This piece of ground is mine. I have a file reference with GPS coordinates to prove it, digitally signed by the governor himself.

I’ve saved for years for this moment. Living in shared dorms with other migrant workers who took the risk of coming to the new place. Keep taking risks every day, working to construct humanity’s new home away from home. I’ve seen dorm mates forced to run through all their precious savings after an injury and I’ve seen the empty beds of those who never made it back.

Up here you can buy entire pre-fabricated family homes, and all the furniture and knick knacks to fill it from the company store. The blue and yellow logo struggles to stand out in the rusty light that filters through the dusty dome overhead, but the interior is unchanged.

I shall build my little shelter, basically a glorified shed, by one of the new canals that borders my land to the north-west, and I’ll prime the bot with goop to print a fence along my boundary. Staking my claim to this barren plot of Martian land.