Dearest Martha, I write to you from the cold wastes of Earth on the first day of the New Year, 2023, the third year of war, and so close to your own child’s decanting date that it pains me to think on thee. The machines have been unkind to this planet and I hope you are well situated on Mars where it is safe. The men in the platoon – Dutch, Brooklyn, Dandy, and French – all send a cheerful “Hello.” I think they are jealous that you are human.