Book Excerpt: The First Olympians by Graeme Falco

Chapter One: Gordon

They were supposed to leave for the ceremony together, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Gordon hurried down the street, alone, and distracted himself with the familiar topics of schematics, power modules, and the order in which wires must be cut and buttons must be pressed. His mom would be there. She had to be.

Only a few more hours, Gordon told himself. After that, he’d have an honest, hard-working job and a new life, and he’d laugh when remembering the “before-times.” Premium rations, new clothes, and more origami papers than he’d have time to fold were hopefully coming his way. His mom just had to stay out of trouble until he got the apprenticeship.

His handheld buzzed and Gordon’s heart jumped. He took it out of his pocket slowly, part of him dreading the message, then flipped it over fast. Not his mom. Rather, it was his friend, Corrina.

Hurry! You’re going to be late.

Gordon jogged past the cramped, thin, two-story buildings made of clay, mud, and rock extracted from the mines. People called them holes, a term leftover from the first settlers who lived deep underground in caves created by ancient lava flows. Their old-district neighborhood was subject to electricity preservation efforts, and Gordon couldn’t wait to move them somewhere better. His mom deserved that.

The residential level was closest to the surface, above both the ancient cave systems and the mines. The farm domes stood on one end, on a hill overlooking everything, their pointed tips almost touching the ceiling. Below, people were crushed in a mix of holes, ration distribution centers, and security checkpoints. Medical centers, cafes, and schools made up the remainder of the buildings. They all gave way to the spacious gardens and auditorium of the Mission Control Center, a giant stone and compressed dirt structure beside the mine elevators. That’s where the career award ceremony was.

Gordon turned onto Torres Street, the main pedestrian walkway, and a flow of miners in hard hats, farmers in overalls and lab coats, and nurses in blue-gray scrubs walked past. They were good citizens of the outpost doing their part to help the cause and were on their way home to see their families, or to a well-earned stop at a bar. His dad had been one of them, and they inspired a sense of purpose in Gordon. If they all worked together, they could achieve great things.

The streets grew wider as he walked deeper into the heart of the outpost. It was brighter, and not just because there were more functional overhead lights, but also because of the light seeping out from the bars, cafes, and workshops. The red dirt streets had deep grooves, proof of how well-trodden they were.

“Fresh skewers here! High-quality protein!” one weasel-faced man hollered.

The faintly sweet smell of gutter oil frying filled Gordon’s nose. Men in the street were selling food, and an overhead siren told him it was shift change. Prime time.

“C’mon, son, you’re a growing boy! You need to put some muscle on those bones,” he said, blocking Gordon’s path.

Gordon tried to step around the meat-hawker, keeping his head down.

“Hey, you’re the Onyango boy, yeah?” the man wiped sweat and oil from his forehead, his voice softening.

“Yeah,” Gordon said, shuffling awkwardly around the man.

“Have a skewer, kid. It’s fresh!”

“I already ate,” he said politely.

“Say hi to your mom!” the man said, turning back to the crowd.

Gordon bit his lip. He hoped he could talk to her soon.

The street food was likely stolen from a farm dome’s protein vats, or, worst-case, made from the rodents that lingered around the dumpsters. His dad never ate the stuff, and Gordon did the same. His mom, on the other hand, had no shame. She would take protein wherever she could get it, and always tried to make sure Gordon was as strong as possible too. He hoped he’d no longer have to question the source of his food after today. If he received an explosives apprenticeship, Gordon was headed toward premium rations for the rest of his life.

The career award ceremony was being held outside the Mission Control Center, known as the MCC, in the auditorium that boasted a massive screen and seating for four hundred people. Expansive shrub and flower beds ran along both sides. Real gardens, with live plants in open air, the only of their kind at the outpost. It always astonished Gordon to walk through them and smell the array of different scents, but it made his mom angry. She said it was a shame for plants to take up so much space while people lived on top of each other. She wasn’t wrong, just a grump.

Gordon approached the entrance to one of the gardens from the street when a woman’s voice erupted from the speakers that dotted the side of every building.

“Earth needs our help! Together, we’re reviving the blue planet to its former glory. It takes each and every one of us to achieve this goal. Thank you, brave workers of Olympus Outpost, for doing your part!”

