Follow the Sun Down

Light—it reached Chris' eyes.

Morning came.

He awoke to the sight of a cold and grey nothing-sky canvass that peered through the seam of the atrium door. The miasma that dominated their ride home last night was gone. The cloud layer had ascended since then, greatly. He perked his head up.

"It's light outside." someone said from across the room.

Chris turned his head to find Justin watching him. Chris arose from the corner of the atrium room and stretched, then walked a short distance closer to him.

He was reading some sort of colorful text, the cover of the material looking more cartoonish than informative.

"Who were those guys last night?"

"If I were to guess, and I'm a pretty good guesser, I'd say they were Bolshevik members, the most powerful faction under the most powerful warlord here."

"What did they want with me? For what reason would they attack a kid?"

"No other reason than you being an easy target."

"Is it really like that all over the world?"

Yes. You're in the eye of a silent storm, Chris. This whole planet is red."

"I don't know what you mean, red."

"Red. Civil war, revolutionary times, bloodshed. It's red. Right?"

Chris nodded.

"Hey, next time you get back to the city, you ought to wash your clothes. You stink."

Chris raised his arm and took a whiff, involuntarily rearing back in surprise at his own stench. "Well, I didn't bring anything with me. Where can I go to buy clothes here?"

"Ha. Nothing's for sale here, kid. Just dope and booze. Factory will give you some work clothes to change into, but that's it. You'll have to get your hands dirty if you want anything for yourself."

"Guess I'll try and do that today."

"No, not today."

"Why not today?"

"Today's a holiday." Justin got up, casually tossed his reading material down on the floor and opened a steel door to an adjoining container and disappeared thereafter as it shut.

"Holiday?" Chris mumbled.

He looked where Justin was a moment ago, saw the book and cocked his head quizzically to the side. He walked over to it and scooped it up off the dirt floor, looking at its cover: SPIDERMAN.

"Spiderman. What the Hell is Spiderman?"

"It's a comic book!" some muffled voice rang from one metal container to the next.

"Oh…thanks!"

That left Chris alone in the atrium. Despite a light aching from sleeping on such hard contours, he had received an ample amount of sleep. He felt at peace and sighed contently, now looking around for something to occupy his mind with. It was then that he noticed a familiar object wedged between the bottom cushions of the nearby couch. He walked over to it, pulled it upward and nodded to himself. "A photo frame."

Chris glanced about, made sure he was still alone.

The device was worn. It was old and hadn't looked like it was used in quite some time, forgotten beneath the cushions. As if memories were frivolous.

Likely so, Chris thought.

Nevertheless, Chris' curiosity now reigned his morning.

He ran his sights over the chassis and searched for the power button. First, he had to wipe his hand across all surfaces in order to accurately see anything, it had been neglected so long. Chris began to wonder if the battery was still holding a charge. It likely siphoned off static electricity from the air when not actually plugged into a power source in its dormant state, and the q-bit memory inside would long outlast anything around it.

"There you are." Chris said as he jabbed once at the button.

There was hesitation, then the device's screen flickered on with white light. A diagnostic test began to scroll by and by the brief look of it, the electronics ran through their routine POST. After a few seconds, a GUI loaded and provided Chris with a simple menu. He went straight for the archive...

He began to scroll through.

It was Justin in Uniform. United Earth Space Corps standard issue fatigues. He was surrounded by a small number of fellow Marines in a group pose. In the background he swore he saw the faces of Pete, Bill and Ken. They all looked so happy. Justin looked happy, on top of the world, in control. His hair was within regs, which made him almost barely recognizable, like he was a different person with that haircut. He really was a different person to Chris. The eyes had a sparkle to them and the crow's feet flanking them signaled happiness in that moment.

Chris scrolled through to the same shot, but this time a wider angle. Around the small unit of Marines was the panorama of City 17. Chris could make out the admin district off to one side.

Chris paid particular attention to Justin. He had surely changed since these photos were taken. His physical form had declined. The muscle tone was lesser and surely the skin was now pale, and the look of happiness was gone.

He scrolled through, gaining more insight into a life long forgotten by some.

There were photos of a dining facility inside the factory complex, the Marines sharing a meal. They had two tables to themselves. The cafeteria was bustling with workers. Some were seated at tables on their lunch breaks. Though the image was a still frame, it was clear that people back then moved with purpose and a sense of diligence. They were happy, productive, hopeful.

"Put that back where you found it."

