Insight
Jon Ingold
conversation cover art male protagonist Mars mystery nonhuman protagonist parser science fiction terraforming
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"Is this alright?" asks the young cop. "Do you need the lights lower, or incense, or something?"

"This is fine. I just need to see him, ask some questions."

"Okay," he nods. "Just buzz the buzzer when you're done." He leaves, pulling the metal door to with the click of a magnetic lock. Across the table from you the man stiffens, waiting for you to speak.

The six walls are metal. This is a box in which nothing happens but people talk, and fans whir air in and out to help the words move along. By the door in the north wall is a small red button that rings the buzzer for the guard, and it's smart enough to know who's pushing. This isn't a place people leave of their own accord, and they rarely come here that way either.

The man across the table from you is no different. His eyes are sagging from lack of sleep, and he is sweating just a little even though the air is regulated to be cold.
About yourself
You look just as you would expect to.
You examine man
Mackenzie is a broad man, with receding spiky hair and the slow march of middle-age filling out his stomach. His fingers are the only delicate thing about him, long and arachnid, somehow out of place on the ends of his bulky hands. He watches you, afraid, perhaps guarding something. He fidgets nervously.
You ask the man about the crime
"Poison, did they say? I have a lab, it could have been anything." He is jittery, his face twitching. "She might have eaten one of my bulbs or something. I don't know why it's being called a murder."
Prompt man
"I don't know! A lab is full of poisons, that's how I work! She must have got into it."

It is a little difficult to follow the man's speech. His accent is thick, and the language is still unfamiliar.
You ask the man about her
His language is something you only started learning two weeks ago, when this crime was reported and he was put on the ship back home. You're still sufficiently rusty that there are some things (such as that) you still do not know how to say.
You ask the man about the poison
"I don't know! A lab is full of poisons, that's how I work! She must have got into it."
You ask man about the the victim
He flinches. "Do you have to put it like that? She was my wife."
You ask the man about his wife
His face pales. "She's dead, I know," he whispers.
What is your wife's name
"My name's Mackenzie. But... I guess you already know that. Yes," he says.
You ask the man about the language
"I don't know! A lab is full of poisons, that's how I work! She must have got into it."

"I'm monolingual; I never even learnt English. My wife used to say it made it fairer. She didn't understand what I did, but I didn't understand a word of her documents."
Can i call you the mac
He frowns, confused. It seems your two-week attendance at the language course hasn't totally paid off.
You ask the man about the documents
"What documents? I don't know what you're talking about," he replies, looking quite confused.
You ask the man about the job
"I'm a genetic designer. I design plants for the soil, to grow naturally. To fill up the atmosphere. I'm at the top of my field," he adds, nervously.
You ask the man about the confession
"Just because I had the lab. That doesn't mean anything."
You ask the man about the genetics
"It's my field; designing organisms. Sorry, no offence intended," he quails. "I mean, I only work with plants. My company invented oxyalg."
You ask the man about the oxyalg
"Oxyalg. You know what it is. Three quarters of Mars does. It's growing us the atmosphere up there. Why are you asking this? What does it matter to... you know."
Prompt man
"It's almost finished with, then we have a little bacterial agent to release which will destroy the stuff. And that's it."
You keep going
He sighs, helplessly. "We have a thousand tanks of bacteria ready to release, to mop up all the algae once its finished its job. If we don't do it, it'll just keep on spreading. And then it's flat-out colonisation. The only thing to slow it are the windstorms."
You ask the man about the windstorms
"The windstorms have been a problem since the atmosphere started to grow. I was working on solutions, using plants. Would you like to know how they work, is that it?"
Continue
"The idea is to grow plants with some pollination that'll trigger in high winds, but with pollen redesigned to clump together in the air, act as a biological thickener. If enough is released, the air will be locally very viscous, and the wind will slow. Of course," he adds, "we'd need a lot of these plants if it was ever to work. Or in strategic places. I think it's unlikely," he finishes. "Whatever the papers might think."
You ask the man about the plants
"They've been a hobby for a while. I've been growing things around the house. I'm particularly proud of the bush outside the front."

"But just tell me," he says suddenly. "Is this going to hurt me? Is it like torture?"
Is what like torture
"I'm sorry," Mackenzie replies. "I didn't quite follow that."
You ask the man about the bush
"That bush is one of my personal collection; I made it. Its sap is laced with a chemical that briefly sharpens your reflexes, muscle control, that sort of thing. I use it before I drive."
Keep going
"It's not illegal or anything. It's just like caffeine; that comes from plants too."
You ask the man about the papers
"I read 'The Native'. It's a hackrag, but it's the only paper in my language after all."
Continue
"There's been a lot of rubbish recently about Knassion," he remarks. "It's a big thing up there."
You ask the man about the Knassion
"Knassion?" he smiles. "Everyone else calls it 'Genus K' like it was a codename." He smiles bitterly. "It's a plant designed to reduce the windstorms." There is a pause, and he sighs. "They're a problem for everyone," he replies. "We've been working on it at AlgCorp. But that's not why I'm here, surely?"
Keep going
"It's a plant designed to reduce the windstorms." There is a pause, and he sighs. "They're a problem for everyone," he replies. "We've been working on it at AlgCorp. But that's not why I'm here, surely?"
You ask the man about AlgCorp
"AlgCorp. Nice enough company, too, I suppose. They gave us the house."
You continue
"AlgCorp. Nice enough company, too, I suppose. More or less the only one we've got," he finishes.
You ask the man about the house
"We've been in Olympia about ten years now. I like it. I think Laura did too."
Continue
"It's a beautiful area," he says wistfully. "The long red deserts and the cracked-up horizon." You feel like reminding him its bone-dry sand, but refrain.
You ask the man about Laura
"She was American by birth, and came up here to act as a scientific interpreter. She was always gifted with languages; she picked up mine in about a month."
You keep going
"She worked as a translator," he says, voice shaking.
Prompt man
"How could I have poisoned her? I loved her!"
You ask the man about the mars
"I love my planet. I've never wanted to leave it. We've managed to do without all the problems you have down here. No overcrowding, employment. It's an idyll."
You ask the man how did he fall in the love
He shakes his head. "I wish I could talk to you in English," he says, "but I never learnt."
You ask the man about torture
"Look," he says, his voice shaking and his fingers winding around one other like olive trees. "I'm just a scientist. That's all. Just a scientist. You don't have to hurt me."