Gordon smiled and hustled through the garden to the ceremony. His mom often said that Olympus Outpost was better in the old days, when she was a kid, and even better before then. She could be right, but to Gordon, it’d always been the same. Maybe she was just yearning for her youth like old people always did. He desperately hoped she’d be there to see him win an apprenticeship. It would show his mom that it was possible for things to get better.

Olympus Outpost, or just “the outpost,” was humanity’s last chance, and had been ever since Earth’s mass-extinction event, known as X-Day. Generations had passed, and living conditions were still tough. Everyone dreamed of sunshine. Humans hadn’t evolved to live underground, and even with population controls, they were crammed together like rats on a skewer.

It wasn’t perfect, but things were working out for Gordon, and life was certainly better than on Earth. Together, they made it work, and strived toward a better future. His ancestors lived and died with the sole purpose of extracting raw materials to rebuild the blue planet back into the crown jewel of humanity.

Gordon was proud to do his part.

He spotted his friend, Corrina, in one of the back rows. She waved, and Gordon made his way up the stands of the auditorium. People were packed into the seats, spilling into the aisles. Everyone’s parents, grandparents, and extended family were there to support their loved ones. And of course, they wanted to see how the career awards would improve their family’s income and standing in the community.

Gordon estimated there were eight hundred people stuffed into a space meant for half that. The outpost was claustrophobic on a good day, but the annual career award ceremony was unlike anything else. He was lucky Corrina had saved him and his mom a seat. She was an orphan and had no one cheering her on.

Although, neither did Gordon.

“You’re late!” Corrina hissed.

“Woah! So weird to see you with a shaved head! Can I touch it?” Gordon reached out his hand and Corrina playfully swatted it away. Her signature shoulder-length curls were not permitted for the ceremony.

“It’s not like you to be late. Did you get detained for being too good of a citizen? Were you too polite to a bot or something?”

“Give me a break! I’m right on time,” Gordon said, gesturing to the stage. “And no, no badge of honour for me today. There was a ruckus outside my hole.” Gordon gritted his teeth, trying to be quiet as he stood for the pledge of allegiance. It was half-true. There’d been a shoving match outside his hole in the morning.

Corrina gasped. “Your mom?”

Gordon cringed. His aunt died last year, and as hard as it’d been on him, it’d been harder on his mom. She slunk into depression, and then became Faithless, a term for those who no longer contributed to the collective. On the good weeks, she got work from gang members. On the bad weeks, she dumpster dove to put food on their table.

It frustrated him because he knew she could get back on the right track if she just got out of her own way. She was gritty and resourceful, yet sometimes refused to see the simple solutions in front of her. He tried not to let it lead to disdain or embarrassment, but other students loved to poke fun of her unsavory lifestyle. Corrina was one of the few that understood.  That’s why she was his best friend.

“I, uh. No, it wasn’t about her. She’ll be here,” Gordon said, trying to convince himself.

Corrina put her hand flat on Gordon’s back, but he shrugged away.

“She’ll be fine,” he said. “Everything’s going to be great. We’re both going to get jobs, and we’ll have a big party tonight. And when I get my first pay, I’m going to buy you a wig, so I don’t have to look at your shaved head anymore.”

“Maybe I’ll keep it bald, just because you like it so much.”

Someone shushed them, and they turned their attention to the front of the auditorium. Their explosives teacher, Mr. White, a robot with a head full of spinning sensors, sat on the stage in front of the building. The bot was roughly humanoid—it had wheels instead of legs, and an ugly assortment of cameras, radar, lidar and more where a person’s head would be. Its midsection was a hard plastic rectangle housing its battery.

“I commit to a life of loyalty to Olympus Outpost,” it recited. “I will be faithful to the Foreman who has given us hope and will lead humanity to a new glory. I pledge allegiance to him and excellence when performinnnn—”

Mr. White glitched and abruptly stopped reciting the pledge. It stuttered back and forth on its wheels and emitted a low drone.

The audience watched, unamused, wondering if it was going to reboot and make them start the pledge from the beginning again. Some covered their ears. The outpost’s fleet of robots were aging, and technical issues were common.

Robots were all over the outpost. They worked in the mines, the classrooms, the farm domes, and most importantly, they served as human safety and security. Every second that Mr. White was teaching class, and not glitching, it fed data to the Foreman, the AI network that controlled every aspect of life at the outpost. He decided and enforced all the rules.

And he assigned people jobs. If they deserved one.

