MARS, 2799

   "Don't forget to pick me up in three weeks. If my homing device doesn't work, check the transmat station I'll set up shortly after I arrive."
   "I still don't see why you're going to Mars for your vacation, Christina. Sure, people can live there, but it's still pretty cold. They've got snow in the winters, and even at the equator it seldom reaches 350; elsewhere, it's even colder. I oughtta know, I was born there. Human beings weren't made to endure summers that seldom reach 300, which is the case in Canaan, where you're headed. Sure, it's on the equator, but it's an island."
   "Well, Mustapha, that may be, but I've only been on Mars for a day or so at a time, and that was a long time ago, when I had duty on Ares off and on. Travel the solar system, visit the satellites, but why not Venus and Mars, too? Life's too short to let opportunities to stretch the mind go by. And besides, thanks to Ares and its continuing work, the temperatures are rising year after year."
   Not only that, but time was running out for her, too. If she didn't manage to find Stanley Narb, her days might soon be numbered. Let's see, maybe 325 or at most 350 total years, or till sometime around 2825 or 2850. Can Stanley do something for her? Will he? He can, or should be able to, since he's somehow extended his own life by a few extra centuries. Will he is another story, given his trial, his imprisonment, his spectacular escape, his desperate flight to Mars. For that matter, maybe he can't do anything, since he's living with the Ancient-Day Primitivists, who don't even allow electricity. They sure picked the right place for their exile colony. Pre-industrial technologies, a whole way of approaching life that seems so distant and alien from what we in Space Fleet are used to. Is this really the good old days? It's just like the Middle Ages all over again.
   Mustapha cut into her musings. "I don't think I've ever seen you in civvies. You don't look very stylish with those heavy clothes. They're so old-fashioned."
   "Mustapha, I'm going to spend three weeks among the Ancient-Day Primitivists. Do you think I'd blend in wearing the latest Earth fashions? And besides, I have to dress for the terrible cold you claim I'll face. Thank heavens for the translation device that Colombina showed me how to make. If it works right, I should be able to speak the way I usually do, only the ADPs will pick it up as their lingo. So if I'm lucky, I'll look something like them and sound like them, too."
   "What's the point? Aren't these the same people as the Militia?"
   "Hey, don't make the mistake I once did. The Militia are violent terrorist thugs who claim to be acting in the name of the Primitivists; the Primitivists are a kind of modified religious group, or rather a sort of umbrella group for a whole spectrum of fundamentalist religions; the Ancient-Day Primitivists are like the Primmies, except that they've chosen a pre-industrial life style. Just think of it as three weeks of bivouac, or indoor camping, along with a chance to see how people actually lived about 1500 years ago. It'll be like time travel!"
   "Are you sure about all that? I heard that the Primmies were all in cahoots with the Militia."
   "Listen, Bub, I didn't spend five years with Boris Smirnoff without learning some distinctions. He was a Primitivist, but believe me, he was no Militiaman."
   "Okay, I yield to superior knowledge. I've found a nice spot for you to materialize. It looks like a kind of square, and it seems to be almost deserted, so you shouldn't be observed. It's right in the middle of the big ADP town. Or, if you'd prefer, I can set you down outside the town gates. They must shut down the town at night, just like they did in the old adventure books I used to read as a kid."
   "That they do. Maybe it would be safer to set me down inside. The town square, you say?"
   "Well, a town or a city, I can't tell which. Looks pretty big, but not a metropolis. Take a look at the screen. See? Horses and buggies and carts. No aircars, no street lights, no electricity at all. Can't imagine how they live."
   "Maybe they read a lot, gather around a fire at night and tell stories, make their own music, entertain themselves. And work hard and almost constantly. No machines to do the hard work. Ah, three weeks in Nature!"
   "Okay, grab your bags, everything's ready. See you in three weeks! Constellation will be at your beck and call."
   "So long, Mustapha! Too bad I can't send you a post card!" Then, the tingling sensation, the momentary lapse of consciousness, and materialization in this obscure corner of Mars, far from the bustling world the planet had become in just one or two centuries. Time to get her bearings.