The door opens briefly and the guard appears. "Brought you some tea, sir," he says politely, and brings a mug over to put on the table. Mackenzie looks startled by this appearance and is offered nothing himself. The guard leaves with a nod and a click of a magnetic lock.
You examine the tea
The tea is black, no sugar; the mug is white and marked "EUPD" below the department's badge.
You give the tea to the man
(first taking the mug of tea)
He looks suspiciously at the mug. "No, thank you."
You take the tea
You already have that.
You drink the tea
You sip a little of the tea.
You ask the man about the torture
"Look," he says, his voice shaking and his fingers winding around one other like olive trees. "I'm just a scientist. That's all. Just a scientist. You don't have to hurt me."
You ask the man about the genus a.
"Genus A - alaphabax. That one didn't work because it didn't pollinate enough."
You ask the man about the earth
"The first Earth creature to spread on Mars was the ant, you know that? Building its scurrying colonies, a thousand creatures crawling on each other's backs. Just like your world here; that's waiting to come and infest mine."
Prompt man
"You can keep your planet," he spits. "Let me keep mine."

"You can keep your planet," he spits. "Let me keep mine."
Keep going
"You can keep your planet," he spits. "Let me keep mine."
You ask the man about crime
"I don't know! A lab is full of poisons, that's how I work! She must have got into it."
You ask the man about the lab
"My lab? It's newly installed - only a week ago. I haven't even been in it yet. I don't even know if it's stocked; I didn't oversee the installation, we spent that weekend away. Honestly, I didn't take anything from in there."
You ask the man about the lab
"My lab? I can't detail it, I've not been there. I suppose there's something poisonous in there, I don't know."
You ask the man who did it
He is looking blank, again.
You ask the man about AlgCorp
"AlgCorp. Nice enough company, too, I suppose. More or less the only one we've got," he finishes.
You ask the man about the america
"I don't know much else about it. I don't speak the language, I have - I had - no interest in visiting Earth."
You ask man about the Earth
"You can keep your planet," he spits. "Let me keep mine."
You ask the man about the europe
"What? I don't know... I don't really know anything about it. It's all so far from home. That's why she was doing it, impartiality, or something. Avoid bias in the language used. As though she wouldn't have a bias," he adds, strangely bitter.
You ask man about the face on mars
"Could you rephrase that?" he says, timidly. "I didn't quite understand."
You ask the man about yourself
"You're from the police. I know. I know all about you. It's not my field, but it's close."
You ask the man about the europe
"This is not my idea of a holiday, no."

"What? I don't know... I don't really know anything about it. It's all so far from home. That's why she was doing it, impartiality, or something. Avoid bias in the language used. As though she wouldn't have a bias," he adds, strangely bitter.
Why did you kill her
You think very hard, but cannot come up with the right vocabulary to say it in his language.

"But I loved her. Why would I kill the thing I love the most?" His voice is shaking, he may even be close to tears. "She was the beautiful... beautiful thing." He turns away, screwing up his eyes, his fingers curling into themselves. "And I couldn't have killed her."
Prompt man
"You have no idea," he says quietly. "You have no idea what you're saying."
You throw the tea at the man
There is no need for crude torture methods. You are more evolved than that.
You scare man
MAN, WHY DID YOUR WIFE NEVER LOVE YOU

He has not understood your words, again.

Mackenzie is already quivering right down to his feet.
Threaten man
Mackenzie is already quivering right down to his feet.
You look at file
An A4 brown envelope marked: "MACKENZIE CASE". It is sealed.
You open the envelope
You slide a finger under the corner of the flap and tear open the envelope.
You read the file
The Mackenzie case file: It reads:

Summary of crime: Murder - Mackenzie, Laura, 32.
Prime suspect: Mackenzie, Doctor Yogi, husband, 41.
Date of crime: 23.5.63
Location: Bubble 4563. Body found in main bedroom.
Cause of death: Poison - type unknown.
Motive: Unknown.

Please clarify unknown variables.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a brown envelope (which is open)
a case file
a printed fax
a plastic card
You read the fax
A fax-printout photograph of the body, as found by police called to the scene by Dr. Mackenzie. The woman depicted is lying on a bed, her face constricted and her fingers quite stiff and splayed. Her skin has gone a pale white, maybe nearing blue. She is fully clothed, and wearing shoes.
You examine the card
(the plastic card)
A standard plastic card, taken from Mackenzie's wallet, that has his house number on it: 4563.
You examine the bush
A line of bushes growing to about waist-height which border the track for about twenty metres from the house. They are unfamiliar to you, sprawling, with a purple tinge to the leaves.
You eat the leaves
(first taking the line of bushes)
You pluck a leaf from the bush with a thick snap. In response the branch moves backwards, far more than just a recoil, curling up into itself. The movement seems to disrupt other branches, sparking a wave that travels down the hedgerow in an uncoordinated squirm of fauna. It is several minutes before it is still once more; by then the leaf in your hand has leaked a fine sap as far as your wrist.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a purple leaf
a brown envelope (which is open)
a case file
a printed fax
a plastic card
You eat the leaf
The leaf is tough to chew, and waxy, and taste of little until you have pulped the outer skin when a thin banana-like flavour leaks out. Eventually you cannot swallow the residue of the hide and spit it out.
You eat fax
(first taking the printed fax)
That's plainly inedible.
You examine the bubble
The bubble is a standard home on a standard road, which runs a few hundred metres back to the west. It rises about three metres high and is made of a solid white material over which the dust and winds move quite harmlessly. There are a few windows; thick and acting as mirrors to the seas of dust. There is a door near to you, which a line of bushes lead up on either side of the track.
You open the door
The door is locked.
You examine the door
The standard design of door for one of these buildings, with two main doors and a porch between so that the atmosphere inside can be kept slightly fuller. The lock is set into the centre. The door is closed and locked.
You unlock the door with the card
(the plastic card)
(first taking the plastic card)
The doorlock beeps distantly through the thin air, and the light flicks to a pale green.
You open the door
You push open the door and step into the porch.

The porch is just a short space of corridor, with two large fans built into the walls behind a white-mesh grille. The air is a little better regulated here, and smells fresh and tart, straight from an algae-tank. There is little else here - a rack for shoes and a hook for coats. Either end of this space are the large doors that seal inside from outside, they are east and west respectively.

On the shoe rack are a pair of lady's shoes.
You look in the shoe
(the lady's shoes)
You tip up one shoe, then the second, and peer inside. After a little more shaking the left is revealed to contain a small, hardy cactus spine.
You get the spine
You lift the spine very gingerly indeed.
You look at the spine
A multi-barbed cactus spine, with a central point from which nine separate needles radiate outward.

You feel momentarily dizzy.
You eat the spine
That would hardly be wise.
You wear the shoes
A cyan wire rack for placing shoes on. There is space for four or five pairs, and the rack is worn down, but now it is almost empty. Only one pair of shoes is in attendance.