There were human teachers in the classroom, too. Gordon had grown particularly close to one master explosives technician, master Tracey, who would be assigned a dozen or so apprentices to take under his wing. Despite Gordon being from a Faithless family, they bonded over a shared love of geology.

He spied the older man at the side of the stage and wasn’t sure if his infectious smile or bald head was shining brighter. If he got an apprenticeship, he’d have master Tracey to thank. Getting assigned to him would be the icing on the cake.

The lights above Mr. White’s cameras dimmed and its chin tilted down, indicating it was off.

“Electricity rations?” Corrina asked. There was sarcasm in her voice. If there was electricity rationing, the bots would be spared.

Mr. White’s head spun three hundred and sixty degrees and re-set. It started to get on with the ceremony, and the crowd sighed in relief that they wouldn’t be stuck in a pledge of allegiance loop today.

“Hello, class. I am so proud of you all. We are gathered to celebrate the accomplishments of this year’s graduating class. We are also here to assign your lifelong careers. Although I have great confidence that all of you will contribute to Earth’s restoration in your own way, these assignments are for those ready for the next step.”

Mr. White rolled to the side of the stage. Behind him was a massive screen on the MCC’s wall. The Foreman appeared wearing what he always wore, an orange safety vest and a white hard hat. He portrayed himself as a stout man with a gray mustache and soft wrinkles. Gordon thought of him as the outpost’s grandfather that never died.

“Ms. Phoebe Baros,” the Foreman said. “Awarded a clerk position in the farm domes.” He spoke with a twang. Gordon’s mom said he used to have a low, bellowing voice, but the AI trained itself to be more approachable and trustworthy. Gordon thought it made him sound out of place. No-one spoke like that.

One by one, he announced the successful students and their name flashed on the screen. They walked up, their faces glowing and their families cheering, and accepted Mr. White’s best approximation of a handshake.

Gordon could hear his heart pounding. He’d either become the blaster he knew he could or be relegated to a life of back-breaking labor, rotten food rations, and communal living. He exchanged a nervous glance with Corrina. It was surreal. They were finally graduating.

He pulled out a sheet of folding paper from his breast pocket. Origami was something his dad had taught him, and he used it to calm his nerves and train his fingers for explosive disarmament. If Gordon did win a blasting job, he would have his dad and his origami skills to thank. He folded the thin paper one way, then another. He closed his eyes and kept folding.

Maybe it was a good thing his mom wasn’t there. She would have only made him more anxious by talking through the whole thing.

Gordon’s mom always walked the fine line between scoundrel and criminal. The first time he realized how close she got to that line was during a food shortage. After receiving a few morsels, she cut her hair, changed her clothes, and re-entered a ration line, determined to get more protein. Gordon wondered how she got past the fingerprint scanners, and years later learned that his mom had a thumbprint implant.

Punishment for that escapade could have been devastating. The Foreman wasn’t afraid to target family members, and Gordon would’ve been without protein rations for weeks, or even months. His mom could’ve ended up in a forced labor camp, or worse, solitary confinement in a prison hole. He begged her to stop doing things like that, but if anything, her brazenness only increased. The risk was always worth it to her. Gordon was still skinny, but it wasn’t for his mom’s lack of trying.

His mom blamed the Foreman for his dad’s disappearance and his Aunt Tess’s death.

Tess wasn’t actually his aunt. Not by blood. Only certain citizens of the outpost were allowed to have more than one child, and neither of his parents had siblings. But Tess and her big, brown eyes had been there for Gordon after his dad disappeared. She was the one that took him to play soccer and basketball in the dust fields. She bought him textbooks when his mom didn’t have the energy to get out of bed. She helped them both through tough times, until one day robots came and swept her away to a prison hole, and she never came out.

“Mr. Arno Mahlangu,” the Foreman said. “Awarded an apprenticeship on the Robot-Human Mediation Council.”

“Damn dustlickers,” Corrina said with scowl.

“Please, Arno is a genius. He truly, truly deserves this prestigious placement,” Gordon said, tongue-in-cheek.

Corrina howled with laughter and a red-headed woman sitting in front of them turned and shot them a dirty look.

Gordon looked away and hid his snickering.

Arno was not the brightest student in their class, but his family had a long history of egregious sucking up to the Foreman. Dustlickers would do anything, including licking the dust off a robot, if it gave them preferential treatment. Many weren’t shy about it. Currying favor with the Foreman was the only sure-fire way to success.

