Canaan

     "Stanley, I heard that you were captured one day when you were completely off guard some time after performing one or two illegal procedures, one of them on yourself. You were brought to trial, found guilty of the crime of illegal genetic manipulation, and sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison in Mesnos."
     "So far, your Constellation computer has it right."
     "It was not the computer who told me that: I found that out on returning from a tour of duty exploring the relatively near-by parts of the galaxy for suitable planets and for signs of intelligent life. Funny how many planets seem to support life, and how little of that seems to have evolved an intelligence similar to ours. Not to mention all the planets where intelligent life--and maybe life in general--has died out. I landed on Venus for a new tour of duty, and eventually got caught up with the news of the previous six or seven years. While I has there, word came about your escape and evasion, your disappearance really. That's when I began to have the computer make some discreet inquiries."
     "Discreet? How can a computer be discreet? Everyone knows a computer can't keep a secret. Someone always finds a way in."
      "It's obvious that you've not met Constellation's computer. It gave me some leads, then I had it erase from its memory every trace of them, so that if someone should try to catch me at this, they'd have no information. It seems everyone on Earth suspected I'd be looking for you. I was being watched. I had to commit the data I picked up to memory, for fear of having it intercepted."
     "My trial was over almost before it had started. Open and shut case, I was caught, so to speak, red-handed, just after a new unauthorized procedure. On Det. For some reason, they didn't prosecute him; good luck for us all."
     "Actually, Stanley's covering up for me," said Det. "We had agreed that I would plead innocent, claiming that he had tricked me into the procedure. It was an outrageous and very obvious lie, but they bought into it: they wanted to demonize him, I guess."
     "I was sent to Mesnos during its dismal season, with not the best of welcoming parties waiting for me, and with a bare 10 square meters to live in. One window, an interior court, no way out. Sentenced for two consecutive life terms, one for working on Det, one for working on myself."
     "Is it also true you added about 500 years to your life that time?"
     "Yes, and that's what Det has, and Numamba now, too. What about you? You want an extension on your extended life? I can assure you it's safe to do it here."
     "You know that's one of the things that brought me here. The other was to find you, and to see you again. You've not changed an iota."
     "Anyway, after a year or two of that kind of jail you get the feeling that 500 or more years of it won't be a lot of fun. Imagine: two books a week. One hour of exercise a day. Under guard all the time. Some people think that prisons are paradise, but I can tell you I'd rather be free. Freedom, it's worth risking your life for. So I had to find a way out. I thought of constructing a series of silicon chips. There's lots of silicon on Mesnos, it's everywhere. It wasn't easy without proper equipment, but when you've got lots of time and nothing to do, you'd be surprised what you can accomplish."
     "What did your chips do?"
     "All sorts of things. Most of them were unifunctional, because I had to make them crude, given my equipment: forks and knives. One of them could read any code on the doors and open them silently, then lock them with a new code."
     "The point of that being?"
     "Come on, now! you can't guess? To slow down my pursuers. Let me tell you, it worked! Another chip could divert attention from me, make people look away, so they actually couldn't see me. I became the invisible man! That really helped me out of more than one jam, and probably made my escape seem so sensational. Other chips functioned together as a small computer, with voice commands but no monitor. That really exercised my memory! I had to steal some clothes (I eventually was able to make restitution for it). Then I had the good fortune to meet an old friend of yours, fellow by the name of Alexander Romanov."
     "Alexander Romanov? I don't think I ever met anyone by that name."
     "OK, that was his new Mesnosian identity."
     "Don't tell me! Boris? Boris Smirnoff? You met him on Mesnos? He escaped that bombing of the tunnels when he destroyed the nest of Militia there?"
     "The very guy, and yes, obviously he did. He told me about knowing you, and about being sure that you'd escape because of some incredible memory for places. Seems you never make a mistake about knowing where you are when you set your mind to it."
     "He's alive!"
     "Well, he was alive. Remember that he's not one of us, and that was 150 years ago. But he lived long, and claimed that you somehow showed him that the Primitivist religion was not for him. In fact, he helped us get set up here. He had become an interplanetary, interstellar land speculator, and had a lot of contacts who had no idea of his background. He got us in here as pharmacists, Det and me. He brought Numamba here a few years later; he'd met her on his travels, on Aphrodite, I think."
     "Aphrodite! I was there with Boris. He saved my life! Stanley, you're bringing back too many painful memories."
 "Would you want to change the subject?"
