VISUAL EFFECTS / CH. 24:MEETING MUSICIANS

FOLK MUSIC MEETING, DOME 29, SATURSOL EVENING, 8TH OCT.

Alice stood up and said, “Earlier today, what should have been a lovely walk outside was spoiled by a nasty experience: my breather failed.”

There were gasps around the room.

“Praise God, we'd heard about faulty breathers, and we were carrying spares, just in case. And Simon was great, he managed to swap my tanks to another one in about twenty seconds flat. So, thinking of that event, and the old rumours I've heard, and hearing mine wasn't the only dodgy breather this week, I took the liberty of writing these words, sung to the tune of the house of the rising sun. Feel free to pass it on.”

“Red is this planet, red the day,

the storm comes back, while children play.

Take your breathers, not just three,

there's safety in redundancy.

“I heard a mother tell her child,

off you go, but don't be wild,

take your breathers like I said,

remember we're code red.

“'Code red, code red' I heard her say,

bad men with lists they went away

they've come again to play 'tis said,

the storm is back — Code red!

“So, parents tell your children, do.

'Breathers fail, be careful, you!'

But not just breathers, use your head,

Life support is all code red.

A breather failed, it should not be,

It could be you, it could be me,

as sure as wannas want to leave,

make sure you're warm, make sure you breathe.

“Bad batch or murder who can tell?

I want you safe, and me as well.

Redundancy, one two three four,

It's hassle, but, 'tis safer sure.

“I heard her say, right clear she said,

Listen up kids, we are code red,

We don't want any of us dead,

husbands, lovers, or wives. Code red!”

“Warning lyrics for a warning song. Well done.” a man in his late fifties, but with a rich voice said from shadows at the back. “You'll share the words with us?”

“Of course,” Alice said, aware of the stir that was going through the room. She could guess who he was, she'd heard his voice on recordings often enough.

“You've been listening to people,” Scaredy Jim said.

“And protecting my sources,” Alice agreed.

“You'd better teach us that song so we can spread it 'round.”

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ARTICLE FOR MARTIAN AND EARTH DISTRIBUTION, MONSOL 10TH OCT.

Breathers are something we on Mars rely on, for... well, any time you're not in a dome. Even in a dome you carry your breather with you, just in case. A breather failing is something that is at least scary and easily fatal. There have been rashes of breather failures in the past, with dark rumours about the causes. Breathers are reliable, that's the whole point. And unless you're particularly paranoid, it's not unusual to leave a meeting with a breather that someone else brought with them as you pick them up from the oxygen recharging rack. Swapping breathers probably isn't ideal, from a hygiene point of view, but it's not like you put it into your mouth, and they only come in three colours: medium grey, brownish grey and yellowish grey. A breather isn't very big either. I think Earthlings probably think of an aqualung, where everything you put into your lungs comes from the massive bottle on your back. But a breather has a small bottle of oxygen, another of nitrogen, and a very clever bit which separates the carbon dioxide from what you breath out, gets rid of that to the Martian atmosphere and adds oxygen and nitrogen to whats left so you get the right mixture. Take away the bottles and the important bit of a breather is about the size of a largish book when it's not full of air.

When one fails and instead of breathing in air you find your lungs emptying to the Martian atmosphere, it's not a nice feeling. I know from personal experience.

Breathers have a recommended service life of three months, and everyone sane sends their breathers for servicing / remanufacture at regular intervals. Was the one that failed for me one that I'd picked up by mistake, which by fluke and bad luck had been swapped from owner to owner far beyond its service life? Did some piece of alien matter fall into the vat at the manufacturing plant despite all the safeguards? Are the dark rumours of sabotage true? Perhaps the forensics laboratory will be able to find out. In any case, I was very pleased that we had heard about breather failures and my husband insists on us carrying spares for each of us when we're out. Not everyone does, although it's a jit thing to skip. But I'm told there haven't been any breather failures for years, so people have got lax, I guess. Unfortunately, another defective one has been found within the past week. The thought of a bad batch is a scary one. We rely on breathers helping us breathe, after all. The Mars Council has re-issued the following old safety procedures:

1. Never travel on the Martian surface alone.

2. Never travel without a spare breather unit for each person.

3. Be very familiar with exchanging the bottles on a breather unit. Two people able to swap bottles on a breather unit in under 45 seconds should be present in any group (one of them may be incapacitated by a breather malfunction).

4. For long journeys, have two or more spare breather units.

5. During times when the reliability of breathers is in doubt (code orange), always carry at least two spares when travelling, and always carry one spare unit even within a dome. Extra vigilance should be paid to ensuring that the breather you pick up from a charging rack is the breather you placed there.