For normal people, like Gordon and Corrina, the job award ceremony was a crapshoot. Even though they had good grades, their families’ lack of grovelling was a mark against them. Master Tracey said he put in a good word, but it was hard to know the extent to which the Foreman would consider his input.

His mom thought master Tracey was an insufferable dustlicker. She wasn’t wrong, but Gordon nonetheless developed a strong friendship with the man. He was kind, hardworking, and incredibly knowledgeable. Any sucking up to the Foreman he did was just what he had to do. There was no shame in it. Master Tracey was certainly way more respectable than the leeches on the Robot-Human Mediation Council.

“Mr. Frederick Neumann,” the Foreman said. “Awarded an apprenticeship in mining repair operations. Assigned to master Faisal.”

On and on the he went, reading names of Gordon’s classmates fortunate enough to be selected. Gordon kept his eyes closed and focused his fingers on his folding. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about his mom.

His mom hadn’t been sad after Aunt Tess died, like she was when Gordon’s dad disappeared. She was angry. Gordon overhead whispered conversations in their kitchen about overthrowing the Foreman and installing a human-run government.

Delusional fantasies.

Once, his mom told him she thought the entire justification of the outpost, to mine materials to re-build Earth, was a sham. Gordon hushed her. You couldn’t let anyone hear those kinds of crazy conspiracies. And besides, anger was pointless. The Foreman was indestructible, and the only way to get ahead was to play by the rules and get a good job. Gordon wished his mom would do exactly that. She was smart, and she’d succeed if she tried, but either her trauma was too much, or she enjoyed Faithless life. He tried not to resent her for it. Despite being put in a tough position, she was doing her version of the “best” she could do.

He loved her more than anything. She was the reason he worked so hard. And he desperately hoped she wasn’t hurt or in trouble. His mom was often late. Maybe she just got tied up.

She will be fine.

She always stayed on the right side of the Foreman’s fine line. He could only hope the line hadn’t moved.

Gordon opened his eyes, the seat beside him still empty. In his hands was a lotus flower, folded to perfection. He placed the origami in Corrina’s lap, and she picked it up with a smile.

“Thank you. But that’s a pretty crappy consolation prize if we don’t get blasting jobs.”

“If I make more, you can wear them as a hat until your hair grows back.” Gordon pulled out another sheet of folding paper.

Corrina rolled her eyes.

The Foreman read the successful names excruciatingly slowly. He and the robots were one and the same, or near enough. The bots fed all their sensor data to him and received directions back. How much discretion they had in fulfilling his wishes was up for debate, but it seemed like there was some. Gordon could only hope he’d impressed the Foreman with his work ethic. And that his mom hadn’t colored his impression of Gordon too negatively.

“Mr. Gordon Onyango,” the Foreman said.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Awarded an apprenticeship in explosives. Assigned to Master Tracey.”

Corrina screamed in surprise.

Gordon sprang from his seat and hugged her.

The screen panned to a close-up of him and Corrina to polite applause. He collected his breath and walked down to the stage. It was weird and nerve-racking to have so many people looking at him. Gordon was never one for public speaking or being the center of attention.

By the time he got to the stage, he no longer cared. He had done it. He was going to make something of himself. He floated across the floor and collected his apprenticeship offer from Mr. White. He smiled wildly the entire time, not caring if he looked like a maniac. He pumped his fist in the direction of master Tracey who returned two thumbs up.

He walked back to his seat no longer feeling like a boy. He was a man now.

“Your mom is going to be so proud of you,” Corrina said when Gordon arrived back at their seats.

“And you too, shortly.”

The assignments weren’t done yet. Gordon was confident Corrina would be blasting through the rocky Martian crust by his side.

Gordon couldn’t wait to share the news with his mom! He’d move them to a nicer neighborhood with no crime. She’d never have to beg for food or wear clothes that were falling apart ever again. She’d never have to worry about anything.

He took his handheld out of his pocket, but there was already a message. She’d finally responded.

“Meet me at home. Now!”

Gordon’s fears came rushing back. Was she okay? He wanted to see her, to tell her that he’d got the job, and that everything was going to be great.

“Corrina, I, uh.” The words got stuck in his throat. Trying to say it out loud made his face flush with anxiety. He held up his handheld for Corrina to read.

“Oh, Gordon.” Corrina put her hand on his shoulder. “I’d go with you but,” she held up her hands and gestured to the stage.