   A large city square. A church with a tall steeple on one side, flanked by large houses; facing the church, a large public building, probably the Town Hall, also flanked by houses, probably apartments; on one of the other sides, a huge covered market place, at this moment totally deserted; facing this, more public buildings. Probably administrative offices, police, whatever. In the middle, a permanent platform, seems to be made of wood. Good place for the transmat station, maybe. All I have to do is slip this device underneath, just out of sight. Something's on the platform, hard to see from here. First, put this in; good. Now, let's see what's making that noise.
   Actually, it sounds like someone moaning. It's a person standing in stocks, a prisoner. A woman.
   "Hello, my name is Christina. I'm a tourist. It looks like you're in trouble with the law. What's your name?"
   "My name is Madeline. I'm a widow, I live alone at the edge of the city. They think I'm a witch. I have another day of punishment here, then they'll let me go. Unless they decide to burn me at the stake."
   "A witch? I didn't think there were such things."
   "Quiet, Christina the Tourist, don't let the authorities hear you. It's blasphemy, you know, and you might be punished like me. I wasn't always old and wrinkled and poor; they didn't always think I'm a witch, a doer of evil, a slave to Satan. They think I consort with the dead, with ghosts who wander in search of their bodies. But there are no ghosts, and I am not a slave to Satan. But you must go. Do not let them find you here talking to me. If they think you are trying to set me free, you will be put in jail."
   "Well, I'll take my chances on that. But tell me about yourself, how you came to be thought of as a witch."
   "Once I was the wife of a rich merchant, Peter the Draper. In those days they respected me. But since he died in a terrible accident, and especially since my children left Canaan and ceased belonging to the Ancient-Day Primitivist religion, I have been shunned. People stopped coming to the store. I grew poor as I grew old. I had to sell my house, it was just behind the Public Building, but no one would buy it at a fair price. I took what I could, and went to live outside the walls. I eat herbs and roots, because I have no money to buy food. If it were not for Dr. Lebenstein, I would long since have died."
   "Madeline, your story is terrible. How can you live with these people?"
   "Quiet, Christina the Tourist, don't let the authorities hear you. You will not want to suffer my fate. I live with these people because they are my people. Someday they will know they have made a mistake. I will be restored to my community. But now you must go. At dark, I will be moved to the jail. If they find you speaking with me, you will be jailed, too."
   "Would I be burned at the stake, too?"
   "If you are convicted of being a witch, and if you were to live here, perhaps. But you are a tourist; you would just be deported."
   "Suppose I set you free, what would happen to you? Where could you go?"
   "Quiet, Christina the Tourist. Don't let the authorities hear you. You might return to your home, but I live here, I would be found, and I would die."
   "It doesn't seem fair, Madeline. The authorities sound cruel."
   Christina thought she heard something at this time, but because dusk was upon them she couldn't see very well. Was that a person ducking behind the platform? Was it a government spy, gathering evidence against Madeline? Yes, there seemed to be a shadowy figure lurking there. Seemed. She wasn't sure if she was seeing or hearing things. It was all so eerie.
   "Can I do anything to help you, Madeline?"
   "You are kind to think of me. If you see Dr. Lebenstein, the pharmacist, tell him about me. Perhaps he will be able to help me."
   "How can I find him? I am a stranger here, as you know."
   "You go past the church, on the right side of the church, and follow the road you will be on. Up you will go, Christina, through the woods to the top of the hill. There you will see a big stone house. That is the pharmacy. They will take you in for the night. Beware the robbers on the way; it's a long road. Farewell, Christina the Tourist. May we meet again."
   "I sure hope to see you soon, Madeline, and in better circumstances. I will tell Dr. Lebenstein about your fate. Farewell."
   That noise again, like someone moving in the shadows. Is it my imagination? Do I see someone moving through the deserted marketplace? Hmm. I'd better keep my guard up. Well, here's the church. Right side. Follow the road up the hill. Wonder how far it is.
   The road went straight into a now rapidly darkening wood, then twisted up a steep rocky incline. Above, the faint light of Phobos and Deimos could be seen. By early morning Ares will loom on the horizon. Ares. People have often asked me what it's doing now. What I tell them is that its main function is to maintain the density of the atmosphere, so that the planet's relatively weak gravitational pull (only about 0.39 that of Earth) will not permit the air to escape, as happened about three billion years ago. I don't tell them that it's also at work producing the energy needed to keep the world alive. With little seismic activity, Mars creates virtually no internal heat. Thanks to Ares, underground water is created, then heated, and tapped for energy. Even the ADP use this energy source, although they apparently don't know it's man-made and not natural.