Chris jerked his head in the direction of Justin's voice and quickly set the frame down on the couch.

Justin's voice was perfectly calm, yet his form in the doorway was motionless, just like those photos.

"Sorry." Chris said.

Justin shrugged his shoulders. It would seem Chris hadn't crossed a hard line with his snooping, though the boy caught a clamping of Justin's jaw as he turned away.

Chris watched the former Marine go further into the igloo. He waited a moment, then opened the same door that Justin had and found himself in a wide junction of sorts. Off the atrium was this room: all steel on all sides, a cube of metal with a door at each wall. The floor was clean with no traces of dirt and fluorescent lamps hung from the ceiling by parachute cord. Their electrical wires snaked to one wall, slithering down through the far door and beyond. Justin was nowhere to be seen, probably behind another door, but Pete was there—resting peacefully on a cot with one hand tucked behind his head, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. He just kept staring. It was going on two whole minutes since Chris entered the room. Finally, Chris said:

"Hello?"

Pete rolled his head over in Chris' direction, held it there for a moment and smiled. "Hi. You're…the new kid, right?"

"Yeah, I think we met the other night. Pete, right?"

"Barker."

"Your name is Barker. My mistake."

"No, no. Pete Barker. Barker's my last name."

"Nice to meet you Pete. My name is Chris."

"Likewise, I'm sure." he said with a careless smile.

Chris sat down and rested his back against the cold steel wall and looked to Pete. "How long have you been awake?"

"'Bout two hours." Pete said, practically holding more conversation with the low ceiling than anything other.

Chris smiled. "So are you going to get up soon?"

Pete slowly took his gaze off the ceiling again like it was a chore to do so, like his joints were made of molasses, and looked back to Chris again, saying, "…Maybe."

Chris grew impatient. The need was growing on him to keep occupied after waking, like the day was wasting by the second. He always had been a fast riser, an early bird. He had supported himself most of his life and wasn't a slouch in the least. "Maybe?"

"No need to get up, really." Pete said lazily. "It's a holiday today. Factories everywhere shut, down for the day. But," Pete said with a tone that seemed to reach Chris' thoughts, "you can go in when they open for night shift."

"Why do the factories close? I thought they liked to keep busy."

"…Maybe it's best if Justin tells you that one. He's the know-it-all around here. The only thing I'll say in the matter is: everyone needs a holiday. Even criminals."

Chris huffed and stood up. "Okay."

"Well, wait! Don't leave. Tell me a little about yourself, why you're here, how you got here."

"Not much to tell, really."

"Aw, c'mon," Pete begged, "every survivor's got a story."

"I guarantee it's not as interesting as yours, or Justin's."

"That don't matter. I like hearing stories from the outside."

"Well—"

Before Chris could even mutter one word, a door hinged open from another room. It was Justin stepping out, and his best friend Bill Santhouse in tow. At first, nothing was said. Not even a hello. Justin paid no mind to either Chris or Pete, just tried to make his way to the atrium and probably further on by the way he currently carried himself. And through the open door, Justin's gaze hung. His eyes widened in delight. "Sun shower!"

Like a light switch, everyone changed their demeanor and bolted for the outside. Even Pete jumped up out of his cot like he'd just been struck by lightning.

Chris hurriedly followed the three of them out the dirt-covered atrium like a fawn following its mother in a stampede, and was eventually met with a face full of bright sunshine.

He paused just outside the front door and watched Justin. He stood tall with eyes closed and arms stretched out wide, smiling from ear to ear. The look on his face was so incongruent to all the actions he'd displayed so far, but Chris couldn't possibly think for an instant that he'd known everything about Justin just yet—only a day or so since arriving at Traxus IX. And Pete just stood lazily, leaning up against the atrium hull, lighting a cigarette and basking in the ambiance. Bill stood in the open dirt turf, straight and still as a statue, head tipped down and hands bound together in prayer. The cool winds ran like invisible fingers through his dark, wavy hair.

Their behavior was so strange to Chris.

But he remembered them saying that sunshine was a rarity. He didn't really understand their joy, didn't see what the big deal was, but nevertheless got the feeling he'd be in for the same experience months from now. So, he put himself in their shoes and pretended to enjoy it with them.

"Hey!" Justin shouted into the air with a smile. "Someone get the frisbee from inside!"

"I'll get it." Chris offered. He ran back to the igloo, turned around short of the door. "Where is it?"