“It’s okay. You stay. I know your name will be called soon.”

His handheld beeped again.

“Dodge the bots. Run!”

They stared at the message, slack jawed.

“Dodge the bots. What?” Gordon said.

“Are you messing with me?” A half smile crept onto Corrina’s face.

“No, I swear it!”

The red-headed woman tossed them another dirty look.

“Those?” Corrina whispered.

She didn’t have to explain herself. Two peacekeeper bots stood at the bottom of the stands and looked up. The security division of the Foreman, peacekeepers looked a lot like Mr. White, except taller, thicker, and with larger wheels. Their robotic arms featured an array of attachments that differed by the day. Usually batons, other times tear gas, syringes full of sedatives, or tasers. On the rare occasion there was an emergency lockdown test, like a fire drill, they sported menacing spinning blades.

Today they had the blades.

Gordon swallowed hard and slinked down his seat. Something had gone terribly wrong. His mom was in trouble. But were the bots really after him? That seemed unlikely. He had just received a prestigious career award!

He took a peep and saw the peacekeepers rolling up the ramp of an adjacent aisle. His mom was in trouble, and he wouldn’t be able to help her if went with the bots. He had to make a quick decision, and he wanted nothing to do with the arsenal of weaponry coming toward him. But still, he was a good student. He never disobeyed the Foreman.

“What do I do?” Time slowed. Gordon’s heart raced.

Corrina gripped his arm. “Firstly, we need to stay calm.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m gonna crap my pants!”

“Okay. Well, uh, don’t do that.” A bead of sweat dropped from Corrina’s brow onto her lotus flower. “Listen. Your mom is, well, your mom. But she’s still your mom. Does that make any sense?” She scrunched up her face.


Gordon had slid so far down in his seat that he couldn’t see the bots approaching. He could only assume they’d arrive any second.

“What I’m trying to say is, run to her! The bots aren’t going anywhere. You can always talk to them later.” Corrina shrugged, like it was an obvious choice.

Gordon bit his lip and nodded.

He crept across a row of people, making his way to a clear aisle. He glanced back at Corrina, who now looked like she was going to be the one to crap their pants.

She gave him a shooing motion, telling him to go.

Gordon held his breath and moved fast, scooting down the stairs. He was at the bottom, about to slip into the gardens, when an alarm went off. He looked up at the big screen and saw a picture of his mom.



Gordon felt like he’d been pushed off a cliff. No! Why? Why now? Why couldn’t his mom have just taken it easy for one day? Why couldn’t she just be normal?

He took a quick look up to see Corrina talking to the peacekeepers. Oh no! Was she in trouble now too? He didn’t know if he could handle the guilt if she got screwed over because of him. He grimaced before dashing into the gardens.

His mind raced, and it went to the worst places. People that went in for questioning were sometimes not seen or heard from again for a long time. The anxiety of waiting for his name to be called was nothing compared to this.

Gordon ran along a row of lilac shrubs, their sickly sweetness overwhelming him. Everything had been going so well, and now his mom had to go and screw it up. He’d gone from the Foreman’s good books to being wanted for questioning so fast it gave him whiplash.

But having a legitimate mining job might give him some power, or at least some leverage. Blasting was a highly skilled apprenticeship program that only admitted the best of the best. The Foreman was protective of mineral production above all else, and if Gordon could convince him of his value in that regard, maybe he could gain some leniency for his mom. He’d have to get master Tracey’s help. He was the only person Gordon knew that had any semblance of political power.

But first, he had to find his mom.


Chapter Two: Dalrene

Sitting on a hard, plastic stool at a corner table in the Pickaxe Café, Dalrene sipped her tea to find it was cold and probably had been for some time.

She scanned the crowd again, looking for Janet. There were teenagers speaking gibberish and laughing like idiots, miners numbly throwing energy drinks down their throats in-between shifts, and young mothers exchanging stories while their kids ran around. Dalrene didn’t fit into any of those groups, and she worried that would become more obvious the longer she waited. There were no new messages on her computer.

Dalrene’s leg tapped impatiently against the underside of the table, its rattling drawing a distasteful look from one of the moms.

She didn’t stop. Her granddaughter, Ellie, was around the same age as the woman’s child. But Ellie didn’t have a mom. Since her daughter died, there was nothing she cared about more than making her granddaughter’s world better. Right now, Janet was putting that in jeopardy.

