Normally I’m not a fearful man. I’ve been a smuggler, selling uranium to pirates (and making a pretty penny doing it too, might I say so myself). However, this one went a bit differently. “We knew you’d try this flight too, Markus Alfbeta. But this ain’t no civilian transport—so what made you think you could get all this uranium past us this time?” The military… they’ve checked me thoroughly until now. They have faster ships; and not only that, but they assume everything has come pre-checked by the HSA . Easy, arrogant targets. But how did they know? I even encrypted all messages with the pirates this time… “Do you understand me, Markus? You’re going away; for a long time.” Heh. I’d stopped listening to him hours ago. All bark, no bite, just another lad who thought some semesters at the Interstellar Academy and a uniform is all he would need to run a ship. “Do you want to know what your punishment is?” “Captain, hate to tell you, but some community service won’t teach me a damn thing.” He laughed; straight in my face. I didn’t expect that from him. “Tell me, Markus, do you like warm weather, or cold weather?” “What?” “Oh, you heard me. How about this; ever heard of Alpha ZXII?” That was one of the first places colonized by the HSA. Nobody lives there on the account that 50°C is considered “cold” by the planet’s geologists. Hottest recorded temps are around 90°. Your skin just burns if you aren't careful. “They’re starting up a new colony there, Markus. And they could use all the hands they get; even dirty, slimy smuggler hands…” He sets down on the desk the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen; papers for deportation from Mars; and re-assignment to Alpha ZXII. Pre-signed and pre-checked by the feds. “Now, here’s your option. We put you through the airlock, or we put you on a colony. Choose.” Normally I’m not a fearful man... but if you spend your whole life running away, what else can you do when you get landlocked?