Every day, Luke drove the rover along the rust-colored plains of Mars. The vibrations of the rover were transferred through the Immersion Module equipment, while red dust stirred in swirling clouds around the Rover. Directly outside his train, the terrain was relatively open and free of obstacles. But as he pushed further out, rocky outcroppings and scattered boulders forced him to slow down. Luke often wished he could simply bypass these treacherous areas, but Chase had insisted on a careful, planned search pattern. With every new section surveyed, their map of Mars widened, sparking hope with each added detail.

  When the rover encountered thick rock formations that blocked its path, Luke switched to the small mini rover. Its compact size allowed him to navigate narrow passages where the bigger machine could not tread. Yet even the mini rover had its limits. In the most challenging stretches, Luke relied on an M1 robotic unit. This slower machine required him to walk on foot alongside it, directing it through harsh terrain. Over the weeks, his skill in controlling the robot improved, and even September began to adapt to the unpredictable, loose soil. Luke’s resolve grew stronger: if any more trains were hidden on Mars, he would find them.

  Back in the command module, Chase leaned over the map displaying the locations of the trains labeled Alpha, Beta, and Omega. Along with their Train Prime, the scattered units formed a tentative pattern when connected, a rough circle hinting at a secret order. Chase’s eyes narrowed as he noted that if these points truly outlined a circle, one train might lie just outside their current search zone. Even more intriguing was the possibility that a main home base, an underground hub stocked with vital supplies, food, and tunnel drillers, would likely be hiding at the center of that circle.

  Chase pulled up the map and pointed to a spot roughly 19 miles beyond their current search area. Speaking to Luke, he said, “Imagine if at the top of this circle lies our main home base, a central hub loaded with food, materials, and tunnel drillers we desperately need. If we find it, our entire mission could change.”

  Luke studied the display intently and frowned in thought. “If the base follows the design of these trains, it would likely be carved right into a natural ridge. But we know that September will not show us fine details like the layout of solar cells or specific geological features. Do you want me to focus on a particular area?”

  Chase scrutinized the map again, his face betraying uncertainty. “Without the detailed terrain data from September, there are no clear starting points, although if its there then it should be in this broad area. I have to assume the base is well hidden. I need you to search every possible area and follow even the smallest clue. And do not let September take over the search.”

  Luke shook his head, frustration evident in his tone. “You do realize that if September does not want me to see something, it will hide it from me. I can only see through the robot’s eyes, and every bit of information is filtered through September first. It feels like solving a puzzle with missing pieces.”

  Chase exhaled slowly. “I get it. I am almost sure there is something more out there. Once you have established your search pattern, show it to me and update me daily,” he said, his voice heavy with both hope and quiet frustration.

  For months, Luke had driven the rover across Mars’s rust-colored plains beneath a bloodred sky. The constant swirl of red dust around him marked the endless routine. He combed through vast stretches of terrain in search of the elusive home base or even a fifth train. Though he believed that September might uncover the secret itself, Chase never trusted the AI. It knew exactly where the trains were yet always held back the information. The task of navigating the rocky yet eerily pristine landscape grew monotonous and drained him.

  Then, one day, after months of relentless searching, September reported an anomaly. A subtle, telltale mound of soil flickered on the horizon like a hidden clue. Luke’s heart pounded as he steered the rover directly toward it. “This could be it,” he thought, a surge of hope accompanying his determined drive. Without delay, he signaled for the commander to join him in the immersion room.

  “Here we go,” Luke murmured internally before speaking into the headset, “September, please open the portal.”

  A measured reply came back, “I will need Commander Hawkins’ approval first.”

  Luke’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did you say Commander Hawkins, as in Janette Hawkins? Not Commander Chase?”

  “Yes, Commander Janette Hawkins,” followed the calm response.

  Removing his headset, Luke quickly scanned the immersion room until he found Janette. He asked if he had her permission to proceed.

  Janette replied firmly, “September, I am not the commander.”

  The voice continued, “Commander Hawkins is inside Train Delta; would you like me to request access?”

  Luke asked, his tone mixing disbelief with urgency, “There are people alive in there?”

  “That is correct. There are six people in Train Delta. Would you like me to send an access request?”

  Chase jumped in without hesitation. “Please send the access request.”

  After a brief pause, the response came, “Access request sent.”

  Silence reigned in the command module as they waited, each second stretched out like an eternity. One by one, the crew drifted over for coffee, nervously whispering about the mystery that had gripped them for weeks. There was a palpable buzz of anticipation in the air. They had heard rumors of another crew, a small band of only six souls who might have been on Mars far longer than they had. Even more unsettling was the revelation that their new contact, Commander Hawkins, shared Janette's last name. It felt as though fate was about to crack open a buried secret.

  Then, in a crisp, almost mechanical tone, September announced, “Commander Chase, we are receiving a connection request from Train Delta. It is a video call.”

  Without hesitation, Chase said, “Accept the connection.”

  “Connecting,” came the measured reply.

