Joseph sat in his rocking chair watching the sun set. Over the fields beyond the orchard the sky ripened like a fruit before him, turning from brilliant vermilion to blush orange and then slowly draining off into the gentle simmering ochre that signified the coming of the night. 

He tapped his pipe on the arm of his seat and heaved himself up. 'I'm going down to check the hives before it gets too dark.' 

Martha looked up from her book and nodded her head. A lock of grey hair had broken free from its bun, she lifted it back with her thin fingers and clipped it back into place. 'I'll see you in a few minutes then. Can you check the tap by the glasshouse, I think it's leaking?' 

'Sure.' Joseph walked down the wooden steps from the porch and strode across the neatly trimmed lawn. He cut through the sloping ground of the orchard checking the fruit as he went, his fingers probing for any signs of rot, his eyes searching for any early indication of disease in the clusters of buds of apples and pears hanging from the branches of the trees. 

Satisfied the tap by the greenhouse was not leaking he made his way over to the line of the hives and stood listening to the deep thrumming of the bees before he pottered on to the vegetable patch. For a few moments he worked a hoe round the edge of a long line of marrows then walked around the plot checking the water pumps and pulling up loose clumps of earth between the furrows to allow the water to ease its way back through the shallow trenches. 

As the sky deepened into wash of velvet brushed blue he walked through fields of long lines of corn plants, pulled the rusted weather cover off the shield box and turned up the light levels to help the ripening fruit when the sun rose the following morning. 

Whistling an old Earth tune to himself, he made his way up to the edge of the field and followed the perimeter of the farm back toward the house. Climbing back up the short slope by the orchard he slowed. On the other side of the shield he could make out a dark shadow. Perplexed, Joseph followed the line of trees, stopping twenty feet away from shield. In the encroaching darkness a tall figure stood looking back at him.  

'Brent?' He muttered to himself and hurried over to the edge of the shimmering wall.  

Closer now he could see it was not Brent. The Martian, if that what he was, stood still perfectly still, so close his head almost touched the flickering surface of the shield.  

Slowly Joseph crouched down, picked up a rock and threw it at the shield. With a sharp crackle of blue electricity it bounced back at him. Satisfied he turned and hurried back to the house. 

'What do you think he wants?' Martha stood by the shield and studied the strange face looking down at her.  

Joseph didn't know. The face was flat and nose less, its motionless glassy black eyes reminded him of the cows he remembered on his parent's farm back on Earth when he was young, deep and full of pathos. At their centre lay irises of twisted thin yellow ribbons around which eyelids shut and opened like elevator doors 

'Do you think he knows he's got no clothes on, he's not decent?' Martha folded her arms and looked the Martian up and down, the tall muscular torso, the smooth cherry skin and long limp arms hanging loosely by his side.

'Perhaps he's lost?' Joseph offered. 

'That still no excuse Joseph.' 

'I don't think he can understand us.' Joseph waved his hand in front of the impassive eyes. 'Hello stranger. Why are you here?' 

The stranger remained fixed, unhearing and unseeing as if he were staring into a mirror. 

'Come on Martha, it's almost dark, let's go back. I'm sure he'll be gone by tomorrow.' Joseph took Martha by the arm and walked her back up the path. At the ridge he looked back. The Martian was still there. 

They sat together on the porch under strings of paper lights shaped like little round pumpkins. Joseph pressed his tobacco into his pipe and listened to the clickedy click sound of Martha's knitting needles.  

'They said there weren't any Martians here. We were told they died out long ago.' Martha pushed her dainty feet down as far as her soles would allow and rocked her chair. 

'I know Ma, perhaps he's the only one and been hiding somewhere.' Even as Joseph said it he knew it made no sense. 

'Maybe dear, maybe.' Martha rocked and clicked. 'Why don't you try the Patterson's again, maybe they've seen one as well or Brent will come over and have a look at him for us.' 

'That's an idea. I'll do that.' He rose from his seat and went into the clapboard house and fiddled with his radio. After a few moments he called out. 'There still no response. That's been three weeks now.' 

'Why don't you go over there? If you feel up to it.' 

'I think I will. Tomorrow.'  

That evening before he went to bed Joseph stood by the old wooden house and listened hopefully for the sound of a supply ship. They usually came in around dusk, the old Mawker ships with their burbling engines and their crews, tired from the trip from Earth would tumble out and play ball on the sand under the ship's floodlights. Joseph would listen to their shouts and laughter while he traded the farms produce with the Captains for fuel and dried meats while Martha would catch up with the news from Earth. The visits had become less frequent over the last year, more recently the subdued crews sat with them on the porch while Martha served cloudy lemonade in tall glass beakers and talk of the troubles back home on Earth. The tensions between the New Bloc and Southern Area Nations, the talk of war, their expectation that their ship was to be requisitioned and they would be called up. 

It had been four months since the last ship had come. Joseph had taken to rationing his fuel, half-heartedly at first, much more frugally now. Running the shield at minimum strength, not using the tractor unless he had to. They needed to be careful. 