6. During times when multiple unreliable breathers have been identified within a short timespan from an identifiable source, within an identifiable area or subset of the population (code red), the following special rules apply:

a. Affected people should carry at least three spares.

b. Vehicles should carry a bottle of pre-mixed air supply and appropriate masks and regulators.

c. Recently purchased breathers should be considered suspect.

d. Purchase breathers from a variety of outlets and sources.

e. Breathers reaching their replacement date should be considered reliable backups and not returned for remanufacture.

All inhabitants of Mars should consider code orange in force.

I'm told that since I've visited some of the same places as the person where the other one was found, there might be a link. So.. I'm code red.

Folk-song enthusiasts might like to visit this link for a recording of a song I must admit having written the words to, after my nasty experience and reading the above. I didn't know there was someone famous in the crowd, but he worked on improving the phrasing and agreed to record it with me so it could be learnt by others, all the while insisting that proper folk music needs to be performed live. If you recognise his voice, great, you know who I had the honour of singing with, but I'm not allowed to name-drop. Anyway, rights: you have permission to use the recording to learn it, help you sing it to others, and to teach others to sing it in formal or informal settings, but not permission to use this recording purely for entertainment purposes. Commercial use is prohibited.

As author of the lyrics, I assure you they are not true, so please teachers and lecturers, don't set essays in ten years time asking who I heard saying what and when. I made it up, using old rumours, poetic license and imagination.

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FINDHORN-BUNTING COMPLEX, MONSOL 18TH OCT 2271, 4PM

“You're welcome to stay longer,” Simon offered their house-guest.

“No, it's time I moved on. Thank you for your hospitality. Not to mention what you've been doing, Alice. I've heard enough from Earth about how you're changing attitudes. That's well done, very well done indeed.”

“Any advice on when, I ought to tell Earth that there are still seconders alive?”

“Not yet. That's my thought. If that guy gets caught, and his trial comes to pass, that'd be a good time, I think.”

“Yeah, I guess so. What would you think about me writing that a common theme in Martian folk music is about the special threat to firsters and their descendents, and them hiding?”

Scaredy Jim looked at her accusingly, “You put in that thing about men with lists deliberately, didn't you?”

“I wanted it to be a warning, yes. There's one around, I know that. It was only when you turned up and we recorded it that it occurred to me that if anyone Earth-side asked about them I could explain.”

“I was going to ask you about that breather malfunction.”

“My guess: careful sabotage,” Simon said,

“Then one of us picked up the wrong one last time we were visiting Tom and Anna.”

“Dangerous mistake.”

“I'd say divine intervention,” Alice corrected, “It gave Anna a decent one, she'd have been traveling with the one I had otherwise. And all their spares were dodgy.”

“All?” Jim was surprised.

“He's playing the probability game,” Simon said, “I spoke to the people in the lab at university this morning. A few little spots of the right chemical on the bellows and the plastic gets harder than it should be. Test it and it's fine, start using it, it's fine. But the flexing makes microscopic tears around the harder spot. Depending exactly how much he puts on, it might fail in a week's use or six months'. My guess is he just squirted some into the box for the whole delivery. Quite where or how, no one knows yet. Others from the same delivery company and the same manufacturer have tested fine.”

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“So people can check for the chemical?” Jim asked.

“It gets absorbed into the plastic. You need lab equipment to spot it, once you've taken apart the bellows.”

“I'm guessing you can't do that at home.”

“Not if you want a working breather, no.”

“So, it's targeted, it's basically undetectable, and there's nothing we can do except carry spares.”

“Not except catch him in the act.”

“But you're sure who it is?”

“A guy flash with cash who claims to be a comet catcher and autograph hunter, is corrupting wannas and asking them to help him get autographs from his list in exchange for enough cash to get home.”

“Corrupting them?”

“Giving them sugar, or other Earth imports normally unavailable here, 'a little taste of home'. A bit like alcohol to a recovered alcoholic. I'm informed by a wanna it'd turn her off her brain entirely.”

“Oh, yeah. I'd heard of that trick. Spacers use it to help get themselves some company for less.”

“Why doesn't anyone just grow sugarbeet here?” Simon asked. “Surely it'd be a good cash crop.”

“Sugar beet? I've heard of cane. No one's got sugar cane to grow properly.”

“Cane is a tropical plant. Think sweltering heat and lots of humidity, plus loads of light too.”

“Bad news for your dome,” Jim said, “You'd be fighting mould all the time.”