(your clothing)
You are already wearing it.
You examine the fan
The grilles are several feet square; enough to quickly vent this room if pressures demanded it.
You open the fan
They're just part of the walls.
Go east
You open the door with a soft hiss, and go through into the hallway. The lights inside come on automatically.

The hallway of Mackenzie's home is bare but homely, one wall hung with a photograph of some Earth lake surrounded by mountains, and an antiquated-looking coat-stand by the porch door to the west. Doorways lead off in two other directions; the east appears to be a kitchen and the north is a living room. There is no upstairs in the house; the entire upper metre or so is filled solid with various forms of algae, to grow oxygen, regulate temperature and recycle waste.

In one corner is a stubby yucca tree.
You examine the coat stand
An antique wooden coat-stand.
You move it
You are unable to.
You examine the tree
A hardy plant, quite probably capable of growing as easily outside as in.
You take the tree
The tree is fairly bulky.
You examine photo
The photograph depicts a lake surrounded by snowy peaks; it is from Ontario or somewhere in the North American continent.
You look behind the photo
It is securely vacuumed-sealed to the wall.
You go east
The kitchen is largely uninteresting - a small functional room, a laboratory of life, with the various implements of cooking arranged around the walls. For all the advances in materials over the last thousand years; roasting, baking and boiling still work as before. Just with the addition of microwave generators and plasmacoil hobs.

So against the northwest wall, is a sink; and in one corner a freezer hums quietly to itself.

The floor is seamless bar a square of plexiplastic.
You look at the sink
A white porcelain sink with a stud marked with a tap, built into the wall.
You examine the square
A frosted crystal plexiplastic sheet in the centre of the floor.
You take square
You lift up the hinged sheet of plastic, and lay it to one side, revealing a ladder leading down into the cellar.
You open the freezer
A blast of cold air hits you from inside. You open the freezer, revealing a shelf of food and some frozen biosamples.

The water shuts off automatically.
You examine the biosamples
Thirteen frozen biosamples stacked up on the top shelf of the freezer, happily coexisting with a frozen pizza and a chicken. They are labelled "GENUS A" through "GENUS N". Needless to say: one is missing.
You examine the genus k.
There is a gap where genus K should be.
You look at the Genus E.
You find the sample for Genus E. Its full name is written on the top: edisonia.
Go downwards
The lights flick on as you enter the cellar.

The basement is lit by striplamps crisscrossed across the plastic ceiling, and is the only truly grubby room in the building. The floor is caked with dust and what even looks like soil; no doubt actually decomposing rubbish from various plants stored here over the years. The other clear thing about this room is that it's half the width it used to be - though the ceiling continues back there is a gleaming white wall in the way, in the centre of which is a large, forbidding door. It leads into the laboratory.

Steps lead upward on one side.

On one wall is the bubble thermostat.

Amongst the piles of junk filling the cellar, something stands out as though glowing. It is a black chest.
Go upward
The kitchen is largely uninteresting - a small functional room, a laboratory of life, with the various implements of cooking arranged around the walls. For all the advances in materials over the last thousand years; roasting, baking and boiling still work as before. Just with the addition of microwave generators and plasmacoil hobs.

So against the northwest wall, is a sink; and in one corner a freezer hums quietly to itself.

The floor is seamless bar a square of plexiplastic.
You examine the thermostat
You close the freezer.

> D

The lights flick on as you enter the cellar.

The basement is lit by striplamps crisscrossed across the plastic ceiling, and is the only truly grubby room in the building. The floor is caked with dust and what even looks like soil; no doubt actually decomposing rubbish from various plants stored here over the years. The other clear thing about this room is that it's half the width it used to be - though the ceiling continues back there is a gleaming white wall in the way, in the centre of which is a large, forbidding door. It leads into the laboratory.

Steps lead upward on one side.

On one wall is the bubble thermostat.

Amongst the piles of junk filling the cellar, something stands out as though glowing. It is a black chest.

The thermostat gauge is pushed quite high.
You examine the soil
A thin layer of rubbish, brought in from outside.
You examine the chest
A solid metal chest, large enough to hold a ream of paper, with curved edges to frustrate hacksaws and hinges buried under a lip of moulded steel. It is held closed by a small lock at the front, which takes an ordinary key (rather than a fingerprint or a magnetic strip). On the lid is a label: "MRS. LAURA MACKENZIE." Not his then, strangely; even though this is a storage box for organic material.
You search the junk
You rummage around for something interesting, and unearth of all things, a long hairpin.
You look at the lock
(the black box)
A solid metal chest, large enough to hold a ream of paper, with curved edges to frustrate hacksaws and hinges buried under a lip of moulded steel. It is held closed by a small lock at the front, which takes an ordinary key (rather than a fingerprint or a magnetic strip). On the lid is a label: "MRS. LAURA MACKENZIE." Not his then, strangely; even though this is a storage box for organic material.
You open the lock with the hairpin
(the black box with the hairpin)
You slide your lockpick into the lock and begin to feel for the pins of the mechanism. The design suggests there are three; perhaps you get the first in place but your hand shakes a little too much and you cannot get the third. Irritated, you finally give up.
Go west
The hallway of Mackenzie's home is bare but homely, one wall hung with a photograph of some Earth lake surrounded by mountains, and an antiquated-looking coat-stand by the porch door to the west. Doorways lead off in two other directions; the east appears to be a kitchen and the north is a living room. There is no upstairs in the house; the entire upper metre or so is filled solid with various forms of algae, to grow oxygen, regulate temperature and recycle waste.

In one corner is a stubby yucca tree.
You go to the west
The porch is just a short space of corridor, with two large fans built into the walls behind a white-mesh grille. The air is a little better regulated here, and smells fresh and tart, straight from an algae-tank. There is little else here - a rack for shoes and a hook for coats. Either end of this space are the large doors that seal inside from outside, they are east and west respectively.

On the shoe rack are a pair of lady's shoes.
Go outside
You open the door effortlessly with a loud hissing sound, and go through.

Your car is parked at a slight angle at the end of the long drive, its nose almost poking into a purple-leaved bush. The low sun makes the red dust glow like amber into the distance. Mackenzie's bubble is to the east, its door closed. The road leads right up to it, with no front garden.
You examine the bush
A line of bushes growing to about waist-height which border the track for about twenty metres from the house. They are unfamiliar to you, sprawling, with a purple tinge to the leaves.

The door swings silently shut and the light on the card-reader returns to red.
You take the leaves
You pluck a leaf from the bush with a thick snap. In response the branch moves backwards, far more than just a recoil, curling up into itself. The movement seems to disrupt other branches, sparking a wave that travels down the hedgerow in an uncoordinated squirm of fauna. It is several minutes before it is still once more; by then the leaf in your hand has leaked a fine sap as far as your wrist.
You go inside
You slip the card into the lock and the light flicks over to green. Then you push open the door and step into the porch.