     "No. For one thing, the memories are also warm, some of them. And in truth I'd keep coming back to Boris and you. I think that if I ever was in love with anyone, it was Boris. I've never gotten over his being a double agent, though, and it's made me wary, very wary, of emotional attachments."
     "Boris was not a double agent with me. He procured me a new, apparently official identity, as Dr. Stanley Lebenstein, pharmacist. I let my hair grow, grew an ample mustache and beard, added a few pounds, and presto! Dr. Lebenstein was created, like a phoenix, from the ashes of Stanley Narb. Of course I also had to learn what was a new area of science for me. I traveled with Boris, or rather Alexander, and thought of settling here on Mars, on a reserve where the government couldn't get me. The problem was getting in, getting set up with the best equipment. That's where Boris stepped in. He knew the place, knew they needed sources of heat and power, and told them that if they'd let me live here in peace, and if they'd let me set up a secret laboratory here, I'd be able to take care of their needs."
     "So how do you manage to provide them and yourselves with the heat and energy you and they need?"
     "Patience, my dear, you've always been so curious. Boris also had contacts with people on Ares, not the same ones who were there when you were on duty in the station. New folks, civilians as well as military. He arranged a deal with them: I'd be able to tap into their power if they could find new places to get the antimatter guns to operate. That's where some of these caves into which the water filters have come from: we've been creating energy for Mars from chunks of Mars converted to energy on Ares; we use some of that energy for us and for Canaan, and we have access to Aretian computer space to boot. And it's not only legal, we have documents to prove it."
     "Ah, so that's how you've gotten to know my life history, where I was and where I was going. That's how you could be expecting my arrival. Ares to Constellation to Canaan. You're wickeder that I thought!"
     "Well, I don't know about that. Have some Madeira, m'dear, and pick up your story about how you found me here. When you left off, the computer was being discreet, I think."
     "I learned that you had vanished into thin air on Mesnos, and were presumed to be in hiding there. An intensive search was under way. I was convinced there was more to the story than that, but I had to wait some years (OK, about a century) before an opportunity presented itself to continue. That was when, on Ares, I overheard a conversation about someone who was finding places for the few tons of matter needed every so often to maintain the station's energy supply. Nothing more, but it was a place to start, since apparently the people I overheard had never met you and had no clue as to who this mysterious person might be."
     "Why did that make you think of Stanley?" asked Numamba.
     "Think of it this way: here's a mystery guy doing high-tech stuff who even the officials don't know. Must be somebody in hiding, if not on the lam. He seems to have been in on a big deal involving highly technological stuff, and he appears to have been doing it for a very long time. Points to an ELB type. Who do I know who could fit this description?"
     "So you guessed it was me. Then what?"
     "Bit by bit, as I went here and there, my trusty computer found out some information, made some guesses, hit it right sometimes, wrong others, but after five decades of detective work it added up to a vacation in Canaan for yours truly. There is, of course, no trace of this, and I have left no hard evidence. I can't imagine that anyone else has had the time or the purpose or the resources to track you down. Now, you did leave out one interesting detail: how did you get your record cleared?"
     "Numamba was a big help with that. She went over the trial data, volumes of minutia, and discovered that I had been convicted of a capital crime with only circumstantial evidence, which is not allowed. So she appealed, and we won."
     "Were you retried on less serious charges?"
     "By the time she appealed the case, just about everyone involved had died. Besides, given the tie-up with Ares, it was probably easier for the Court to drop the charges, so as not to reveal an embarrassing secret of the ADP. After all, they're not supposed to participate in this level of technological development."
     "A secret? You mean it's not common knowledge? Among the ADP, I mean."
     "The Bishop knows, and the Mayor. That's the great secret of their offices, one they vow never to reveal," explained Numamba.
     "Now that we know why we're all here at this time," Narb added, "I should let you know, Christina, that Det and Numamba have been trained in everything I do, so that in case something happens to me either one of them can carry on my work. We've also made arrangements with the Bishop's office and the Mayor's office that the Pharmacy will continue to be off-limits to investigations in my absence or in case of my death."
     "Your death! Don't tell me you're that close!"
     "Oh, come on, no, I've got hundreds of good years left in me. But I'm not sure if after a couple of these procedures that we can guarantee stability; and we have only ourselves to experiment on."