"In the heater room." Justin said. "Go through the door I was in and you can't miss it. It's bright-orange."

"Okay."

Chris walked through the atrium as Ken passed him by. "Hi." Chris greeted.

Ken nodded in reply.

Chris walked into the Atrium, heading straight through the only door at the end. Through it, he wound up in the junction box again, a door to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. He chose straight and walked into a larger steel container with a lone fluorescent light above providing meager luminescence to the large, hollow chamber. All the wires from every light source in the igloo met in this room, to a vehicle battery—probably stolen. Lying in a corner of the floor was a bright-orange disc. He bent down to it and scooped it up, echoes from his footsteps registering in his cognizance as he left. "Kill the lights on your way out!" a faint voice said from outside.

Chris flipped all the switches off as he left, hurrying to get outside for what seemed like a delicacy to them all. He spotted a shotgun leaning up against the inner door frame and it stopped him short. He went to pick it up and check it out, but then thought better of it. He rushed outside.

Bill had finished his prayer. Pete was still enjoying his morning smoke and Justin stood waiting for Chris. "Toss it to me." Justin said.

With a fling of the wrist, the frisbee spun away from Chris' hand and sailed over to Justin with a slight wobble.

"Nice toss." Justin said with a smile. "A little work and you'll be an expert in no time."

"Thanks." Chris replied. "Before I play, is there any water?"

"Pallet full of it around back." Justin tossed the frisbee to Bill.

Chris left for the backside of the all-metal establishment, taking note of its arrangement while he walked to get the water. Justin's igloo was basically five, large steel cargo containers all butted up together in the basic shape of a cross. The seams matched up nicely and obviously the interior doors mated perfectly. Faded paint over every container sported the Traxus Heavy Industries logo: TRAXUS in heavy, bold print with a miniscule HEAVY INDSUTRIES underneath. Off to the side was a ringed planet. The outer material of the containers was a corrugated metal, probably a basic galvanized steel-alloy. And the outward-facing ends of each container had a mound of clay and dirt shoved up against them, permanently sealing the outer doors from intruders. That meant only one entrance/exit to the place—the atrium.

Chris neared the back. Sure enough, a large, wooden pallet sat there atop a cluster of cinderblocks with dozens of water bottles tightly saran-wrapped together. An olive-drab tarp was draped loosely across to keep out the ubiquitous dust. He walked up and lifted a piece of tarp, clawed at the plastic wrap and snagged two bottles, soon making his way back to the guys. It was then that he noticed a peculiar little piece of roofing material dead center atop the igloo, a sloped roof for a vent hole.

He walked on by, his eyes fixed on the vent as he circumnavigated his way around the igloo and back to the front. He cracked open a bottle with a twist upon taking a seat on the Mongoose, watching Bill, Pete, Justin, and Ken gathering up in a diamond formation throwing the disc back and forth. They threw all manner of trick passes. They were good, obviously afforded much time practicing in their boorish lives.

In perfect harmony they threw to one another Upside-down Scoober Throws, Hammer, and Duck passes—all slicing through the brisk air currents like a hot knife through butter. After a few minutes of this talented display, the fisbee worked its way around to Justin right in time for the wind to die—a moment he'd been waiting for. He reared further back from group with haste, wound up mightily and galloped forth with the frisbee high above his head. Disc tilted at 45º, he over-hadnded it high in the air like a Tomohawk Chop. The frisbee raced to heights that made it momentarily hard to spot, but the bright-orange color was contrasting nicely against the lifeless-grey sky. It glided high above them all, turning upside down in mid-flight. The perfect sun once again found a path through the gloom and lit up the disc like a shining angel about to ascend into the clouds. Updrafts eventually resided and the frisbee eventually rained down to the ground with sudden ferocity as if the breath of the planet decided give out and to let it go. It crashed down upon Ken's position, who easily snatched it from the air. He threw it to Chris. The day was perfect.

"You know what would be awesome right about now…" Justin said as the frisbee lazily circulated amongst the group.

"You read my mind." Bill said.

Without another word, Justin broke formation and ran back into the house, back out a moment later with a clear bag in his hand. He gingerly opened it, placing his nose up to it for a whiff at a sweet scent.

"Is that what I think it is?" Chris asked.

"Only the finest weed in the entire galaxy," Justin said, "for a special occasion. A quarter-ounce of the good stuff."

"Nice." Ken said with overt approval. "I was wondering when you were gonna bust it out."