The porch is just a short space of corridor, with two large fans built into the walls behind a white-mesh grille. The air is a little better regulated here, and smells fresh and tart, straight from an algae-tank. There is little else here - a rack for shoes and a hook for coats. Either end of this space are the large doors that seal inside from outside, they are east and west respectively.

On the shoe rack are a pair of lady's shoes.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a purple leaf
a hairpin
a cactus spine
a plastic card
a printed fax
a brown envelope (which is open)
a case file
Go east
You open the door with a soft hiss, and go through into the hallway. The lights inside come on automatically.

The hallway of Mackenzie's home is bare but homely, one wall hung with a photograph of some Earth lake surrounded by mountains, and an antiquated-looking coat-stand by the porch door to the west. Doorways lead off in two other directions; the east appears to be a kitchen and the north is a living room. There is no upstairs in the house; the entire upper metre or so is filled solid with various forms of algae, to grow oxygen, regulate temperature and recycle waste.

In one corner is a stubby yucca tree.
Go downwards
The lights flick on as you enter the cellar.

The basement is lit by striplamps crisscrossed across the plastic ceiling, and is the only truly grubby room in the building. The floor is caked with dust and what even looks like soil; no doubt actually decomposing rubbish from various plants stored here over the years. The other clear thing about this room is that it's half the width it used to be - though the ceiling continues back there is a gleaming white wall in the way, in the centre of which is a large, forbidding door. It leads into the laboratory.

Steps lead upward on one side.

On one wall is the bubble thermostat.

Cooling in a corner is a black chest.
You eat the leaf
The leaf is tough to chew, and waxy, and taste of little until you have pulped the outer skin when a thin banana-like flavour leaks out. Eventually you cannot swallow the residue of the hide and spit it out.
You open the lock with the hairpin
(the black box with the hairpin)
You slide the hairpin in and with a steady wrist and dextrous movements set the first pin, then the second, and finally the third buried deep in the mechanism. The box springs open.
You examine the chest
A solid metal chest, large enough to hold a ream of paper, with curved edges to frustrate hacksaws and hinges buried under a lip of moulded steel. It is held closed by a small lock at the front, which takes an ordinary key (rather than a fingerprint or a magnetic strip). On the lid is a label: "MRS. LAURA MACKENZIE." Not his then, strangely; even though this is a storage box for organic material.
Open chest
That's already open.
You look in the chest
The black box has got a genus K sample in it.
You take the sample
Taken.
You examine the sample
A yellow biosample bag containing what looks like just a handful of sunflower seeds. In black markerpen a large K has been scrawled. A label above reads: "C/O Jasper Morpheus" in a fine handwriting.
You open the door
The scanner on the laboratory door lock warms uncomfortably under your index finger, almost ready to burn - and then cools again into rough plastic. The door does not open.
Go north
The living room is similarly austere, with its walls all white and furniture resting in between large spaces. In the north wall opposite the doorway is a large window through which the long view of desert stretches until reaching the tooth of Mount Olympus, and the room is filled by the orange-red tinge. Another door leads east to the bedroom.

Against one wall is a table: not exactly pristine, but hardly messy with its papers and computer.

The sofa stands out quite strikingly; it is pea-green.

On the long sofa is a newspaper.

You feel momentarily dizzy.
You examine the sofa
The sofa looks in good condition and pretty well made, which means almost certainly it was shipped in from Earth as the one luxury the house could afford. Simply getting it through the doors must have been a puzzle for the greatest scientific minds.
You search sofa
The long sofa has got a newspaper on it.
You read newspaper
The newspaper proclaims itself to be an issue of the single Martian-language newspaper, "The Native". It is, however, entirely blank below the headline and subhead: 'TOP SCIENTISTS PREDICT WINDSTORMS WILL REMAIN FOR "ANOTHER HUNDRED YEARS": Sources report failure of latest hope'. The date on the banner is 22.5.63.

From somewhere to the south you hear the padding of footfalls, a drift of quiet humming, and a quiet slam.
You go west
You open the door, with a loud hissing sound, and go through.

Your car is parked at a slight angle at the end of the long drive, its nose almost poking into a purple-leaved bush. The low sun makes the red dust glow like amber into the distance. Mackenzie's bubble is to the east, its door closed. The road leads right up to it, with no front garden.
You examine the car
A standard car from the pool; low-slung to avoid the dust trails and wide to hug the road in the weak gravity. This one is black.

The door swings silently shut and the light on the card-reader returns to red.
You go east
You slip the card into the lock and the light flicks over to green. Then you push open the door and step into the porch.

The porch is just a short space of corridor, with two large fans built into the walls behind a white-mesh grille. The air is a little better regulated here, and smells fresh and tart, straight from an algae-tank. There is little else here - a rack for shoes and a hook for coats. Either end of this space are the large doors that seal inside from outside, they are east and west respectively.

On the shoe rack are a pair of lady's shoes.
Go north
The living room is designed in spacious fashion - furniture spanned neatly between smooth white walls. In the north wall opposite the doorway is a large window through which the long view of desert stretches until reaching the tooth of Mount Olympus, and the room is filled by the orange-red tinge. Another door leads east to the bedroom.

Against one wall is a table: not exactly pristine, but hardly messy with its papers and computer.

The sofa stands out quite strikingly; it is pea-green.

On the long sofa is a newspaper.
You look at the computer
A Mx200 notebook computer; built they say for lightness and speed, but in reality constructed to handle the flaky network connections running under the Marsian dust by devoting half their size to transmitters angled in as many directions at once at possible. As a result they're renowned for overheating.
You turn on the computer
You flip open the notebook. It bleeps but does not turn on - except for a small light which ignites in the corner. It is bright red but slowly starts to grow deeper in shade.
You examine the light
The screen is blank. A light in the top red corner is a deep maroon, and blinking.
You turn off the computer
Click.
You take computer
Although the computer is light, it has no doubt been positioned in the only place in the bubble to receive a decent data-transfer rate. Moving it, then, would be bad feng shui.
You examine papers
They are stamped with the seal of the European Union, and look like dossiers on various topics. You pick up the first sheet and scan for English fragments.

