the dead. He figured she could probably read between the lines about that.

"Carbine here lost her tail to the cause," he continued. Charley glanced over to the female mouse against the wall, who inclined her head slightly and wrapped the metal tail protectively around the waist of the white mouse.

Message received thought Charley irritably.

"And Vinnie got half his face taken off – that's why he wears the mask."

"Yeah," said Vinnie, putting his arm casually over Carbine's shoulders and grinning at her. "But that's okay, because what's left is definitely grade-A mouse material."

Carbine rolled her eyes, but didn't extract herself. "And your ego remained intact of course."

"Do you two have to do that now?" asked Throttle wearily.

Frowning, her mind still trying to reject what her eyes were telling her, Charley walked over to the garage door and hit the button to raise it. "The way you guys describe what these, uh, Plutarkians did to your planet – I think you ought to check something out."

The three mice looked out over the neighbourhood as the door rose, seeing the same industrial debris as they had on their arrival – and something they hadn't seen from their parking point. Plutarkian digging equipment.

"From the looks of things, I'd say – they're here!"Charley bit her lip and contemplated the new information she had. If there really were Plutarkians at work on Earth, then who was going to stop them – and who was going to save her garage if it was next on the list?

Carbine palmed her face. "This day just gets better and better."

There was silence for a moment, then Vinnie sighed. "I'll fix Throttle's bike, maybe we can do something about the stink-fish before we head back to Mars."

"Assuming the ship can be repaired," added Throttle gloomily.

"Oh no." Charley glared at them. "I'm the mechanic and it's my garage, which means I'll take a look at the bike. All the bikes, make sure nothing else got damaged when you crashed."

"And what are we gonna do?" asked Throttle.

"You can board up the windows that got busted!" Charley turned and went back inside while the three mice exchanged looks, shrugged and went out to get their bikes.

"Man," said Vinnie as they grabbed their bikes. "Earth girls are pushy!"