In the morning they sat together and shared some apple corn cakes for breakfast and drank cool orange juice with the pips still in. Above them the great dome of the shield flickered like a million tiny mirrors rotating in the breeze sending tiny shards of diamond light racing to and fro across the leafy canopy of the orchard. Joseph was in his travelling clothes, wrinkled sun hat, windproof cotton jacket and his creased leather boots with the heels worn thin to the sole. 'It's probably sensible I go over there, maybe their radios bust. If we're lucky Brent will have some spare fuel he will trade.' 

'It's what good neighbours should do.' Martha reassured him as she cleared the table. 'I'll pack some food. Do you want to see if he is still there?' 

He was. Standing perfectly still in the searing light of the early morning sun watching them through the shield.  

Joseph went up and started the old tractor, it spluttered into life and stood shaking its bulky frame like an angry bull trapped in a pen. He kissed Martha on the cheek, threw up his knapsack and climbed into the tractor seat. Martha walked back to the box, dropped the shield in his section for a moment and watched as the chugged off noisily across the sand. 

'Take care Joseph. Give my regards to Gill and my love to Amy.' She called after him after him. She stood watching until the tractor had shrunk to the size of a miniature toy and turned walked back up to the house.

Bouncing along across the red sand on the hard metal plate that served as a seat Joseph watched Martha until she disappeared into the house. He turned, pulled his hat low over his head and slipped on his protective eye glasses. Within an hour the low dome of the shield that lay like up upturned saucer over the farm sunk into the drifting heat haze and became a part of the featureless flat plain of the desert surface.  

As the time passed, the monotonous wresting of the heavy wheel to and fro drove Joseph deep into his thoughts. If Earth had gone to war then there would be little chance of anyone surviving, the colony on the moon couldn't exist without the support of the Mawker ships, they relied on the constant supplies from Earth. On Mars, without the replenishing of the fuel needed to run the shields to protect the crops from the intense rays of the sun Joseph couldn't imagine how the few homesteaders who lived on Mars could live. Brent had a decent sized fuel tank, enough for a few more months for sure, time enough to work out what to do. If Brent and his family could help them it would be a godsend. Brent was younger than him, big and tough. Joseph was good with bees and Martha was a fine cook and loved playing with Amy, maybe they could work together. Yes it made good sense, he'd make him a proposal when he saw him.  

That evening as the air cooled and the sun receded to a fiery red ball he sat by a small fire, ate his sandwiches and dried fruit and listened to the far off booms of the old atmospheric regenerators in the mountains. In the morning he kicked oxide sand over the embers and set off again. By late afternoon he reached the old Martian Major Canal. Leaving the tractor on the edge, he made his way carefully down the ladder to its dry bed, walked the hundred metres across its base and scrambled up the ladder the other side and resumed his trip on foot following the thin path toward the Patterson's place. 

By late afternoon his could see the Patterson's homestead. Even from far off he could tell something was wrong, the glistening protective dome of the shield was not there. Joseph's heart sunk, perhaps like them they'd finally run out of fuel which would explain why the radio was not be operable. As he approached he could see the dark crumbled frame of the old whitewashed house, its roof collapsed in on itself, its shell ravaged by fire.  

At the farm he walked amongst the bent trees, scarred by the merciless glare of the sun they had lost their leaves and begun their retreat into the crawling sand to escape its searching rays. The empty hives left to the mercy of the elements had cracked and slipped from their frames and lay scattered carelessly across the blanched grass. In the cornfield, husks lifted by the wind tumbled off across the desert floor. He pulled the shield generator upright from the sand and checked the fuel, half full. Walking back to the house he picked a cloth doll, its skin dyed red with the dust. He shook it out and dropped it into his bag. He tested Brent's tractor, it started. He switched it off and walked back to the farmhouse and checked the big fuel tank, it was almost empty. In the little outhouse he found an old spade and walked into the house and began pushing back the piles of charcoal and twisted beams. Heaving back a blackened beam he stood back in horror, pulling off his hat and covering his mouth in shock.  

He buried the body in the sand. Twisted and charred by the heat it was probably Mrs Patterson. Too small to be Brent, too big to be their daughter. 

He checked the ruin again, dragging the shovel through the piles of ashes, pushing the charred beams away with all the strength he had but found nothing more. He knew what he was looking for but hoped not to find them. Finding nothing he climbed on Brent's tractor and drove back over to the far side of the farm.  

Down by the well he lifted the cover and ran the pump up. The water was clean and bright, it had obviously not been used for a while. Brent had done a good job with the well, he'd paid to have it dug and it was dug deep. On the farm it needed careful use, if you drained it you'd have the long wait before the water seeped back through the sand. It was always sensible to keep some in reserve for emergencies, sometimes the water took a long time to return.  

Joseph refilled his flask and gathered some shrivelled apples and pears from the twisted trees and slipped them into his bag. Walking over to the tractor he stopped abruptly at the edge of the orchard. Two faint sets of footprints made their way out from the farmstead toward the eyebrow of the distant red mountains, shrinking away like spiders tracks across the blood red sand. He crouched down, the footprints looked odd, strangely distorted. Maybe it was just the wind blowing away the edges. He stood and brushed his hands free of sand and checked his watch, six hours of daylight left.  

