On the metallic skyline of Mars, the air was thick with the noxious fumes of political scandal. It was in the dim, crowded depths of The Red Mare's Lounge that Jonus first heard the whispered rumors of deceit.

"So what's the word today, Verrik?" Jonus asked, sipping his tepid ale as his tired eyes scanned the room.

Verrik, a smuggler by trade and informant by choice, let his gaze linger on the vacant space just beyond Jonus' shoulder. "Well, Jonus, you didn't hear it from me. But Councilman Kylver? He's been dipping his grubby paws into the Marsovian Compact's treasury."

"Is that so?" Jonus mused, swirling the dregs of his now lukewarm ale, "I'm not exactly surprised. Corrupt politicians are as common as the craters on Tycho."

Verrik leaned in closer, his breath flavored with the cheap Martian whiskey that colored his tongue an unsettling shade of violet. "That's not all," he whispered, "I found out that Kylver's been secretly negotiating with the Earth Anarchists to allow them to establish a base here."

Jonus choked on the pass of his ale, sputtering and thumping his chest with a stunned fury. "The Earth Anarchists?" he managed to grunt, "You better have some real solid proof, Verrik."

"Keep your pyjamas on, Jonus. I've got the evidence," Verrik assured, winking at his fellow conspirator. "But it's gonna cost you."