No one traveled to Mars except demons, monsters, filthy rich fraudsters who were fleeing intergalactic prosecutions, and sorcerers. The Red Planet’s icy outer shell concealed pulsing tunnels that stank of rotting flesh—not an idyllic paradise, but I was desperate.

Buying the flight suit, the entry token, and the Broompod that transported me from the International Space Station had drained all the crypto from my account. I’d either leave Mars broke and rejuvenated or perish.

The fungal monster that guarded the antechamber that led to the Cavern of Transmogrification spread its wings, barring my path.

I removed my helmet. “May I enter?”

It pointed its antennae at a pile of boots and clothes near the metal door.

My teeth were chattering from the cold. Stripping naked was utterly insane, but so was trying to reason with a fungal monster.

I pulled off my gloves and boots. Both socks had holes. The gnarled hammertoe on my right foot poked through worn fabric.

The monster’s mouthring opened. It chittered as if it was laughing and emitted foul-smelling steam.

My stomach churned with an onslaught of nausea. I yanked on the zipper that fastened my jumpsuit and peeled the rip-stop fabric down past my hips.

Since my familiar Arachnissa had died five months ago, no one had seen me nude. I wasn’t eager to display my withered buttocks and saggy breasts, but I removed my briefs and camisole.

The monster’s right foreclaw jabbed my left arm.

“Ouch!” I said. Blood welled from the laceration.

A fleshy thing darted from the mass of antennae. The appendage laved my arm. “Witch,” the monster hissed.

“I prefer to be called Sorcerer.”

“Women are witches,” the monster said.

I pressed my lips together to suppress the urge to shout a hex. After riding in a cramped Broompod through a meteor shower and a Martian dust tornado, my magical powers had dwindled, and my two-hundred-ninety-seven-year-old bones were too brittle to spar with a fungal monster.

A circular hole in the wall opened. A keypad appeared beside the hole. The readout flashed Pay Token.

I steeled my nerves and plunged my hand into the hole. It was the strangest sensation—as if my flesh was encased in a beast’s bowels. The wet squeezing changed to an excruciating jab as the token previously implanted in my wrist was extracted. I couldn’t hold back a scream.

The keypad beeped. The readout flashed Tune-Up.

The metal door slid open. I stepped across the threshold. The door slammed shut behind me.

The cavern was wider and taller than I’d expected. Torches provided feeble light. Rocky walls flexed and groaned like a living creature. I’d heard that the tunnels smelled rank, but the stench was truly vile.

Walking briskly, I surveyed my surroundings and avoided stepping in bubbling puddles, but my socks were becoming moist.

Rounding a bend, I yelped in fright when I encountered a Glacies dragon with a mangy tail and blistered flanks. Glacies dragons didn’t breathe fire and weren’t much taller than horses but were capable of interstellar flight and had voracious appetites.

The celestial death-bringer swiveled his head and appraised me. Pupil slits dilated. Saliva dripped from his jaws.

“Putridum piscis,” I chanted. Instantly, my skin stank of rotting fish. Glacies dragons loathed seafood.

The dragon snorted and trotted forward.

Keeping my distance, I followed.

The dragon’s tail swayed, synchronizing with my heartbeat. The occasional shudder and twitch mimicked my cardiac defect.

All Scarlet Sorcerers were born with septal defects, holes in our hearts we filled with paranoia.

The cavern narrowed. Lantern light flickered in the distance.

Seven humanoids with glowing eyes greeted us. “Lie on a gurney,” they said.

The dragon urinated on the floor while I reclined on the cot furthest from him.

A huge cauldron hung from a rack over a crackling blaze. I welcomed the sweltering heat. The yearning for warmth was in my DNA because my ancestors hailed from the Sahara—a desert I’d only seen in videos. Tariffs for visiting Earth were horrifically expensive.

A humanoid pointed at shot glasses filled with glimmering liquid. “You want beauty or vigor?”

“Vigor.” I’d rather retain my wrinkles and warts than die a gorgeous invalid. If I didn’t gain strength, I was certain to succumb to my grief for Arachnissa.

She handed me a glass. The chartreuse syrup tasted like tar. I gagged on the last sip. My lips were numb.

The humanoid grabbed my left foot, yanked off the sock, and pinched the toes. “Does that hurt?”