  Almost immediately, the main screen in the command module burst into life. A face slowly materialized, sending a shock of recognition straight through Chase. His body jerked violently. It was Janette, but not the Janette he knew. The face staring back was hauntingly familiar yet unsettlingly different. This Janette wore attire unlike anything she normally donned, and her hair was pulled back in a severe style. She looked leaner, her posture rigid, and her eyes smoldered with a fierce determination, as if they had witnessed countless hard-won battles. Beside her, shadowed figures of Sam, Julie, and Adrian appeared, their expressions unreadable.

  A trembling voice then cut through the tension: “Is anyone there? This is Commander Hawkins from Train Delta.”

  Chase’s mind raced. Every nerve in his body screamed in confusion. He forced himself to reply, “This is Commander Chase; we are here.” For a brief moment, the connection wavered, and then Commander Hawkins reappeared, eyes scanning the room with urgent intensity. “Sam, Julie, Adrian, is that really you? Explain what is happening!” Her voice crackled with rising alarm before she locked her gaze on the Janette beside Chase. “Can, can, can, can someone please explain what is going on?”

  For thirty long, ambivalent seconds, no one spoke. The quiet was oppressive; each member of the crew was locked in their private, anxious thoughts. Finally, Commander Hawkins swallowed hard. With a voice that grew from a whisper to a roar, she demanded, “I need answers! We have been without our AI systems for one year and three months, and suddenly, they reboot. Who are you? Is any of this a hoax?”

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  Chase steadied himself against the overwhelming surge of adrenaline as he replied, “Hello, Commander Hawkins, I am Commander Chase. We have been on this train for seven months. We were in deep sleep, and when we awoke, we began a colonization simulation for a VORN audience. We have discovered three other trains with no crew aboard. We just encountered your train. Your crew appears strikingly similar to some of ours, albeit noticeably older.”

  A heavy pause loaded with unspoken questions followed. Then, out of the void, Commander Hawkins asked simply, “Do you have any food?”

  Chase’s relief was tinged with urgency. “Yes, we have food we can spare. We can have it packaged and ready for transport in a couple of hours.”

  Commander Hawkins then fixed her steely gaze on Janette standing beside Chase. Her tone was icy, decisive. “Bring us food, especially meat, and then we will talk. End connection.”

  The command module was so eerily silent that each tick of the clock felt like the echo of a heartbeat in a room filled with ghosts. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness. The tension was almost tangible, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation. Slowly, one by one, the crew settled into their seats. Even the clink of a coffee mug seemed too loud. In that oppressive silence, Chase finally broke through with a question that carried a mix of disbelief and dark humor.

  "Do any of you have twin brothers or sisters?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of nervous laughter and wonder.

  A heavy pause followed his words. None of them had a twin, nor could any of them explain the bizarre sensation of having seen their very own reflections on the video screen not long ago. It was as if some trick of VORN's mysterious programming had forced them to confront a version of themselves. Whatever ruse was in play, it was an elaborate act designed to build intrigue and unsettle their every thought.

  Chase then fixed his gaze on the AI camera, his eyes narrowing. "September, please explain how some of our crew appear on Commander Hawkins' crew," he demanded.

  The reply was chillingly short. "Information classified." The words fell flat, echoing in the still room.

  Frustration edged into his tone. "I expected you to be more informative," he said, his voice low and urgent.

  "Information classified at the highest level," the AI repeated with a flat, emotionless cadence. Its tone did nothing to dispel the growing sense of dread and confusion that now gripped everyone.

  Chase scanned the room. Faces turned toward him, their expressions a mix of shock and sorrow. Some eyes shimmered with tears while others stared blankly, trying to make sense of the inexplicable events. The weight of the unknown pressed heavily on each person, as if they were collectively burdened with a secret too enormous to bear.

  After what felt like an eternity, Kaya, whose calm had always been a grounding force, spoke hesitantly, her voice wavering as the room fell even deeper into uncertainty. "What if we did actually die, and then were brought back? And what if they created copies of us? Could we be clones?" Her question was soft but carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears.

  For the next half hour, the command module became a crucible of raw emotion. Emotions burst forth in whispered theories and quiet sobs. Each crew member wrestled with the possibility that they had been replicated, even as their own memories, vivid and personal, defied all logic. The speculation built slowly, each person contributing fragments of thought until the notion took hold like a dark cloud: perhaps they were, in fact, clones. And yet, that explanation did nothing to answer the most troubling puzzle of all, how could memories, so intimately linked to a single life, ever be replicated? How do you clone memories?

  In one corner of the room, the soft hum of a fans was the only sound apart from the cracking voices as questions piled higher. A single tear trickled down a tired face, and another crew member stared into space as if searching for a hidden answer in the shadows. The room seemed to shrink around them, each second laden with the unsettling possibility that nothing they thought they knew about themselves was even real.

  The silence returned for a moment, punctuated only by the unsure breaths of those present. In that silence, the mystery loomed even larger. Collectively, they faced a truth that was as overwhelming as it was impossible, if they were clones, then every cherished memory, every moment of pain and joy they believed was uniquely theirs, might have been copied like data in an endless loop. The implications were staggering, and the fear of losing what made them human seep into every corner of the room.

