Martian Dreams
Shell’s message swam (out of the blue, appropriately) onto his turquoise screen—his chosen May color. (His choices began to display a full rainbow of shades.) The text was the last thing he’d expected. Well, nearly the last. “Look, Gav’.” He signaled him to come peer over his shoulder. “Your Shelley isn’t just stunning. Discriminating taste in food. Chefs too!”
Gavin leaned on his shoulder to examine the message. “Ah, my Shell! Very nice. But what about our ingenious plan? She calls Lucy her ‘New friend’. Just friend? Did our plot work?”
“Nah, my instinct is she’s just being nice to her. ‘Quite the diplomat,’ is what I’d say.”
Gavin smiled. “Not so sure. She’s always nice. To everyone. The woman’s a wonder.” Considering he had spent at most fifteen seconds with her—one h