The top document must be new - the date is 23.5.63 and it has yet to be annotated; which is to say the whole thing is still in ProtoFrench and contains no translations. The only words you recognise in the horrendous grammatical nightmare that remains are "colonnaque" (colony), "houmlla dla sciesse" (scientists) and "Knassion" - which is not PF at all, but is familiar from previous debriefings all the same. It's a recent prototype piece of biotech.
You take the papers
It is unlikely to be useful to cart them all around.
You look out window
The dunes are brushed with a delicate haze of floating orange dust like the steam rising from a Spaniard's tanned back; still but for the sporadic storms that whip across the sky unchecked and unpredictable. It is dotted with a few strange plants - wide trunked cacti, large flat leaved palms that spread across the ground instead of upwards into the sky, and grass stalks that rise and bend flat at two metres high. Most are unfamiliar to your eye.
You search sofa
The long sofa has got a newspaper on it.
You read the newspaper
The newspaper proclaims itself to be an issue of the single Martian-language newspaper, "The Native". It is, however, entirely blank below the headline and subhead: 'TOP SCIENTISTS PREDICT WINDSTORMS WILL REMAIN FOR "ANOTHER HUNDRED YEARS": Sources report failure of latest hope'. The date on the banner is 22.5.63.
Go east
(opening the bedroom door first)
You open the bedroom door.

The bedroom is no more personal than the rest of the house; it occurs to you that the photograph in the hallway is the only item of decoration from either of the couple who live here. Unless you count the yucca plant. A large bed fills the centre, with a nightstand by one side. There are no bookcases and no books; there is no television because there are no stations here. A doorway in the southwest wall leads to the bathroom, built into the central column of the bubble.

In the wall is a long window with a view of the endless desert.

In one corner is a large chest of drawers, on top of which is a cactus plant.

By the bedside is a glass of water.
You examine the plant
A bulb-shaped cactus, covered little clumps of spines.
You get the spine
(the cactus spine)
You already have that.
You touch the cactus
(the cactus spine)
That would hardly be wise.
You touch the plant
The spines are sharp, and quite hardy under pressure.
You look at the chest
A large wooden chest with many drawers.
You open the drawers
The interesting drawer is the bottom one - instead of clothes and the like, it contains one large cardboard folder. You lift it out onto the floor.
You open folder
You flip open the file.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a genus K sample
a hairpin
a cactus spine
a plastic card
a printed fax
a brown envelope (which is open)
a case file
You read the folder
A plain cardboard folder, its creases a little worn.

The cardboard folder has got several photos in it.
You look around
The bedroom is no more personal than the rest of the house. A large bed fills the centre, with a nightstand by one side. A doorway in the southwest wall leads to the bathroom, built into the central column of the bubble.

In the wall is a long window with a view of the endless desert.

In one corner is a large chest of drawers, on top of which is a cactus plant.

By the bedside is a glass of water.

You can also see a cardboard folder here.
You examine photos
Around hundred photographs: on skimming through they all appear to be of Earth. Forests, trees, lakes, rivers; but also many of cities, roads, buildings, bridges, famous monuments; and a good twenty of people - crowds, a family outside a green house, another family on a boat. Some of the pictures are large - ten inches across - some have traces of tape on the back from where they were once stuck to a wall.

Buried amongst the photographs is a scrawled sheet of paper.
You read the paper
A sheet of paper covered in scribbles - nothing coherent, but not exactly doodles; rather fragments of letters and words and scattered at all angles around the edges and middle of the page, with the occasional snatch of a drawn line or a distorted margin. Something strikes you as odd which takes a minute to place: the sheet is not handwritten. It has been printed out.
You examine paper
A sheet of paper covered in scribbles - nothing coherent, but not exactly doodles; rather fragments of letters and words and scattered at all angles around the edges and middle of the page, with the occasional snatch of a drawn line or a distorted margin. The sheet is neatly - bizarrely - printed from a computer.
Drink water
You take a tentative sip - it does not taste of anything strange. Your heart does not constrict, nor your breathing.
You take all
cardboard folder: Taken.
glass of water: Taken.
You examine the desert
You can almost hear her voice complaining. "But it's so bleak,
Yogi! Can't we just hang up a painting instead?"
Go southwest
A tight tubular bathroom, built into the central column of the dome to give easy access to the sewage tanks. The only doorway is back out to the northeast and there isn't even a door, just a curtain across a rail. The fittings inside are perfectly standard.

On one wall is your own reflection, sketched onto the surface of a cabinet with an oil-mirror surface.
You examine the reflection
The cabinet is adorned with your features, only transformed into an oil painting, currently following the style of Gaughin, such that your cheeks seem quite round, almost sticking out of the glass, and your nose is cheerily shining. A small dial underneath allows this to be readjusted.
You turn the dial
You spin the dial randomly. The dial clinks into place at Schulz and the picture shifts appropriately.
You examine the reflection
The cabinet is adorned with your features, only transformed into an oil painting, currently following the style of Schulz, leaving you with a simplistic vacant look across your face. A small dial underneath allows this to be readjusted.
You look at the paper in the mirror
In the mirror, the sheet is white with a few scrawls, and dotted with blobs of black, as someone had split ink over a piece of schoolwork.
You turn the dial
You spin the dial randomly. The dial clinks into place at Monet and the picture shifts appropriately.
You look at the paper in the mirror
The scrawled sheet appears as a blend of cream and brown paint in the mirror, textured as a scroll.
You turn the dial to the dali
The dials settings are Monet, Gaughin, Picasso, Van Gogh and Schulz.
You turn the dial to Picasso
The dial clinks into place at Picasso and the picture shifts appropriately.
You look at the paper in the mirror
In the mirror the scrawl has resolved itself with pinpoint accuracy into a letter. The heading reads: "AMERICAN DEPARTMENT FOR SOCIAL EXPANSION". The message is short, and handwritten (and presumably, was then scanned into a computer).

"Dear Laura.
Your reports so far are excellent, and will prove of great benefit
as I know you are aware. But you must understand, to hear Genus K is functional is not enough, yet. We must test it ourselves, and we must be able to deploy it ourselves if anti-American agents on Mars decide to resist expansion into their colonies. You understand me.
-- J.M."
You look at the curtain
A dingy yellow curtain. Internal doors aren't used because of pressure problems, and lazy builders.
Go northeast
The bedroom is no more personal than the rest of the house. A large bed fills the centre, with a nightstand by one side. A doorway in the southwest wall leads to the bathroom, built into the central column of the bubble.

In the wall is a long window with a view of the endless desert.

In one corner is a large chest of drawers, on top of which is a cactus plant.
You examine the bed
A large bed. The bed, in fact, that the body was found on, clutching at its throat. Something to do with that glass of water?
You examine the nightstand
Just a low table by the bed.
Go west
The living room is designed in spacious fashion - furniture spanned neatly between smooth white walls. In the north wall opposite the doorway is a large window through which the long view of desert stretches until reaching the tooth of Mount Olympus, and the room is filled by the orange-red tinge. Another door leads east to the bedroom.

Against one wall is a table: not exactly pristine, but hardly messy with its papers and computer.

The sofa stands out quite strikingly; it is pea-green.