   The low gravity makes it pretty easy for someone not born here, and even those who were born here and keep fit, to carry something like this duffel bag that must weigh 20 or 25 kilos on Earth. Mustapha's right, these clothes are old-fashioned and heavy, but I'm glad I have them on, on this chilly evening. Tamarack, oak, pine. Some underbrush I can't make out in this gathering darkness. What's that noise? A squirrel. "Look out for robbers," Madeline said. Can't be too careful, must stay alert. Dr. Stanley Lebenstein, the pharmacist, lives in a deserted part of Canaan's area, up the hill from town; I bet it's  a good three kilometer walk. Lebenstein; pharmacist. Not bad. It seems to have fooled a whole lot of people.
   Not many people want to move to Mars. The gravity and the climate. Maybe that's why the Earth Government set aside these three or four reservations here, including Canaan: one way to attract settlers, which in the long run should relieve population pressures on Earth. This one for the ADP. Another for rehabilitated prisoners. A third for descendants of people who had lived in Arctic lands, when there still were such things on Earth, and who for some reason have never been able to adapt to our tropical heat and humidity. I can't remember what the fourth was, or if there even was a fourth. But I do know that for most settlers, those who come to live on the main continent instead of these island reservations, it's either a call to adventure, or a means of escaping poverty (they get free land, I think, and a lot of help getting set up, just like the Mesnosians did), or both.
   Ah, there's a light ahead. Strange. It's not flickering like a candle or a lantern. Electricity? Here? If so, it has to be my Stanley. How will I greet him? "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" No, that pun on his alias is just too corny. "A ghost of times past?" Or, maybe... "Ouch!"
   A heavy club fell on Christina's back, fortunately right on her duffel bag. She staggered, then fell to the ground, quickly rolled over, and saw a man coming after her with a pummel of some sort. She evaded his blow, then got up and got rid of her duffel. He swung again, but hit her with a glancing blow to the arm. She struck a blow to his stomach, which made him stagger backwards for a couple of steps. When he recovered, he came after her again, but this time she sidestepped and, grabbing his arm, she tossed him over her shoulder. In this gravitational field he felt pretty light, although on Earth he would have weighed 100 kilos at least. He grunted this time, the first sound he'd emitted in this entire struggle.
   "Give up while you're ahead," she heard herself saying. His only response was to mumble something she couldn't make out, spring to his feet, and lunge at her. He appeared to be in such a rage that he couldn't think. She moved quickly out of his path, then smashed him on the back of the neck as he flew past her. At this he stumbled forward and turned around; she smacked him straight in the jaw. He collapsed, unconscious. She dragged him to a tree with the thought of tying him to it. A robber? Do enough people come here to make it worth while for a thief? A guard? Same question. But this guy's a sad excuse for a guard, if that's what he is. Maybe Stanley will let me in on the secret.
   The house was only a hundred meters away. She saw the door open, a flood of yellow light stream out from inside. Then a young man emerged, looked out into the dark, and finally spotted her and the hulk next to her. He came rushing down, accompanied by a very large dog that growled. "Quiet, Caesar,"he said. He introduced himself as Det Stisreg, the assistant pharmacist.
   "My name is Christina Vasa. I've come to see Dr. Lebenstein. He's a friend of mine from Earth. But I should tell you that I was attacked by this somewhat incompetent thug."
   "Ah, we've been expecting you. This is not a very nice first impression of the Canaan Pharmacy, I'm afraid. Hmm. You seem to have handled that man without any trouble. I'll take him to a safe place for the night."
   "Expecting me?"
   As his only answer, Det picked up the man, tossing him easily onto his shoulder, while Christina picked up her bag. They went up to the house and entered.
   "Please sit down, Ms. Vasa. Dr. Lebenstein has spoken to me of you. I'll tell him you're here; as I've said, he's been expecting you. Meanwhile, I'll ask my wife to keep you company. Numamba, we have a visitor, a distinguished visitor!"
