Cutlass-wielding youths in tweed suits prowl the dingy redlight districts of Mars, intrepid colonialist explorers hunt giant squid in the clockwork submarines of an alternate past . . . and Polluto rises from the mists, casting ghostly phosphorescence through the gloom, and calls you. It's time to reach out and take the fruit. It's time to wind yourself up and escape. The toys want out and they're hungry for knowledge