“No.” I felt nothing but fear.

I heard the dragon grunting. I tried to turn my head but couldn’t move.

Humanoids grabbed surgical cannulas from the cauldron, hollow spears as long as my arms. Two cannulas jabbed my hips. One thrust into my chest.

Ectoplasm surged into my body. As spiritual energy sizzled into my cranium, my brain was flooded with flashes of opalescent light. The beams honed and became red and amber stars swirling in a trippy daze. It was the most amazing high I’d ever experienced. Mesmerized, I wanted to swim into the vision and become a star.

Suddenly, I was jolted from the delicious languor by a scream. The stars disappeared, replaced by a vision of a woman giving birth in a sterile, metal clad room. The human physicians who tended to her were garbed in surgical scrubs, their faces obscured by spatter shields. The patient’s head was shaved. A tattoo on her forehead marked her as a mare—a woman born into the breeder cast. She howled as her body bucked from a contraction. Blood gushed from her womb. When the babe was finally born, the hemorrhaging increased. The doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding. One of them fastened a helmet over the dying patient’s head. Her body twitched as ectoplasm was harvested.

I wanted to weep but was still paralyzed.

My brain was flooded with another soul’s memories as the humanoids pumped more ectoplasm through the cannulas.

I saw an old man watch his wife die. He keened like an animal. His suffering made me think of my own loss. Arachnissa still spoke to me in dreams, but I couldn’t conjure her when I was awake.

Familiar—the word couldn’t capture the intensity of our bond. When we met as co-workers at the International Space Station’s main greenhouse, I was reclusive, but Arachnissa’s interest in herbalism and her kindness won my trust. She became my soulmate—a relationship that lasted eighty-six years. Sorrow had driven me to this horrid cave.

The grieving man vanished, and the swirling stars reappeared. But I felt no blissful high. I was alone with the realization that I hadn’t come to Mars for vigor—I’d tried to kill myself.

The stars burned brighter, shifting until their pattern resembled Arachnissa’s face. The beams of light became three-dimensional.

Seeing Arachnissa in the Medbay was traumatic and strangely cathartic. Since I was human, I was not allowed to visit Arachnissa while she was in hospice care. Healthy Space Arachnids frequently lived longer than humans, but she had ovarian cancer.

The urge to embrace her was unbearable, but I could only watch the vision progress. Arachnissa’s legs were limp, dangling from the Medbay sling. Her cephalothorax and abdomen weren’t moving.

The Space Arachnid physician who tended to Arachnissa pressed a button on the wall. A motor whirred. A dome that dangled from the ceiling lowered. The physician excreted silk from her spinneret and used it to secure the dome to Arachnissa’s head. Mercifully, the hallucination finally stopped.

Delirious, I focused on my surroundings.

A humanoid leaned over my cot.

“Why? Why was I given Arachnissa’s ectoplasm?” I sobbed.

The humanoid chuckled. “The spider thought you’d be lonely without her.”

Another humanoid jabbed a second cannula in my chest. Lubb-dubb, lubb-dubb, my heart throbbed faster.

The sorcery spackle infusion soothed my sorrow, but I still wept when the cannulas withdrew.

The dragon roared. Light shot from his mouth, crescendoing in a percussive blast.

When the smoke cleared, the dragon had transformed. His blisters were gone. His scales glistened. The dragon sneered. “Couldn’t afford transmogrification, granny?” he said.

Though I was a Scarlet Sorcerer, I usually avoided conflict. But the gleam in his eyes taunted me. I leapt from my cot and bit his neck. The flesh tasted like second chances. I drank deeper, sucking luminous life essence.

The dragon struggled.

I held him tighter, with the strength of a Space Arachnid.

His hide wrinkled as I drained transmogrification fluid.

As I slurped, my body morphed. Skin transformed into scales. My spine stretched. Wings grew from my back.

The dragon stopped breathing.

I unlatched my canines.

The humanoids laughed. One picked up the dead dragon’s carcass and tossed it in the cauldron.

The fungal monster was guarding the door when I crawled from the cavern. It opened its mouthring and chittered.

I roared, and the monster let me pass.

I flew towards Earth, eager to see the planet for the first time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Arachnissa.

Even immortal dragons suffered grief from lost love.