illphated
Lone Star Texas
for illphated.com
⸻
There were no borders on Mars—at least, not the kind drawn on paper. But ask anyone from the Lone Star District, and they’d tell you plain: Texas didn’t die when Earth turned blue. It just moved to higher ground.
Nestled between the canyons of Olympus Mons and the southern methane fields, Lone Star Texas Incorporated was a terra-settlement born of grit and sunlight. It wasn’t built by the richest or the smartest, but by those who didn’t quit. Engineers, ranchers, rogue scientists, third-gen terraformers—all with boots caked in red dust and dreams stitched with heritage.
They called her Sierra “Red” Del Rio, and she was the one who held it all together.
Clad in carbon mesh chaps and a hat passed down from a grandfather born before spaceflight, Red rode the Martian surface like a comet—tracking sandstorms, pulling miners from sink craters, lassoing rogue drones in zero-G. Her lasso glowed neon blue, but her loyalty glowed hotter.
She didn’t lead because she asked to.
She led because no one else stood taller when things went sideways.
⸻
It started with a communications blackout.
Three domes west of the Bastrop Crater went silent. Word spread that mega-corp terraformers from Europa Holdings had launched an unauthorized takeover—moving fast with mercenary security and AI override keys. It was a hostile claim. One that violated the Charter of Interplanetary Homesteads.
But laws don’t mean much in the Martian dust.
Only resolve does.
⸻
Red rallied the domes. She didn’t bark orders—she gave reasons.
“This ain’t about fences or credits,” she told them, standing on a rock overlooking the assembly. “This is about remembering who we are. We don’t take what ain’t ours, and we sure as hell don’t let suits from Europa tell us what we can build.”
The crowd roared back in a harmony only hardship could compose. It wasn’t just Texans who raised their fists that day—it was Martians, born of twenty nations, bound not by flags, but by red dust and resilience.
Under Red’s lead, Lone Star deployed unity like a weapon.
Hydro-techs rerouted water lines to deny access to the invaders.
Old space cowboys in mech suits stood shoulder-to-shoulder with drone jockeys and AI renegades.
And when Red rode out in her neon suit—glowing like some mix of angel and outlaw—they followed her, all of them, into the storm.
⸻
They didn’t fire the first shot.
But they ended it with pride.
By sundown, the domes were back online. The Europa goons were in retreat. And the whole of Mars heard the message: Lone Star doesn’t break. Lone Star unites.
⸻
Weeks later, the settlers hung up posters across the settlements. Vintage style, neon ink, bold text:
LONE STAR TEXAS
One Star. One Family. One Future.
It wasn’t about nostalgia.
It was about never forgetting that pride is more than ego—and unity is more than peace.
It’s the strength to stand tall when no one else will.
And Sierra Del Rio? She didn’t stay for the thanks. She was already back in the dust, lasso twirling under the Martian sunset—her boots tracking forward, not back.
Because pride doesn’t pose. It acts.
And unity doesn’t whisper.
It rides.
⸻
© illphated.com
Filed under: Martian Lore, Frontier Spirit, Blade Runner Americana