 

     That's about what Christina could recall, along with jokes and bantering. Oh, yes, they would see the Bishop, and try to win the freedom of Madeline the Draper, who could live with them if she chose to do so. Then perhaps they'd meet the Mayor. Christina also learned a lot about the pharmacology of certain plants, enhanced by chemicals and genetic experiments. It seemed as though Stanley had taken his new profession seriously. When do they open their shop, and when do they practice their trade? And when do we go to town? She hoped to find out about that at breakfast.
     Christina had let the trio of Canaanites into a top secret bit of information about the mission of Ares, and why it had used up so much of the energy provided by Space One: to gradually regularize the irregular orbit of Mars, which once had a huge gap in its perihelion and aphelion. This has been stabilized at about 5%, quite an improvement over the 20% that nature had provided, and allows Martians to have a more predictable seasonal climate variation. Furthermore, Ares has established a Martian year exactly double that of Earth, which of course has closed the gap between the sidereal period (formerly 687 days) and the synodic period (formerly 780 days). Both of these projects now require only relatively low amounts of energy for maintenance, and might be able to operate without Ares in the future. Given the fact that the Martian day is almost identical in length to the Earth day, only a few calendar adjustments were needed to bring the months in tune (on Mars, they count each half-year as a year, to keep in line with Earth years). But the seasons are twice as long here. It makes sense to live as close to the equator as possible!
     "Dynamite!" Det had exclaimed on hearing about the new mission of Ares. "So that's why you guys have been mucking around up there for so long! And it's been done so gradually that people have hardly noticed it."
 

     At breakfast, she learned that they have pharmacy hours here in the Mansion twice a week, and they have an office adjacent to the market place, open for business on the two market days. They'll be going in for business in an hour.
     Her attacker was identified as an ADP neophyte who has all the zeal of a new convert. His goal was to prevent any Canaanite from dealing with these non-believers; and because of the way Christina was dressed, he took her for a Canaanite, and he attacked her. They learned his name (Flotnal Semaj), warned him to stay away from the Pharmacy's market place office and the Mansion, which he agreed to do. He did not want to meet Christina, however, not wanting to be humiliated again by speaking with the woman who had knocked him out, but he did apologize to her, via Det. He was on his way home now, with a headache (soon to be cured by one of Dr. Lebenstein's herbal remedies), a sore chin, and a full belly.
     After breakfast, Det stayed behind to work on a project, while Christina joined Stanley and Numamba. Numamba would open the shop, take care of consultations, and keep the business going, while Stanley and Christina would visit the Bishop and bring Madeline back either to the Mansion or to her house, and then go back to meet the Mayor and take a quick tour of the town.
 

     "And so, your Grace, we would like to take Madeline in, if she desires. In this manner, she would pose less of a threat to the people. We have plenty of work for her to do at the Mansion."
     "I am happy to comply with your wishes, Doctor. Valet!"
     A youth entered the room. "You called for me, your Grace?"
     "Yes. Have Madeline the Draper brought to me here, at once."
     "Your Grace, that's not possible."
     "What?" bellowed the prelate. "Why isn't it possible?"
     "Madeline died in her cell last night. She had been weakened by her exposure in the stocks, and passed away with an apparent stroke. The coroner is performing an autopsy at present."
     Christina looked crushed, and she was shocked. "Dead! She was so sad, and so helpful. She was afraid she'd be burned at the stake today, instead of being freed. I was hoping to speak with her again."
     "This is most unfortunate, Miss Vasa. We have never had a prisoner die on us in over 100 years. I'll set up a meeting with the Mayor and the Lieutenant of Police to review the procedures. We want to punish blasphemers, not kill them. We've abolished the penalty of burning at the stake, but the people still think that's an option. Maybe the unfortunate Madeline was literally scared to death. We will have a public ceremony to pray for her soul. Valet, try to have the Mayor and the Lieutenant come here as soon as he is free."
     "Yes, your Grace." And the young man left.
     "We would also like to report an attack on Ms. Vasa by Flotnal Semaj, who I believe is a neophyte."
     "He's a burly fellow. Were you hurt, Ms. Vasa?"
     "No, your Grace. I was lucky."
     "I will have him reprimanded and ordered to stay away from you. It would help if you attired yourself like your friends, so that zealots like Flotnal can't mistake you for one of us."
     "You and Numamba are about the same size, Christina. She'll surely lend you some of her clothes while you're with us."
     "I hope the rest of your visit will not be marred by this kind of occurrence, Ms. Vasa. An attack and a death. I am embarrassed for my nation and my city. I hope you can forgive us."