On the long sofa is a newspaper.
You look under the nightstand
The hallway of Mackenzie's home is bare but homely, one wall hung with a photograph of some Earth lake surrounded by mountains, and an antiquated-looking coat-stand by the porch door to the west. Doorways lead off in two other directions; the east appears to be a kitchen and the north is a living room. There is no upstairs in the house; the entire upper metre or so is filled solid with various forms of algae, to grow oxygen, regulate temperature and recycle waste.

In one corner is a stubby yucca tree.

-- You referred to something that can't be interacted with at present.
You examine papers
They are stamped with the seal of the European Union, and look like dossiers on various topics. You pick up the second sheet and scan for English fragments.

This one appears to be about the colonisation programme. "Schedule for '72 appears unrealistic" says one line. "Scientists report the recent attempts 'Dexilille', 'Edisonia', 'Forrage' have all been failures." The date marked is 3.1.63. "Expansion into Middle Africa has been mooted, again.
You examine papers
They are stamped with the seal of the European Union, and look like dossiers on various topics. You pick up the third sheet and scan for English fragments.

Another about colonisation, more recent (8.5.63): "Reports on 'Knassion' appear confused. Initial reports suggested an excellent performance, about 84% of original predictions. However, current results are split, on the same experiments; some claiming rapid degeneration, others claiming the harmful side-effects of the pollenation processes." The final line has been underscored in red ink. "Recommend we retrieve alternate information on the matter."
You examine papers
They are stamped with the seal of the European Union, and look like dossiers on various topics. You pick up another sheet and scan for English fragments.

It seems the sheets lower in the stack are all concerned with the North African drought crisis.
You go east
The kitchen is largely uninteresting - a small functional room, a laboratory of life, with the various implements of cooking arranged around the walls. For all the advances in materials over the last thousand years; roasting, baking and boiling still work as before. Just with the addition of microwave generators and plasmacoil hobs.

So against the northwest wall, no doubt backing onto the sink in the bathroom, is a sink; and in one corner a freezer hums quietly to itself.

The floor is seamless bar a square of plexiplastic.
You open the freezer
A blast of cold air hits you from inside. You open the freezer, revealing a shelf of food and a frozen biosamples.
You examine the Genus E.
You skim along the row and locate the sample for Genus E. Its full name is written on the top: edisonia.
You eat the Genus E.
(first taking the genus E sample)
You've no idea if they're safe to touch, even if they are sealed.
Close the freezer
You close the freezer.
You look at the thermostat
The thermostat gauge is pushed quite high.
You turn the thermostat
It is fixed in place.
You examine the thermostat
The thermostat gauge is pushed quite low.
You open the door
The scanner on the laboratory door lock warms uncomfortably under your index finger, almost ready to burn - and then cools again into rough plastic. The door does not open.
You open the door
The scanner on the laboratory door lock warms uncomfortably under your index finger, almost ready to burn - and then cools again into rough plastic. The door does not open.

The scanner on the laboratory door lock warms uncomfortably under your index finger, almost ready to burn - and then cools again into rough plastic. The door does not open.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a glass of water
a cardboard folder
a genus K sample
a hairpin
a cactus spine
a plastic card
a printed fax
a brown envelope (which is open)
a case file
You pour the water on the lock
(the black box)
Don't go making a mess with it.
You show the glass to the door
Inanimate. Give up.
You put the glass on scanner
Why waste your time putting things on the fingerprint lock?
You search the glass for the fingerpints
-- I only got as far as wanting to search the glass of water.
You turn on the computer
You flip open the notebook. It bleeps but does not turn on - except for a small light which ignites in the corner. It is a deep purple.
You look at the computer
The screen is blank. A light in the top red corner is a deep purple, and blinking.
You turn on the computer
It will turn itself on as soon as it finishes cooling down, and the gauge reaches blue.
You look at the computer
The screen is blank. A light in the top red corner is a deep purple, and blinking.
You search the freezer
The bottom shelf of the freezer holds a couple of pizzas and a slab of meat in a coldbag, shipped from one of the dome-farms nearer the equatorial region. The top shelf is a line of yellow biosample bags, each air-sealed and marked in fat marker pen: "GENUS A", "GENUS B", etc.
You put the glass in the freezer
This freezer is traditionally only loaded with foodstuffs and pathogens.
You open the fridge
That's already open.
You open the car
You get into the car and drive away from the bubble.
You ask the man about the fingerprints
"Yes," he whines. "It's a fingerprint lock on my print, yes, that's true. I don't know how she got in, but she must have. There's a lot of chemicals inside. I don't know how!"

It is a little difficult to follow the man's speech. His accent is thick, and the language is still unfamiliar.
Prompt man
"Yes," he whines. "It's a fingerprint lock on my print, yes, that's true. I don't know how she got in, but she must have. There's a lot of chemicals inside. I don't know how!"
You ask the man about black chest
"What box?" he says shakily. "I get storage boxes through the mail often enough."
You ask the man about the america
"I've never been there. Laura spoke about it a lot. My wife. She was born there, and missed it all the time I think. Who wouldn't, out there?"
You keep going
"I don't know much else about it. I don't speak the language, I have - I had - no interest in visiting Earth."
You ask the man about the computer
"The only computer I ever use is the Magga at work. My wife swears by her Notebook though."
You ask the man about the yucca tree
"My yucca!" he exclaims, startled. "I mean, I've got a yucca at home. It's perfectly ordinary though."
You ask the man about the spine
"I've grown a few cacti in my time. I'm a genetic designer." He shivers a little. "Not the only plants with spines, of course," he adds.
You ask the man about the cactus
"I like cacti, yes. Attractive plants."
You ask the man about the spine
"I like cacti, yes." He shivers a little. "Not the only plants with spines, of course," he adds.
You ask the man about the shoes
"What could I tell you about shoes?"
You ask the man about the freezer
"We're not complete primitives up there, you know," he bridles. "We do have a standard of living."

"But just tell me," he says suddenly. "Is this going to hurt me? Is it like torture?"
You continue
"We're not complete primitives up there, you know," he bridles. "We do have a standard of living."
You ask the man about the colony
"I think my wife was looking forward to it," he says sourly. "Hordes of Europeans and Americans flooding up, jabbering away in ProtoFrench and Amerimexican. I doubt native Marsian will survive myself." His face has gone quite stony. "The only thing's that kept them away this long are the climate problems - the duststorms - and my company is fixing those."
You ask man about Jasper
"Why are you even bothering to ask? Morpheus, that damn sample box... I don't believe you, you know. I don't know how you're doing it - spies or police or..."

