Ashes of the White Monument
Posted 2026-05-10 02:04:10
The dust on Mars was red and everywhere and did not care that Jethro Calloway hated it. It got into his boots, his lungs, the joints of his exoskeleton, and the small café where he bought his morning synth-café every morning. It was in the café. It was on his face when he looked in the mirror. It was the one constant in a life that had been nothing but change for the last eleven years.
Jethro was fifty-two and he had been drinking synth-whiskey since he had been fifty-one. Before that he had be
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