"Man," Chris said, breaking the moment, "you guys sure do get excited over this stuff."

Pete gestured towards Chris rather grandly considering his well-known indifference. "Take it from me, you will come to love this shit."

"Matter of fact…" Justin said, his voice momentarily trailing off as he rolled a cigar, "…today is a special day for more than one reason. Yes the sun is out, yes we're off today, and yes the basic needs are met…but just yesterday Chris here said his first ever curse word."

"Here-here!" Bill shouted.

"Hey, you're learning." Pete said.

"So, let's light up." Justin smiled.

Some time had gone by in their collective, hazy high.

The day waned into twilight hour, the sun nearly surrendered to night. They had all receded into the igloo. Sitting in the atrium—sharing jokes, discussing at length their flings of romance from a distant past, telling stories of better times—that was how they passed the time. They ate what little rations were stored in the igloo after their highs came down. It was the most fun any of them had in a long time—even Chris, who hadn't been relegated to such an existance as they. The boy gauged his surroundings, thought it an opportune moment to vent some of his questions.

"So tell me, guys..." he said with a coy smile on his face. He surveyed them all before bringing up the eventful past of T-09. "…Tell me why today is a holiday. You guys friggin' work so hard I would've thought a holiday was the last thing you wanted."

Pete raised his chin at the boy. "Today is a holiday for two and only two reasons. Justin?"

"Don't think it's for the benefit of the common worker," Justin said, "because it's not. Reason one: to get the workers away from the factory. Reason two: is a planet-wide change of command at every city."

Chris leaned forward with rapt interest. "Why on both accounts?" he inquired.

"Every year this day, factory-city administrators swap command positions. They get flown into their new city aboard personal Pelican aircraft. And when this happens, they want the workers out."

"Why do you suppose?"

"No one really knows, but I would guess because their staff need to brief them on the status of the city and its major issues. It's a security concern. The admins like to live a sheltered life. Admins commingling with the line workers, all in one place at one time, probably isn't in their best interests, you know?"

"So where do the Pelicans come from? I haven't seen one yet."

"No one knows that, either. Some say they're ferried down to the cities on autopilot from the space station high above. Some say they're secretly tucked away under the courtyards of the cities."

"What do you think?"

"Heh, doesn't matter what I think. And I could care less. Makes no difference to me where they stash 'em."

"So they just want us out to give them space...and we get a holiday for it?"

"Pretty much...but most people here on Traxus Nine don't know the full story."

"This is where it gets good." Pete cut in, his eyes widening in excitement like a kid in a candy store. Pete took notice of Chris' onset of confusion. "I told you, Chris, I love hearing stories. Especially this kind of shit."

"So," Justin said, looking back to Chris as if sharing a nighttime horror story, "this event takes place about the same time the New Model Army had come planet-side for a little housecleaning. The most prominent warlord of the time was Kaiser Sergei, a deadly and merciless terrorist of a man. I'm talking worst of the worst. He was among the first to arrive here at E-day—that's Emigration Day—when literally millions of criminals and illegal traders and the like swarmed the place, setting up shop to conduct their business. All traffic throughout most of the new frontier came, and still does come through Traxus Nine. They knew it the moment THI's volume skyrocketed. The fact that their stock split seven times in one quarter ensured the migration wouldn't stop, either.

"For years, the Kaiser had control over much of the planet's illegal trade. He got most of the kickbacks and it remained this way until some of his most trusted men got greedy and conspired against him. But the Kaiser was more cunning than a desert jackal and started murdering those who even so much as looked at him funny. Fearing torture or death, those in his clan still plotting against him fled and gathered up strength. Kaiser anticipated a strike on his own soil, so he executed a systematic series of raids on suspected rival hideouts. Sometimes the Kaiser got what he looked for and other times he couldn't find his rivals, so gruesome mass murders of entire towns and villages ensued, just to drive the point that you don't mess with the Kaiser. The point was taken, except some of his adversaries slipped through the cracks. Months and years went by in tranquility under this guy, and then all hell broke loose. The Battle of Gulag Hill. That's what this holiday is really all about, kid."

"Tell me." Chris said, his eyes transfixed on Justin's.

