StroganovHe held out his hand to Nastasia as they stood in the dim sunlight of morning. Together, they watched the last tatters of the dust storm fade toward the south as the system followed the downhill slope of atmospheric pressure with the changing seasons.
“Beautiful, and frightening,” Stroganov said, not really expecting an answer. Nastasia merely nodded and stared. Her eyes were bright beneath the thick protective lashes, the sheltering brows.
The panorama of Mars spread out below them, as vast as the future; but only the two of them stood there to witness it. “Come, it is time to go.”
When Nastasia finally took his hand, Stroganov squeezed tightly, trying to send her a silent message that everything would be all right, a strength and caring that could be felt even through her dea
