“There’s still hope,” Matti said. He leaned over the butane bloom at the center of their little cafe table and burned off the tip of a fresh cigarette the color of undyed paper. “Just exported it to Mars is all.”

Gregor rattled half-dead ice cubes around in nicotine-colored scotch water and watched the inverted blue flame at the tail end of the rocket. The jetwash made layer after layer of perfect little upside-down bowls of white smoke. It all vanished into the haze over the city.

Matti exhaled over his shoulder, off the balcony. “Sedina’s up over on Mars, isn’t she?” Matti asked.

Gregor nodded. “Expat,” he said.

“If you’re going to open this bar, you’d need a cook, right?”

“Maybe not that kind of place,” Gregor said. He tried to suck scotch out from around the cubes. “Or maybe nothing that fancy.”

“Okay.”

“Still,” Gregor said, slipping a stirrer into his mouth and chewing. “Hope on Mars, right?”

“Well. They send other stuff up there, too, you know.”