"It was the bloodiest day next to the NMA's invasion. The rivals of the Kaiser had been recruiting immense strength in an underground network for years, mind you. Criminals ambitious for more spoils and profits, and the misguided and impressionable kids out there just trying to make it. They were all prime selection. Once collected at full strength, they launched assaults on all the Kaiser's territories with calculated precision. There was little to no recovery from such coordinated attacks. And they knew just what to do—some of them having been employed by the Kaiser for years without him knowing it. This global attack was aimed to take down the entire criminal sub-empire and force a regime change. The allies of either side soon joined in, whether forced to or just looking for their stake in the criminal industry once the dust settled. So gang wars inevitably spilled into the streets, into the factories, to the entire planet. It was at Gulag Hill that the most bloodshed occurred.

"It was The Great Water Scare. It was thought that the gangs near Gulag Hill poisoned the water with something, some kind of nerve agent or mind control drug that they obtained from their black market dealings. It drove the townspeople insane…and they joined in on the rampant killings. Factory staffs at the neighboring city were attacked. Admin buildings were breached and destroyed, and even a mayor was killed. This is the main reason why the NMA came. Remember how I said you don't mess with the company? Well, mayors are company property, right?"

"Right." Chris said hoarsely, swallowing a lump that'd been forming in his throat.

"So, after the NMA came and basically ended it all, they declared martial law and shot down any vessel trying to leave the planet and make for the slipstream. The majority of the NMA then left with only their ultimatum and a small task force behind. To this day, nobody knows what drove the people insane or what was in the water, but from that day forth THI declared an annual armistice. And so, on this day every year, the mayors of each city take up a new location of command and appraise what progress their colleagues have made towards stability, so that an incident like that would never happen again. Kind of like an Inspector General's force-wide review. They check each others' work so there's no bias involved."

"Wow," Chris said, "so they run a pretty tight show. What ever happened to Kaiser Sergei?"

"He switched places with his enemies. He's underground, building up strength. And can you guess where he's doing it?"

"Down the road you told me never to go down?"

"BINGO, kid. You are one intuitive bastard!"

Justin articulated his reply in a manner that Chris still couldn't discern between sincerity or sarcasm.

"So…why doesn't someone try to contact the UNSC from here? Tell them what's going down at Traxus Nine? Maybe some of us can get a trip outta this Hell-hole."

"Yeah, that won't happen." Pete said almost with a laugh. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but there is no inkling of hope to hold onto in that regard."

"It just seems so wrong that the truth should be hidden. What about the NMA, Justin?"

"What about them?"

"I mean, they're hired to committ hainous crimes against men, women and children...Wouldn't at least one of them have a conscience and tell about it later on down the road?"

"No."

Chris stared at Justin for a moment. "How can you just say no?"

"If any one of those mercs blew the whistle on their own people, do you realize what would happen to them?"

"They'd be hunted down?"

"Ha! You've got a talent for understatement, kid. Those mercs would literally jump at the opportunity to get a reward out of personally fucking over any rat within their organization. And that's just the tip of the iceberg, my friend. They'd also kill their family, assuming they had one, and they'd do it very slowly while they watched."

"How does someone find themselves caught up in that kind of world?" Chris shook his head.

"Don't you think you're better off not knowing?"

Chris pursed his lips. "You're probably right."

"Usually am."

"I think of the innocent people like me that wound up here. This shouldn't be their home at all. This shouldn't be your home at all. We should all have the freedom to come and go as we choose like any other planet out there!"

"I agree." Justin said, his voice ill-omened from the corner of the room. "One-hundred percent, I do. But it's fairly obvious by now. What's it been guys? Going on ten years?" Every one of Justin's friends nodded their heads in agreement as he looked directly at Chris. "Ten years of steady-state business for THI ought to be some kind of indicator."

"That the UNSC hasn't found out yet?"

"That the UNSC turns the other cheek, man."

Chris hung his head at this revelation. "No...I don't buy that."

"You don't have to, kid. But that's the way the cookie crumbles in the real world."

"Suppose your right. Suppose that the UNSC knows and doesn't do a bloody thing about it. What would happen if the right words were to reach the right ears?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Like sending out a radio transmission to the nearest colony. Some good Samaritan might receive it and send help, send the cavalry."

