Champion of Mars by Guy Haley

guffawed a good, hearty, old-time cowboy laugh. “At least you’re honest! Y’see, I’ll just bet you’re one of those eggheads back home that refused a direct link, eh?”
    Holland smiled, but there was nothing unusual about that. A lot of people didn’t have them. They were expensive, the surgery could still be risky, and there was that awful feeling of becoming like the AIs. It probably doesn’t affect the eugenes the same way, he thought, what with them already being fakes .
    “And now you’ve had to have one, you’re finding it mighty useful, I’ll bet!” He boomed his words. Holland had an uncle like that, all tolling laughter and hail-fellow-well-met . Far too fond of the alpha male power hug. He annoyed the fuck out of him.
    He smiled weakly. “Yeah, sorry.”
    “I was just asking to see if you’d like to say a few words, son.”
    Son ? He’s less than ten years older than me. “Er, well, hello!” He cleared his throat. Everyone was looking at him with expectant smiles, and that made him antsy. “I’m really happy to be here, and I hope we can do some great work together.”
    “Is that it?” said Mr Dr Van Houdt. Holland felt himself colour.
    “Oh, stop that, Kick,” said his wife, and kicked him.
    “Sorry, man!” Mr Dr Van Houdt grinned and rubbed at his ankle. “Welcome to Ascraeus.”
    “Hear, hear,” said Maguire. “You’ll be a real asset to the team. Let’s give him time to get used to it, eh? Before we ask him to start making speeches.”
    “Sure. You know how I like to put them on the spot, Davey,” said Orson.
    “Aye, I do.”
    “Well, it’s nice to have another American here,” said Orson. A ridiculous thing to say, really; Holland didn’t sound American or behave like it, despite his dual citizenship.
    “Well, thanks, but my mother was English, and I grew up in Essex.”
    Orson nodded in earnest comprehension, but clearly didn’t have a clue where that was. “Half-American is American enough for me.”
    “Come on, Jimmy, leave him be. Perhaps we should have dinner?” said Maguire.
    Orson nodded and closed up his tablet.
    “Perhaps we can loosen your tongue with a little wine?” said Suzanne. She was a very attractive woman, thought Holland. He felt himself colour again.
    Jesus, I’ve been out of the loop too long. I’m behaving like a damn adolescent.
    She came and put her hands on his shoulders, and long blonde hair brushed his face as he twisted in his seat to look at her. “First Martian pressing. I grew the grapes here on Mars in the greenhouse.”
    “It tastes like piss!” shouted Stulynow. The others, Suzanne Van Houdt included, laughed. “But don’t you worry. We have far superior vodka, made by me.”
    “Hey, Leonid,” said the commander. “You leave that Russian genie in its bottle until after we’ve all eaten, okay? I don’t want another seventh November ‘party.’”
    “October Revolution,” said Stulynow. “Very important day.”
    “That’s an order, Dr Stulynow,” said the commander.
    “Sure, sure. As you wish.”
    “Great!” said Orson with unmoderated enthusiasm, as if his bonhomie had been turned back on by a switch. “Let’s eat.”
     
     
    S TULYNOW WAS RIGHT. The wine was pretty poor, and the base staff teased Suzanne for it, but she took it in good grace. After all, thought Holland, it was produced on Mars, and that was pretty impressive in itself.
    He sipped at it.
    “I know it tastes bad, Dr Holland...”
    “Call me John,” he said. “No one else seems to stand on ceremony around here, why should I?”
    Suzanne smiled. She was a tall woman – the Dutch were known for it, after all – and her hands and feet were big, but there was a delicacy to her, and a raw sexiness. It surprised Holland, partly that it shone through her veneer of slight mumsiness – she was forever leaping up to make sure everyone had enough bread or potatoes – but mostly because he had noticed it. He’d felt ill-at-ease since the split