He stops, quite suddenly, a shallow smile moving over his face. "Of course. Your spy. This is all rubbish, isn't it? You know because you are Jasper Morpheus and you sent her that damn box yourself. Of course," he continues, now nodding madly, convinced of his fantasies. "This isn't a police station at all, is it? You're not a Genetic at all! This is all just political! You think the only way you can get your hands on Knassion now that Laura's not around to pick my pocket is to get it out of me. Well you won't. If I killed her for it than I'm sure as hell not going to just hand it over to you." His eyes narrow. "You can do what you like." And he leans back, face in a snarl.
Continue
"Some bastard American who wants to turn Mars into a dumping ground for anyone too poor to wash, I should think. Is that who you are? Or do you just work for him?"
You ask the man about the spy
"She was a bitch, simple as that," he says in a voice like sulphuric acid.
You ask the man about the wife
"The bitch stole my work and was going to sell it to the Americans. Can you imagine how angry I was? I pick-locked open the box, and that was it."
Keep going
"The bitch stole my work and was going to sell it to the Americans. Can you imagine how angry I was? It's a wonder I didn't strangle her straight."

The door opens briefly and the guard appears. "Brought you some tea, sir," he says politely, and brings a mug over to put on the table. The man looks startled by this appearance and is offered nothing himself. The guard leaves with a nod and a click of a magnetic lock.
You ask the man about the murder
"So I dipped a cactus spine in a little solution that was lying around, and placed it into her shoe for when she went out. Then I removed it before calling the police along."
You ask the man about the confession
"What difference does it make? You would have just read it out of me if I hadn't spoken!"
You press the button
"Thank you, Mackenzie. That'll be all." You stand, and go over to press the buzzer. He looks up at you, his eyes flashing. "This is insane. I'm lying!" he shouts suddenly to the cameras. "I'm just stringing him along! You can't convict me on it!"

You shrug. "Which of us is more insane, Doctor? Me, for believing I read minds, or you, for killing your wife so easily for the sake of a desert?"

The door slides open and the guard is there. "Thank you, sir," he says formally. "I believe that's all."

"Yes, you do," is the reply.

The foyer of the EUPD is a wide expanse of functional metal; every wall inlaid with panels, displays, buzzers and listings of the voluminous amounts of relevant and irrelevant information generated by a building this size and an organisation this complex. Of course, complex organisations are much easier for your purposes.

In front of you is the main door of the building, outside which lies the street.
You go outside
The door will not open until it recognises your fingerprint.

A young man walks past with a cop. "Is it true?" he is saying. "Or do they just research it and guess, like at a circus or something?" You smile at the foolish question.
You touch the door
You touch your finger to the lock. It grows gently warm as it reads your print, then the door the swings open. A clipped automated voice says: "Have a nice evening, Jackson Roberts". You cannot help but tip your head in reply as you step outside.

The street is fairly quiet for London, with a gentle background buzz of traffic and pedestrians. Luckily you will have to go no distance in this foul city, as the car is already here, parked right out front.
You enter the car
You open the car door and slip inside. "Good evening," you say to the driver, who rolls away from the kerb as the door clicks shut. "Back to the office."

"Very good, Mr. Morpheus," he replies.

The drive is uneventful; you are dropped outside your building and make your way through the maze of corridors until you reach your current - hopefully temporary - room.

The corridor runs off in both directions, but room 42 is directly to the east.
Go east
(opening the office door first)
You touch your finger to the lock. It grows gently warm as it reads your print, then falls cold with a flat honk. Your fingerprint has not been read.
So you can't go that way.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a plexilatec fingercap on your index finger
You examine the fingercap
One thin layer of sculpted plexilatecover your index finger.
You remove the cap
You carefully peel off Jackson Roberts' index finger.
You open door
You touch your finger to the lock. It grows gently warm as it reads your print, and the door clunks heavily.
You go to the east
(opening the office door first)
You open the office door.

Your office is small, and quite sparse, with nothing but a desk by the large window which overlooks this ghastly city. It is equipped with a little bathroom - you made sure of that before taking it - it lies to the north.

On the desk is a scrawled sheet.

The door locks quietly behind you.
You read the paper
A sheet of paper covered in scribbles - nothing coherent, but not exactly doodles; rather fragments of letters and words and scattered at all angles around the edges and middle of the page, with the occasional snatch of a drawn line or a distorted margin. It has been carefully laser-printed from a computer image.
You take the paper
Taken.
You go north
(opening the bathroom door first)
You open the bathroom door.

The small bathroom is empty and very rarely used. The only thing here not provided by the cleaners was, of course, the cabinet you brought in yourself. The door to the office is south.

On one wall is your own reflection, sketched onto the surface of a cabinet with an oil-mirror surface.
You turn the dial to Picasso
The cabinet is adorned with your features, only transformed into an oil painting, currently following the style of Schulz, leaving you with a simplistic vacant look across your face. A small dial underneath allows this to be readjusted.

The dial clinks into place at Picasso and the picture shifts appropriately.
You look at the paper in mirror
You close the door first.

Holding the paper up to the mirror, it takes a little adjustment before the fragments of words and letters solidify into lines of text. "JM - Delivery from Mars received, placed in desk drawer. Crime occurred too late. We have our sample - PK."
You open the cabinet
You open the mirrored cabinet.
You look in the cabinet
The mirrored cabinet is empty.
You go south
(opening the bathroom door first)
You open the bathroom door.

Your office is small, and quite sparse, with nothing but a desk by the large window which overlooks this ghastly city. It is equipped with a little bathroom - you made sure of that before taking it - it lies to the north.
You open the desk
You grip the handle, hear the lock click back at your print, and slide it open. The drawer has got a key and a black box in it.
You open the box with the key
(first taking the key)
Are you certain? Mackenzie good as said he found it; opened it. Would he let Knassion fall into your hands? Of course you might have been wrong on that - maybe he never opened the box, never picked the lock, and got wind of his wife some other way. Your decision. Make it now. Unlock it - or leave it sealed, and close up the drawer again.
You open the box with the key
No. Your spy did her work, clearly. Mackenzie knew he'd lost the sample and was lying to you. Something you'd never fall for - mind-reading or no. You slip the key into the lock, and flick open the casket.

There is not enough time between the opening of the lid and the explosion of pollen into your face to look away. Three hours later you are regretting that gap of time, as you stare into the mirror, watching the oil-paint running down your face as it burns and scars. One miscalculation, that was all. One error, one gamble that you knew what he was thinking, and you got it wrong. And then Jasper Morpheus falls.
You close the drawer
Simple enough. You know Mackenzie opened the box. Jasper Morpheus did not get to his position on skill alone, but natural born talent too. Science may have engineered the psychics first in lab-rats then in men, but nature alone did the work on you. There are only nine men with your power, and each one sits around the same table back in the US. The box opens and pollen-dust melts at your skin. So - save it for the next time a removal is needed.