Sixteen processing nodes directing the bots, one brain node coordinating the processors, and four back-up data sites. That’s what lay between her and salvation. The first step was to gain access to the back-up servers and install a deletion program that could be executed at the appropriate time. Once she took her big shot, she couldn’t miss, and she couldn’t risk the Foreman restoring itself and targeting her family with reprisals.

Two inspector robots entered the café and Dalrene stuffed her computer in her bag, crammed it under her chair, and kept her eyes on her cold tea. Not all her gear was legal. Her next instinct was to sneak out the back, but there was no need to risk making a scene. It was mostly likely a random check, a reminder of who was in charge. There was no reason to suspect they were looking for her.

In her earlier days, there’d been no way she’d submit to any search or request by the AI. But now, she needed to pick her battles. Part of her even relished the opportunity to feed the Foreman false information. It was only as smart as the information it gathered and disrupting that in any way was an act of civil disobedience that warmed her heart.

The robots that wheeled up to a nearby table were largely vision based. Their off-white, hard-plastic bodies matched the paint on the walls of the café. Or at least they had, when Dalrene had been young. The Foreman and all of the robots under its command were showing their age. Now, the bots wore dirty, yellow splotches, weathered by years of service.

The cracks in the Foreman had an outsized impact on the most vulnerable citizens. Decreased food production meant families without connections to workers in the farm domes suffered malnutrition. Energy production was down, and people living in the poorest neighborhoods bore the brunt of the rolling blackouts. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Dalrene had heard of a child who kept drinking water because a medical robot improperly detected dehydration. Water intoxication caused the child’s brain cells to swell, leading to interrupted blood flow, seizures, and eventually death.

Bizarre stories like that were only becoming more frequent.

Deterioration was a tragedy, but also an opportunity. A chance to win support among the public for resistance and to fight back against tyranny. Overthrowing the Foreman was the only way that Dalrene could avenge her daughter’s death and ensure her granddaughter grew up in a better world than she did.

When one of the inspector robots stopped at her table, she held up her hand. People of her age were allowed to request a fingerprint ID, as was standard during their childhood. Dalrene’s fake prints were the best around, or at least they used to be. It’d been a while since they’d been tested. After a moment, the robot popped out a pad where it expected Dalrene to press her thumb.

She waited for the thumbprint to register and looked in the mirror behind the café bar. Her skin, as black as the mirror’s obsidian frame, was more ashen and wrinkled than the last time she checked. Her dreadlocks were short, with only a hint of color left among the gray.

Shit, she really looked like a grandma now. Dalrene shook her head in disbelief at how much her appearance differed from her self-image. Living in the caves was hard on the body. The good news was that she didn’t look like a threat to society. Hopefully the Foreman felt the same way.

The inspector bot made a descending, negative sound, and asked Dalrene to give her thumbprint again.

Dalrene’s heart rate ticked up. She had a lot of important things to do and did not need a random check to draw attention to her today. She submitted her thumb again and held her breath. The inspector must’ve been close to calling in back-up, or worse, insisting that she take a trip to a security office.

It stood motionless. Dalrene squeezed her tea mug.

After what seemed like an eternity, the robot made an agreeable sound, and wheeled onto the next guest in the café.

Dalrene exhaled, and the sounds of water boiling and dishes banging re-emerged. The sweet, yeasty aroma of bread coming out of the oven wafted warmly over her. She cleared her throat and sipped some more of her cold tea.

That was too close.

“Need a new thumb?” came a rugged voice from the table beside her.

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Dalrene said. Where she got her biometrics were nobody’s business.


This has been an excerpt of the Young Adult book, The First Olympians by Graeme Falco.

For centuries, miners under Olympus Mons have toiled to save Earth. They are humanity’s last hope, sending home the raw materials needed to revive the blue planet.

Gordon finally earns the illustrious explosives apprenticeship he’s worked so hard for when his life is destroyed. After security robots murder his mother, he takes up her cause and uncovers a dangerous conspiracy that threatens the entire outpost.

Dalrene cares about two things: her granddaughter and overthrowing the Martian AI that rules their lives. When it fights back, she’s forced to choose between keeping her family safe and freeing her people.

Alex wanted to be a space pilot, but instead, she’s stuck training to take over the family business. When Gordon opens her eyes to the truth about her family’s wealth and power, she takes up a dangerous quest that pits her against the most powerful man in the solar system. Her father.


Source: Auto Draft

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