He returned to Brent's tractor and sat for a while in its seat thinking, hat pulled low over his forehead. Then fired up the engine, turned away from home and followed the footprints across the sand. 

After a few hours the prints turned and picked up the barren Major Canal and followed its course toward the old Martian city in the base of the low hills. Joseph had been to the city before, he'd spent a day exploring it with Brent. With its hollow crumbing red brick tumbled down buildings, empty passageways, odd shaped squares interlaced with a maze of little canals Joseph had found it an eerie place. He was pleased when Brent had returned to say he'd found nothing worth seeing, nothing except the strange sound of the dry wind chasing itself around the derelict buildings. The place was empty, Joseph knew that. The Martians had long since disappeared from Mars, they'd left no images, no writing, just the puzzle of their ancient canals that criss-crossed the planet's surface. 

Joseph stopped the tractor by a half fallen wall and followed the footprints into the shady passageways and quickly lost them in the maze of small streets and drifting sand. Retracing his steps he came upon the Major Canal cutting a swath through the building and turned and followed its course toward the heart of the city. Slowly it was joined by another canal, then another. Joseph realised that he was working he way through a spider's web of interlocking canals all emanating from the centre of the city. He suddenly emerged from a passageway to be faced by a vast low slung shell of a building, like one of the great hangers he'd seen on Earth that were used for servicing the Mawker ships when they returned from their trips.  

Puzzled by this unexpected sight he strode across the square and entered the open end of the monolithic building. He pulled up abruptly. 'Well I'll be!' 

Shaded from the sun by the low roof, long rows green shoots filled the space as far as the eye could see, each delicate plant just coming into flower in the freshly tilled soil. Trails of silver marked water channels with their steady flow of trickling water regulated by a series of small gates running along the side of the building. Joseph reached down and grabbed a handful of soil, it was soft and damp in his hands. He hesitantly brushed it off and looked around. 

On the soft earth on either side of the beds ran a series of footprints, two sets, both oddly shaped like lobster claws. He thoughtfully traced their outline with the tip of his finger. One big, one small. He cupped his hands round his mouth and called, 'Brent, Amy.' He waited but heard nothing but the sound of his own voice echoing off down the huge chamber. 

He sat by the crops and waited. At dusk he lit a small fire and dozed. He missed his bed, his missed Martha, he wondered about Brent and Amy and what had happened to Gill Patterson. He drifted off into a fitful sleep. In the morning he woke strained and tired and finding himself alone wrote a note and left it by the irrigation gates. He picked his way back through the tumbled ruins to the tractor and headed back down the canal.

Martha was breathless, 'Come on Joseph, there's someone new.' 

A Martian child and the Martian adult, standing together the other side of the shield. The child stared blankly at him with her large pitying black eyes. 

'Should we let them in, the poor thing?' Martha asked. Joseph knew she was thinking of Amy. 

Joseph raised his hand and placed it on the field. 

The Martian lifted his two fingered hand and placed it up on the other side of the field opposite Joseph's. Joseph turned to Martha. 'Let's go up to the house and talk first shall we Martha?' 

They sat on the wooden porch together. Joseph sucked on his pipe, Martha clicked her needles together. Joseph listened to the green glass wind chime play half remembered tunes to itself, stopping and repeating the first four notes over and over to itself. 

Martha put her knitting down. 'Do you think they'll ever come again, the Mawker ships?' 

'I don't think so. Not now its been too long.' 

'I wonder what has happened to the Moon Colony.' 

'They need more supplies than us -oxygen, materials to make repairs to keep the shells airtight, they can't have lasted long. They'll be finished by now.' Joseph fell into silence. 

'What about the homesteaders here on Mars?' 

'Without fuel.' Joseph shook his head. 

'I know, I know,' Martha said quietly. 'Could they have killed the Patterson's?' 

Joseph shrugged. 'I wondered that. I don't know. I didn't find Brent or Amy.' 

Martha rocked, nodded and carried on with her knitting. 

The next morning they sat together eating corn cakes. Martha had collected a few early ripening strawberries, deep red and succulent. 

After Martha had washed up she gathered up her kitting and a faded photo of Joseph and her when they got married. Joseph went to the bedroom, opened the drawer and pulled out his father's silver watch, wound it and held it against his ear. Then he dropped it into his pocket. In the kitchen Martha put a jar of honey and some dried bread and fruit into a bag. 

'Come on Martha, let's go.' He took her carpet bag and linked his arm through hers. Together they walked slowly through the orchard, Joseph stopping to pick two green apples from the trees and slipping them into the bag. At the vegetable plot he opened the vent on the green house and pulled a few dead heads off the flowers that lined the plot and patted the rusted mechanical cultivator as they passed. In his shed he packed his seeds into little pouches and slipped them into the bag then picked up two small boxes containing juvenile queen bees. 

Joseph threw the switch on the field and took Martha's hand.  

Slowly they walked through the orchard to the two waiting Martians.