   Before Christina could object to this way of being identified, a tall young woman, with long black hair and dark eyes, came in. Neither she nor Det was dressed like the people in town. They wore comfortable Earth clothes, what most of the Martians she had met in her earlier visits to the planet wore. "Numamba, this is Captain Christina Vasa. I'll take Caesar along to the cell with this guy. I want to see who would have dared to attack Captain Vasa. She's done something to knock him out for this long."
   "Be careful, Det, he may be faking it."
   "I'll have the fiercest dog in Canaan with me, don't worry."
   Saying this, he disappeared into a hallway. Numamba greeted Christina with evident pleasure, although she seemed to be concerned over her husband's safety. Caesar's growls and gnars reassured her.
   "It's a terrible introduction to the pharmacy and to Canaan. We'll do our best to make you comfortable. Let's get over to the fireplace and brush off your clothes. Are you hurt? We've got excellent medical facilities here, as you might imagine, since you've come to meet an old friend with great medical skills."
   "Oddly enough, I didn't get hurt in the scuffle. Maybe it has something to do with the gravity here."
   "Yes, well, I understand what you mean, and you're right. We have an Earth gravity center down below, so we're always in perfect shape relative to the Martian natives. It pays to keep in training. And since you've just come down from Constellation, you must be in tune with Earth's gravity, too."
   "How does everyone know who I am, where I've been, and when I was supposed to get here, and why I've come? It's spooky. It was supposed to be a secret. And by the way, please call me Christina."
   "Okay, Christina. I think it might be best to let Dr. Lebenstein tell you about that. Stanley has spoken often about you, you'd almost think he was a proud father! How did you find him here? That was just as big a secret."
   Christina's answer never left her mouth. A bulky man who seemed to be about 40 or 45 rushed into the room, exclaiming "Captain Vasa, I presume?" There were shouts of glee and joy, hugs, tons of questions, a barrage of information, fine sherry, noise and happiness. Det returned in the midst of the scene, saying that he recognized the assaulter and had locked him in the shelter for the night, where he'd be safe from the wild dogs and the strong winds that blow when the sun goes down and temperatures drop. They'd question him in the morning. "You must have really given him a wallop, he's still out cold," Det observed.
   "Our hand has never lost its skill," Christina answered, with a laugh. "One of the things we learn at Space Academy is self defense. In this case it was easy: an element of surprise, a quick hard blow to the back of the head, where it meets the neck, then a knock-out punch. It's all a question of physics."
   "We've just finished preparing dinner, and if you want, we can sit down to a meal and talk then. You can celebrate Liberation Day with us. It's the day my escape and all that were erased from the record, my conviction overturned, and my name cleared. I chose nevertheless to retain my new identity. I am a bit worried, though, Christina. I know you're resourceful, I know you're smart, I know that the computer aboard Constellation is powerful. I know all that. But if you could sniff me out, so could other people, and some of them are a worry: as you know, I'm not popular with the Militia."
   "But the ADPs don't do business with them, do they?"
   Numamba answered for Stanley. "They don't, but they have adopted an open port policy: they don't inspect travel documents, and the Militia have visited this reservation more than once, recruiting. Unsuccessfully, let me add. But they have come up here, and the odd chance that someone will recognize Stanley has us worried a bit. But more of that later. Christina, let me show you to our guest room. We'll have the table set in a quarter of an hour. Any plans for tomorrow?"
   "I'd like to visit the city, find out something about life here in Canaan. And, to be honest, I have some personal business to discuss with Stanley."
   "Personal business? I can't imagine what you mean," said Stanley Narb, with a wink. "I'm just a simple pharmacist, working with herbs to cure people of diseases."
   "I got directions here from Madeline the Draper, who's in the stocks. She spoke warmly of you, as a person who doesn't believe in witches and who might help her out. She's in pretty desperate straights. She thinks they might burn her at the stake."
   "Nobody's burned at the stake here. But I'll go to town in the morning. With a little luck, we'll be able to spring Madeline from jail. Maybe it's time we brought her here for good. Numamba, Det, you and I can talk about that over dinner. You'll come along with me in the morning, and I'll show you around town. But for now, freshen up, get yourself settled in. After dinner, maybe you'd like to see our little operation?"
   "My appetite is whetted. I'm as hungry for knowledge as I am for food."
   "Hmm. Some things never change, do they? I think you said something like that almost 270 years ago."