And, of course, Mars will come to you, eventually. You are not about to take a mis-step.
You get the bush
You pluck a leaf from the bush with a thick snap. In response the branch moves backwards, far more than just a recoil, curling up into itself. The movement seems to disrupt other branches, sparking a wave that travels down the hedgerow in an uncoordinated squirm of fauna. It is several minutes before it is still once more; by then the leaf in your hand has leaked a fine sap as far as your wrist.
You look at the truck
On the side is stencilled: AlgCorp FACILITIES MANAGMENT.
You go east
You push open the door and step into the porch.

The porch is just a short space of corridor, with two large fans built into the walls behind a white-mesh grille. The air is a little better regulated here, and smells fresh and tart, straight from an algae-tank. There is little else here - a rack for shoes and a hook for coats. Either end of this space are the large doors that seal inside from outside, they are east and west respectively.

The inner door hisses closed just as you enter.
Go east
You open the door with a soft hiss, and go through into the hallway. The lights inside come on automatically.

The hallway of Mackenzie's home is bare but homely, one wall hung with a photograph of some Earth lake surrounded by mountains, and an antiquated-looking coat-stand by the porch door to the west. Doorways lead off in two other directions; the east appears to be a kitchen and the north is a living room. There is no upstairs in the house; the entire upper metre or so is filled solid with various forms of algae, to grow oxygen, regulate temperature and recycle waste.

In one corner is a stubby yucca tree.

From the kitchen you hear someone moving around.
Go east
The kitchen is largely uninteresting - a small functional room, a laboratory of life, with the various implements of cooking arranged around the walls. For all the advances in materials over the last thousand years; roasting, baking and boiling still work as before. Just with the addition of microwave generators and plasmacoil hobs.

So against the northwest wall, is a sink; and in one corner a freezer hums quietly to itself.

The floor is seamless bar a square of plexiplastic.

A workman is crouched on the floor, and he looks up and stares at you. "Who are you?" he demands. You turn to leave, but the workman is determined to make sure he helps you on your way. You hit the dust as you are thrown through the front door.
You go north
The living room is similarly austere, with its walls all white and furniture resting in between large spaces. In the north wall opposite the doorway is a large window through which the long view of desert stretches until reaching the tooth of Mount Olympus, and the room is filled by the orange-red tinge. Another door leads east to the bedroom.

In one corner is a long desk.

On the desk is a glass of water.

The sofa stands out quite strikingly; it is pea-green.

The man sat on the sofa looks up. "Jack..." he begins, but the word dies. "Who the hell are you?" He proves to be a big man, when he stands and grabs you by the shoulder. Your stealth operation ends as you are escorted from the house.
You look at the yucca
A hardy plant, quite probably capable of growing as easily outside as in.

From the kitchen you hear a workman and a powertool.
You get the yucca
The tree is fairly bulky.

In the living room, you hear a man stand. You tense, but then an internal door opens somewhere else.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a purple leaf
Go north
The living room is similarly austere, with its walls all white and furniture resting in between large spaces. In the north wall opposite the doorway is a large window through which the long view of desert stretches until reaching the tooth of Mount Olympus, and the room is filled by the orange-red tinge. Another door leads east to the bedroom.

In one corner is a long desk.

On the desk is a glass of water.

The sofa stands out quite strikingly; it is pea-green.
You examine the glass
(the north window)
The dunes are brushed with a delicate haze of floating orange dust like the steam rising from a Spaniard's tanned back; still but for the sporadic storms that whip across the sky unchecked and unpredictable. It is dotted with a few strange plants - wide trunked cacti, large flat leaved palms that spread across the ground instead of upwards into the sky, and grass stalks that rise and bend flat at two metres high. Most are unfamiliar to your eye.

From the centre of the bubble your hear a toilet flush.
You take glass
(the north window)
That's not portable.

From the south you hear the other workman moving through the hallway. The door of the bubble seals with a hiss behind him.
You take the glass of the water
Taken.
Go south
The hallway of Mackenzie's home is bare but homely, one wall hung with a photograph of some Earth lake surrounded by mountains, and an antiquated-looking coat-stand by the porch door to the west. Doorways lead off in two other directions; the east appears to be a kitchen and the north is a living room. There is no upstairs in the house; the entire upper metre or so is filled solid with various forms of algae, to grow oxygen, regulate temperature and recycle waste.

In one corner is a stubby yucca tree.

You hear someone to the north re-entering the living room, whilst the piping of the bubble sucks water from the toilet. However, he goes no further than the sofa.
You take the square
The trapdoor is already open.
You open the freezer
A blast of cold air hits you from inside. You open the freezer, revealing a shelf of food and some frozen biosamples.
You examine the biosamples
Thirteen frozen biosamples stacked up on the top shelf of the freezer, happily coexisting with a frozen pizza and a chicken. They are labelled "GENUS A" through "GENUS N".
You look at the food
On the bottom shelf: bricklike slabs of pale stone. On the top: bright yellow biosample bags.
Go downward
The lights flick on as you enter the cellar.

The basement is lit by striplamps crisscrossed across the plastic ceiling, and is the only truly grubby room in the building. The floor is caked with dust and what even looks like soil; no doubt actually decomposing rubbish from various plants stored here over the years. The other clear thing about this room is that it's half the width it used to be - though the ceiling continues back there is a gleaming white wall in the way, in the centre of which is a large, forbidding door. It leads into the laboratory.

Steps lead upward on one side.

On one wall is the bubble thermostat.
You take the genus k.
You retrieve the genus K sample.
You go to the west
The porch is just a short space of corridor, with two large fans built into the walls behind a white-mesh grille. The air is a little better regulated here, and smells fresh and tart, straight from an algae-tank. There is little else here - a rack for shoes and a hook for coats. Either end of this space are the large doors that seal inside from outside, they are east and west respectively.
You go west
You open the door effortlessly with a loud hissing sound, and go through.

You have walked here, all the way from the spaceport. The air is dry and cold, you wrap your coat tighter and breathe with a little difficulty. The low sun makes the red dust glow like amber into the distance. Mackenzie's bubble is to the east, its door closed. The road leads right up to it, with no front garden.

Parked by the purple-leaved bush that lines the track is a large truck.

You stash the sample bag of Knassion into your coat, and stride away down the long track, feeling quite certain both you and Laura Mackenzie will live to see the first wave of colonisation.
Notes
Acknowledgements to Iain Merrick for seeds, Adam Cadre and Sean Barrett for fertiliser ('flags.h' and 'varying strings'); and Mike Sousa, Adrien Beau, J. D. Berry, Cedric Knight, Philip Dearmore and John Bichard for excellent pruning.

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