George Martin - Old Mars

He was still tired after eating, so he decided to go back to bed, and when he finally woke, just before dawn, he felt better. The shower was unusable due to the lack of power, but there was a bucket in the side shed, and he was able to scoop up water from the canal, dissolve a disinfecting tablet in it, and sluice himself off. He changed to some reasonably fresh clothes from the duffel and tucked the sunstone under his shirt. By then, Jacky’s place was open for breakfast, and her flatbread and peanut butter tasted very good. Dave went out feeling ready for just about anything.

About a hundred meters down the street was Mike’s Power Shop. He had a few motors in stock, adaptable to boats for people who thought sails were too slow—there were always a few, especially newcomers. Newcomers were more likely to have money, of course, while those who had been on Mars awhile had a tendency either to tap their relatives for help or to offer barter. Mike was more than happy to sell his best for Earth creds and to throw in a full charge. He loaned Dave a cart to take it down to the Martian quarter.

Burmari was waiting for him. The boat was already on the slide that would carry it into the canal, the sail was mounted but still tightly furled, and the brackets for the motor had been installed.

“It will tolerate a motor,” said Burmari, “but it will not move as beautifully with one.” Martians did not care for motors; they weren’t using any when the first Earthman arrived, though most archaeologists believed that their ancient ancestors must have had them. How could they have achieved such a high civilization, they argued, without that kind of power? But Dave always remembered that the ancient civilizations of Earth had used the power of human and animal labor and nothing else. And the pyramids still stood—he had seen them with his own eyes.

“It won’t move as beautifully,” he agreed, slipping the motor into the brackets and closing the latches. The screw rested just below the surface of the water. “But sometimes it’s all right to sacrifice beauty for speed.”

Burmari’s polite expression did not betray how little a Martian would believe that.

Rekari emerged from the house at the far end of the arc. “Did you sleep well, David?”

“Very well,” said Dave.

“And when do you wish to begin the journey? As you see, the boat is quite ready.”

“We have to lay in supplies.”

“The work of a morning for me,” said Rekari. “Is that possible for you as well?”

“I’ll find out.”

“If so, we can leave after the midday meal.”

It didn’t take Dave long to gather supplies from a local shop—mainly peanut butter, barley flatbread, and dried beans that could be reconstituted with boiled canal water. He stowed it all under the gunwale on one side of the boat while Rekari put his own supplies under the other. They checked the motor’s mapper, and it seemed accurate, showing their destination on a standard grid-style projection of the planet. His father’s excavator, a lightweight miniature bulldozer whose larger cousins Dave had used on Earth and which Rekari had stored for him, fit snugly in the stern beside Dave’s personal bundle of tools. Rekari’s wife and Jacky collaborated on a sendoff lunch of grilled lizard, goat cheese, and potatoes—something for everyone—and just before noon, Dave and Rekari pulled away from the dock to the sound of the softly churning screw. Rekari estimated the trip at two weeks.

For the first few days, they followed Hiddekel north through an area Dave had visited with his father, where there were human settlements and Martian ones, ruins that Earth tourists had paid well to view and others that were barely visible to an untrained eye. But eventually they shifted into an eastward-tending canal and entered territory unknown to him. By day, Dave and Rekari alternated at the tiller. At night, they dropped anchor, heated their meals in a unit that plugged into the motor, and slept in the boat on inflatable pads. And Dave thought, not for the first time, how much more beautiful the stars were without that big, bright Earth satellite to spoil them; the Martian moons were far more modest, with Phobos a fraction of the size and brightness of Earth’s moon and Deimos just another pinpoint in the great darkness.

Beginning on the second night, after their meal, with Rekari’s lamp glowing at the boat’s prow, the Martian talked about his travels with Dave’s father, about their discoveries in the Syrtis, Sabaeus, and Tharsis areas. They had not been familiar with the farther north. No ruins had been found there—too much ice during the winter and too much flooding during the melt, Rekari said; the old Martians had probably chosen not to establish any major population centers in such a volatile area.

“Of course, your father did not believe that. He had perhaps an exaggerated idea of the ancients. As most of you do. They weren’t very different from us. They loved their boats, as we do. The old stories say they had great fleets of boats, with sails patterned like the leaves of the alaria tree.” He leaned back against the mast, the bottom of its furled sail brushing his shoulder. “There aren’t many alarias left. Like so many other things. There were shallow seas in those days, and there would be boats sailing on them on summer afternoons, as far as the eye could see. It was very beautiful.”

“I wish I could have seen that,” Dave said.

Rekari looked out into the darkness. “Yes, it must have been a great sight.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “There were more of them, back then, than we are now. We don’t have very many children now.” He glanced at Dave. “I am more fortunate than most in that.”

On the sixth day, just after they had shifted into an easterly-tending canal that would link to one that continued north toward their coordinates, Dave noticed that they were being followed. He hadn’t thought so when he saw the boat for the first time, its mast and furled sail faintly visible against the sky. He had assumed it was a Martian trader, though when it kept up with them, he knew it had to be motorized, which was unusual for a Martian boat. Perhaps it was some Marsman’s pleasure craft. Or it could have been two or three different boats that he was conflating. When it made the turn into the new canal, though, he knew—Martian or Marsman—it was following them.

When he woke at dawn on the eighth day, it was only a dozen meters away. Sometime during the night, its crew had taken the sail down completely to make better speed, and the cloth was rolled up and tied along one gunwale, the mast standing oddly naked in the center of the boat. In the bow, three Martians, strangers to Dave, were lowering the anchor over the side, and he waited till they were finished to signal a greeting. They returned the greeting, but there was something hesitant about their gestures, as if they were not comfortable using their signs with Marsmen. When they shifted their gazes to his left, he realized that Rekari had risen from his sleeping pad and was standing beside him.

Dave murmured, “Do you know these men?”

“It is possible,” said Rekari.

Dave called out to the men in the Martian language. “Is there some way in which we can help you?”

They seemed startled, and Dave guessed they hadn’t had much contact with Marsmen who spoke their language. One of them gestured the Martian imperative at him, a sign normally used by parents toward young children, mildly discourteous to an adult, and he accompanied it with English words. “You wear a sunstone that does not belong to you.”

Dave laid a hand over the sunstone that was hidden beneath his shirt. “It belonged to my father,” he said. “He gave it to me.”

“It belonged to our cousin,” said the Martian. “We are his nearest relations, and it should come to us.”