     "I much appreciate your kindness, your Grace. You are clearly not at fault for what has happened, and there is nothing to forgive. I do have a request that might sound odd to you, which is to speak with one of your theologians about your religious and social beliefs."
     "Theologians! We have none! Our religion and our customs are simple. We do not entertain metaphysical speculation. Our religion teaches us simply to adore God, to obey the law of God as written in our Scriptures, to obey the civil law of Canaan and of Mars, and to be just. Our social practices include what Dr. Lebenstein calls a pre-industrial life style, a communitarian spirit, and shunning of those of us who blaspheme. We are open to the outside world, and indeed are considering beginning a tourist industry here. It appears that many of your Earth citizens would welcome an opportunity to spend a few weeks in a retreat center here, where they can recover their spiritual values in peace and quiet. I think that is about all there is to say about us. Please feel free to wander about the island and the city at will."
     "Thank you again for your kindness, your Grace. I hope to see you again before I leave."
     "That will be my pleasure, Miss Vasa. And Doctor, be assured that we will investigate both the death of Madeline and the attack of Flotnal. Good-bye, my friend. May the peace of God descend upon you."
     "Good-bye, your Grace. And thank you."
 

     Before heading off to the Mansion, Christina checked to see if her transmat station device was still in place. It was not. That damn Flotnal! Stanley and Christina had no trouble finding him, and when confronted by his conqueror, he flinched; and without being asked, reached into a pocket and handed her the device, saying, "I think you dropped this in the square." Dropped it! The thief! Christina controlled her temper and thanked her assailant, with irony so thick you could cut it, for returning her little toy. Flotnal mumbled something and turned to hasten away, but walked right into the arms of a large ecclesiastical guard who had been seeking him out.
     An extremely deep voice said, in a menacing manner, "I think the Bishop wants to speak to you." Flotnal fainted.
     "I don't think he'll be bothering you again, Miss." Then he picked up the inert figure, and bowed to Stanley, saying, "Good day, Doctor." All three of them smiled. They checked in at the market place office, where Numamba had a couple of clients, one of whom had just bought some medicinal herbs and had to be told exactly how to use them, and at what dosage. Christina was able to secure her device, then they all closed up shop and went home for lunch.
     Two days later, Madeline was buried in a sparsely-attended ceremony. The adjutant Bishop officiated at the last rites. Oddly, Flotnal was there, too. Was he spying on them? Unlikely, because he didn't seem to be too awfully bright, but you can never tell.
     Christina spent parts of days watching the people make candles, spin and card wool, make furniture, do all the mundane things that are done in communities that refuse post-industrial technologies. She'd seen this in a few places on Earth, and in one little corner of Mesnos, but usually in living museums, and not on this scale.
     One of the joys of Canaan was the seaside, a fishing port and a swimming beach located not too far from the market place, in the opposite direction from the Mansion. The island did not have a deep-water port, although one was scheduled to be constructed once the breakwater now being installed was completed. It was extremely animated there, with the fisherfolk and the gentry mixing in together, the colorful sailboats the fishermen used, the neat stretches of sand, the clear blue water. She could recognize the fish and seafood, since all the animals came originally from Earth. Still, some of them had mutated in just a couple of centuries.
     She had gotten used to seeing the two pale moons overhead, one going three or four times as fast as the other, and Ares slowly crossing the sky farther out. She had gotten used to the salty air, the crisp breezes coming in from the ocean, the smells and sounds of a busy port. She had also learned that these people were not "primitive" in the sense of being unable to speak or think coherently; they were just ignorant of the ways of the modern world. And she had learned that these people, for all the simplicity they preach, were not innocent: robbers and other criminals abounded in proportions apparently similar to those on Earth, elsewhere on Mars, and on Mesnos. Their lives, too, seemed less calm than she had imagined they would be, the more she saw these people working, running about to do their daily tasks.
     This part of Mars, this entire little island--the windward side as well as this leeward side--had its share of beauty. She most appreciated the open spaces, the smell of the pine woods and the sea. "I'll be back here," she said to Stanley and Numamba and Det, "as soon as I get back to this part of the solar system. My next tour of duty will take me between Venus and Aphrodite for the better part of five years."
 It will be hard to leave these wonderful friends, she thought, glowing in the knowledge that her life had been further extended. Another 500 years! I can breathe again, she chuckled.
     Their farewell was tender but full of hope for the future. "Till we meet again!"