"Right." Justin said mockingly. "I can see it now...The radio operator at the distant end receives this communiqué of yours and acts upon it to your personal benefit, assuming you're not already dead by then because it of course takes an awful lot of time for this radio transmission to traverse subspace. So foregoing the impossible here just for shits and grins, we'll say that he receives it and reports it to his superior—who then reports it to their superior, and-on and-on up the chain of command until the highest of the high gets wind of this atrocious act of planetary proportions. Every single soldier, sailor or civilian that had a hand in forwarding up this message, this news of intolerable humanitarian atrocity, is rewarded with high honors and award ceremonies are held in their name, and they are heralded heroes! This is where the elegant part of it all comes in, kid…

"All those heroes can go home and sleep at night knowing only that they did the right thing. They even see news feeds and Chatter networks bustling with reports of UNSC intervention at Traxus Nine at just the right time, eh? But what they could never possibly fathom in a billion light-years is that general officers high above them know exactly what goes on here and that's where the buck stops. Those generals, those great men leading great men and those politicians by their side let this evil hive continue to fester all because…

"their mission can go on. They can continue to pioneer the cosmos knowing that we provide them the means to do it so that people more fortunate than us can have a shot at a better life on another world. Some mommy and daddy pair can get junior's Christmas presents shipped to them on time from across the galaxy. Greater good, kid. Makes you feel kinda noble here, doesn't it? Kind of a righteous thing we're doing here, isn't it?"

The igloo was deathly silent. Chris got the feeling the mood of the room had changed. Even the other guys were engrossed on Justin, his words.

Justin was no longer teasing, no longer joking. His eyes held a fire in them and were somewhere else, lost in memory.

"Fuck." Pete said, throwing his last morsel of food to the dirt. "There goes my buzz."

"Oh my God." Chris said, placing his head in his hands. "There really is no escaping…" He trailed off and once again fought back the tears.

Ken looked around imploringly, gesturing for anyone to comfort Chris in some way for he was far too shy to go that far out on a limb for someone.

It was Bill who finally left his place and knelt down next to Chris, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He spoke softly, saying to him, "Hey, Chris, at least you'll never be alone again. We know tomorrow is just a maybe. Doesn't seem so guaranteed. But it seems for once we're finally happy, blessed with everything we need."

"Yeah," Pete said, "you can live a simple life here. Most of the people out there in the real world can't even do that for themselves. Swept up in money and possessions, status and bullshit. At least here, we're forced to have our simple ways. Like Bill said...once you get used to it, there's no worries, Chris. No worries at all." Pete offered one empathetic smile towards the kid before going back to reading his comic book. Such compassionate gifts from Pete didn't come very often at all. He was a hard man with thick skin like Justin Reid, who said:

"It's not gonna be long until the city opens back up. I suggest we all go in tonight. We've been cooped up in here all day and we're in need of a change of scenery. All the weed is gone, anyway."

Chris thought about just bursting into tears, but instead looked upon all the faces surrounding him. "Everything I've ever known is gone now. Everyone I ever knew is gone. I have nothing anymore. Will I ever be the same?"

Justin took his eyes off from the floor and glanced at Chris. "Nah, kid, you'll never be the same. We're your new family now." He got up and walked further into the igloo to get ready for the journey to work. "Sorry."

After changing into thicker clothes, Justin moseyed outside and fired up the Mongoose. The ATV stuttered to life in the cold sunset as the winds of the barren plains surrouding it swept up fine particulate into Dust Devils. Chris emerged from the igloo, then Bill, then Pete and Ken. Everyone was ready and heading in the same direction together.

"How are we all gonna make it?" Chris asked. "Take the ATV back and forth?"

"We'll do no such thing." Pete said with a grin. "Ever go skiing?"

"No. I saw it on TV once."

"Wait 'till you get a load of this."

"What you're about to witness is skiing on crack!" Justin exclaimed.

Pete said no more and ran back inside the igloo, back out in a flash. In his hands were three pairs of parabolic skis, their boot bindings, and a fan-out rope. He wrapped one looped end of the rope around a trailer hitch welded to the back of the Mongoose. The rope stretched out to about seven meters before fanning out into three more lengths—each with thick rubber handholds at their ends.

"No way." Chris said, studying the setup.

"Way." Pete replied, rigging it up.

Bill, Pete, and Ken each donned heavy plastic boots and slipped them into a pair of bindings attached to skis, locking them firmly in place with a series of clicks.

"Get on." Justin said to Chris, who obediently assumed the ever-familiar pillion position.

"You're going to tow them all the way to work?"

"Fuck yeah." Justin shouted.

"Can it handle it?"

"I thought I told you: this is a whole liter of ass-kicking displacement. Watch it go to work, buddy."

Justin mashed the throttle all the way home and pulled himself and everyone else straight into the North-setting sun.