The dust settles and the dunes dissipate off in the distance, although the drifters feel nothing but discontent. The same star of adventure once sought by the space-cowboys shines luminously no more. The smoke of adventure and exploration was clearing just as the gunpowder settled. The wasteland was becoming more and more serene, day by day and every space traveler knew it. Most of our Solar System had been mapped and the Frontier of space lost its appeal and danger, some time ago. There were no new planets to discover and no new moons to colonize. There was a feeling of ennui and completion among the Martian citizens.
The Testament, the ship on which Acting-Captain Amos was stationed, hovered over the Martian Spaceport for a few split seconds, before the ion thrusters activated and roared into life. A loud, squeaking buzz indicated the motion sequence of the ship was functional, and as the Testament flew away from Mars, Amos scratched his chin in worry, noting the Martian dunes getting smaller by the second until they were no longer visible.
A look, more anxious than nervous was embedded into his eyes. Amos's fingers instinctively traced his gun holster and then moved down the sleek barrel of his plasma-revolver. His badge read “A. Wilmington” and was barely legible. The writing looked worn with age and coated with reddish dust, a Martian trademark. The Martian denizens are certainly not fussy about their homes being covered in fine dust, for it is inevitable in their climate and a fact of life.
The captain paced back and forth across the creaky wooden floorboards of the cockpit, as he set the Testament on Auto-Pilot. Navigation of the asteroid belt in between Mars and Jupiter was nearly impossible, even WITH proper Asteroid Charts, and best of all, letting the ship navigate itself for the beginning of the voyage would allow proper introductions between this rowdy and unscrupulous bunch of crewmembers.