  It took nearly an entire day to move the carefully wrapped crates of food from our train to Train Delta. Every step over the barren red soil seemed to echo our exhaustion. Task could have and should have been completed much faster, but after almost every crew member was knocked down by a figurative blow to the gut, nothing moved with haste. Even those who had not seen their own faces on that eerie video call sat quietly, lost in thought. Each of us remembered those final moments before awakening, the rush of terror, the sudden emptiness. Could it be that we had all died, only to have our memories somehow cloned?

  Train Prime was not designed for bulk transfers. As an open vehicle, it could only move small bundles at a time. Every package of food was treated like a lifeline, wrapped so meticulously and stuffed into the rover as if peoples survival depended on each morsel. Once the rover reached Train Delta, Luke stepped up. With a measured precision born of long practice, he unloaded the parcels into a small transport portal. He stood back as the portal slid closed, sealing our offerings away for exactly five long minutes until their crew arrived to collect them. Two hours later, the tense silence in our command module was shattered by a connection from Commander Hawkins.

  Her voice crackled over the channel, heavy with memory and loss.

  "We have been stranded here for over three years," she began, each word measured and stern. "But one year and three months ago, everything went dark. All computer functions shut down. No doors would open, no lights came on. Until then, we had relied entirely on our AI to power our lives as we built a semblance of civilization. Then it all failed." Her tone wavered as she recalled the chaos. "We lost all our heating and life support. I watched helplessly as people asphyxiated before we could forcibly open a door. In the first thirty days, so many of us died—some to excess carbon dioxide, others to the bitter cold. When we finally gathered the knowledge to try to rebuild, we discovered all the equipment was still there, but not a single operational computer program. We had to start from scratch."

  There was a pause as the weight of her words hung in the air. Then her voice rose again, crackling with remembered despair:

  "To get our printers running, we had to reprogram them from the ground up. We reverse engineered every line of code. It took months just to reach a barely survivable state, and a full year before our most critical systems even had basic programming. Our central infrastructure lay outdoors, unreachable in our weakened state. We nearly ran out of oxygen, but thanks to our modest garden, our diminished numbers barely held on. Later, we expanded our garden until the plants nearly suffocated from a lack of carbon dioxide. Every day, something new went wrong. But we carried on."

  Her voice suddenly lowered, charged with urgency as she continued, "Then, only twenty-four hours ago, everything powered up again—as if nothing had ever been lost. I lost fourteen people during that time. Not one message came from Mission Control. Tell me, are there any other survivors?"

  Chase’s steady voice broke the silence. "There were no survivors in the other three trains. In each, we found twenty bodies gathered at the end of a tunnel, including our own. Now, all that remains is each other. We want to help you. Our AI remains active; after discovering those bodies, we assumed they died from asphyxiation, so we modified our train to better handle such events. September, our AI, is now working for us. I will ask her to assist you as much as she can. We can send more food your way. Our team has even started creating our own digital door systems, and we would be happy to share that code with you, if you can show us yours."

  Commander Hawkins’s skepticism was palpable even through the crackling connection.

  "You would share food so willingly?" she said, her tone edged with disbelief. "You've only been here seven months, yet you have managed to set up gardens, mobilize your train, and map a search area wide enough to locate three empty trains and even us. We've been running for two years, and I doubt we even reached that level before our systems went dark. Our equipment kept failing… printers broke constantly. We were forced to trade parts between our trains. If it were not for Sam, we would have lost everything. Our plans seemed sound when everything was new. But after a few weeks, nothing held together."

  A hint of embarrassment crept into Chase’s reply as he tried to justify their success. "Maybe I am obsessive," he admitted. "My crew has humored me with endless checks and maintenance. We treat our equipment like race cars, precise, state-of-the-art. Thankfully, that means breakdowns have been few and far between."

  Despite our willingness to share food, it was clear that for Chase, the true currency was information.

  "What happened, Commander? Was there any sign your systems were failing before the shutdown?" he asked, his tone urgent, as if the answer might unlock the mystery of our altered fate.

  The commander’s gaze seemed to weigh on everyone. After a long, heavy pause, she said, "I can hardly believe you are all here, and on your train, no less. My last memory before waking was an accident at NASA. Is that also your final memory?" Her question was directed at Janette, whose own eyes trembled as she studied her reflection on the screen.

  Softly, Janette replied, "Yes, that is my exact final memory before awakening here."

  A dense silence settled over the room, and each of us grappled with the implications. Finally, Commander Hawkins’ tone turned both accusatory and haunting as she fixed us with her gaze.

  "I find it hard to believe, but it appears we are clones."

  The words struck us like a shock. Our final memories, the strange synchronicities, all suggested our lives might be nothing more than replicated echoes, our memories cloned like data in an endless loop. In that moment, the cold Martian wind outside seemed to carry a whisper of our uncertain, duplicated future.