Brian Aldiss - White Mars

“Don’t force a decision. You are young. Be clear that you consist of your confused self. But in the case of that impositioning Thorgeson, you evaded a case of rape as any woman might have done, had she a cool enough head.”

“And a warm enough hand!” Suddenly, she laughed, and squeezed Alpha. “Had I not done so, I would be pregnant now. But no man is going to terraform me until I say so.”

Why did her words make me happy? Were they designed to do so? Weren’t the human mind and human courage great things? I kissed her and her daughter.

That afternoon we underwent one of our periodic discussions regarding money. Certainly one element distinguishing the texture of Martian life from life Downstairs was that we carried no credit cards. Some people wanted to bring the credit system back, saying it made them feel more like functioning humans. Against that, our economists on Adminex argued that where there was no ownership of property it was impossible to fix prices.

We had an electronic points system up and running. It worked through the Ambient. The unit was called a credit. To launch the system, our “bank”—once a cash till in the Marvelos offices—allocated everyone a hypothetical 1,000 credits, somewhat like the dummy money we were given at the start of a game of Monopoly. These credits could be drawn on at any time.

On the whole, prices of what few things there were to acquire for personal use remained trifling. A cup of coffdrink, for instance, was two credits, moonglow and sunglow were three. In practice it made the system hardly worth bothering with. So the money element withered away. We found we could get along happily without it.

No one drew wages or paid taxes.

A reckoning will come when—if ever!—the rockets return from Downstairs. But, after all, we own the planet, thanks to the UN constitution, and so can sort the matter out without too much friction.

One evening, Cang Hai was on her way to see a dupe friend of hers living above the We Mend Everything post, in the recesses of the old cadre building. The lane was deserted. Of a sudden, a door ahead of her was flung open and three masked men rushed out. Cang Hai had barely turned to run before they slammed into her, seized her and dragged her into a bare room, a store of some kind.

She heard the door being locked as they tied her to a chair. A bright light was shone into her eyes. She could scarcely make out the outline of her attackers for its dazzle.

She heard their breathing and was afraid.

“Right, girl, don’t be frightened. We only want to talk to you,” said a voice that Cang Hai recognised as Feneloni’s. “We are not planning to do anything unpleasant, as we could easily do, such as raping you or pulling off that artificial leg of yours.” Someone behind the light chuckled.

“The time to talk was during the forum,” she said, but could hardly bring the words out from her trembling lips.

“Now then, just you listen to us. We’ve had enough yacking from your lot. You and your pal Jefferies. This shit about the Rivers plan and Utopia has got to stop. It’s nothing but a time-waster. How are you going to improve people—people stuck on Mars? It’s crap! We’re going to die here if we just sit around yakking.”

“Let me have a go at her. She’s a tasty little dish,” said one of the hidden men.

“In a minute,” said Feneloni. “She’s a wimp, doesn’t much like sex. Maybe you could teach her.” They laughed. She begged them not to touch her. Feneloni replied, “Look, we’re trying to scare some sense into you. Get real! Stop all this pissing about. Stop beaming these stupid sessions of yours back to Earth, as if everything here was okay. It’s not okay. My brother’s ship was lost, worse luck, or he’d have done something about us being stuck here.

“We need to get back to real life. We should be staging scenes of riot, carnage, starvation. We have to force the hand of the UN. Get a ship up here, get us out of this mess. You understand that?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. But—”

“So you go back to Jefferies and tell him to keep his namby-pamby mouth shut from now on, or you’re going to suffer damage, you and your kid. You understand?”

“Let’s have a little fun with her,” said one of the men. “So she takes us seriously…”

“Don’t think about it,” Feneloni ordered.

The door burst open. Two security guards ran in, armed with torches and truncheons. The store had been designed as a dry goods warehouse and was covered by functioning security cameras, a factor Feneloni had disregarded. Directly he saw the men he shouted to the others to follow and rushed the intruders. The guards kicked his legs from under him and pinned him to the floor as he fell. The other two men burst out of the door and ran for it down the passageway.

Once Feneloni was tied up, the security men went over to Cang Hai and released her from the chair. She collapsed with shock. They phoned me. I arrived and helped her back to our quarters. After a shower she fell asleep, to wake in the morning recovered, at least in part.

Now the question arose of what to do with Feneloni. I went to see him. He was being held in his quarters on Tharsis Street, and looked as sullen as one might expect.

I asked him what he had to say for himself.

“You’re the talker.”

I stood looking at him, saying nothing, trying to master my anger.

Finally he burst out in a torrent of words, saying that he had intended no harm, but could not get a proper hearing for his view, which everyone shared, that everyone hated my guts, that he was only acting on behalf of all, who wished to get back to normal life on Earth and not waste their time on “this miserable stone”. All he wanted was a decent life again…

“So is your idea of a decent life to capture and threaten an innocent woman—to threaten to rape her and tear off her leg? You’re a coward and a brute, Feneloni, no less a coward and a brute because you do this on Mars rather than Earth. Isn’t it to guard against your kind that we try to set up decent rules to live by under our difficult conditions?”

“Look, we were only scaring the girl.”

“And were you in control of the situation? Violence of any kind releases baser instincts. Right now I’d like to beat your brains out, but we’ve tried to set up laws against that kind of thing. What the hell are we going to do about you? A course of mentatropy?”

He hunched his shoulders and hung his head.

I waited. “Well?”

After a long silence, he said, “Not mentatropy… I’m not the brute you take me for. There’s plenty worse than me. I don’t have your powers of speech. That doesn’t mean I don’t suffer. Why should we be ruled over by those with better powers of speech?”

I had no wish to talk with him, but forced myself to answer.

“In every society so far there have been top dogs and underdogs. The question is how we here can make the gulf between them as narrow and as flexible as possible. Would you rather be ruled by those who have—as you put it—‘better powers of speech’, or those who have the greater brute strength?”

He stared at the ground. After a pause he said, in a low voice, “It’s a stupid question. All men are supposed to be equal, but if they aren’t heard then they aren’t equal.”

“You were heard and dismissed. I could give you an example of a man with great powers of speech—the academic called John Homer Bateson, who is laughed off whenever he addresses the audience. We know that all men are not equal, although it befits a government of any kind to attempt to behave as if they were.”

“But you’re trying to establish your little government here, instead of busting a bracket to get us back to Earth.”