“Exactly. Sugar beet grows in roughly carrot-like conditions,” Simon said. “Some neighbours used to grow it.”

“I guess because it's a luxury, it's never been a survival priority.”

“Not like tea,” Alice said, in all seriousness.

“Exactly. That reminds me, any idea how near to ready Mack's latest batch is?”

“We've just bought some, on Friday. Want to trade? I expect it's easier for us to get more than you, if you're not staying around.”

“No, that's fine. Mack's knows my regular order.”

“Stay safe.”

“Oh, I intend to. You too. Hey, that article, about the Christian mind-readers.”

“Yes?”

“I was talking to Anna about it, and she said to ask you, Alice.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Just how reliable is it?”

“Reliable?”

“I mean, do you think the article's right? Every single detail?”

“Oh, well, I think so. No, actually, thinking about it, the stuff about speed of thought communications being three times the speed of light. I'm sure that it's way faster that that.”

“How do you know that?”

“I grew up hearing decisions, Jim,” Alice said, “A few weeks ago, I ended up having a thought-conversation with someone with the gift who'd been in on the experiment. They were on Earth, I was here. It was actually about publishing the paper, truth be told. But there's no way there was even seconds lag, I'd have noticed, let alone minutes.”

“Urm, gulp.” Jim was looking scared.

“Problem?”

“I guess not. Just the thought of someone being able to know where someone is, just by deciding to find out...”

“Trustworthy people, Jim.”

“Hey, you're trustworthy, I know that, but some Christians....”

“Don't honour their God very well. I know.” she said, and silently asked Simon [Do I tell him?]

“Yeah,” Jim agreed, “That's what worries me.”

[He's trustworthy and getting more and more terrified.] Simon thought back.

“I don't know if it's any consolation, Jim, but when I misused that bit of the gift, God took it from me.”

“You....”

“Sorry, I didn't really think you had a need to know, but you do. God gave me that gift before my parents died. When they did, I got really confused about a lot of things, and eventually ended up denying I was a Christian. Every time I misused the gift, God took away bits, and he's locked me away from the others, almost entirely out of contact. As far as I know, most of the others with it don't know I've got any of it back.

"What I'm saying is, I know that if I misused the gift and looked for you when there wasn't a real need, then God doesn't need to show me, and he might well take away my ability to do it. I guess another mistake in that paper is it talks about the responsibility the people with it have to use it properly, but not what happens if they don't. God is in charge.”

“But you did misuse your gift.”

“I did misuse my gift to find out what people were thinking, but God took away the deep scan thing they talk about in the paper. I can't do that now. I once tried to find out where some politician was, because I basically wanted to blackmail him into an interview. I didn't think of it like that, but that was what I'd really have done. I ended up with no information, a terrible headache and nightmares about being arrested for blackmail for a week. I've got a pretty limited version of it still.”

“But you could find me.”

“If Mack just wanted to get you a message, I'd say leave me out of it. If Mack told me the police had just lost track of an assassin they thought was after you, then I'd be able to find where you were and where the assassin was and I'd try and work out how to tell you to stay clear. I wouldn't necessarily tell Mack where you were. Speaking of the assassin... ”

She checked, he was there in the spacecraft, which was there cutting up that comet, which was hmm, the sixth one of the string, it looked like, “at the moment it looks like he's on board the ship shredding the sixth comet in a string, but I don't know which string. And he didn't have any accomplices on Mars on Friday.”

“That's the one who makes the breathers dodgy?”

“Yes.”

“Any others?”

“You want me to look for people who are out to get you?”

“Could you?”

“Theoretically. But the thing is, if I think of 'people who want to hurt you' then that might include ex-girlfriends with a grudge, for instance.”

“And if you looked for people who want to injure me, you'd miss someone who was ready with poison?”

“Exactly.”

“I'm not aware of any ex-girlfriends with grudges.”

“Simon?” Alice asked, unsure if this was a good use of her gift.

“Give the worried man the gift of peace of mind, or a decent warning, Alice.”

“OK.”

Alice looked for people who, if they knew where Jim was would seek to do him any harm: one dot. Could she do more? She didn't know. She prayed, [Lord, is this a good thing? I want to warn him if he's in danger], She looked at the skin of the room the dot was in, which seemed to be a bar or somewhere with a serving counter, she saw. Alice found she knew who it was, a woman, Tabitha. She also knew more.

“I saw just one person on this planet, Jim, who'd want to harm you if they knew where you were. I tried to find out more, a woman, Tabitha. God added that sometimes she wants to wring your neck, but mostly she wants you to keep all your promises.”

“Tabitha?” he sounded surprised.

“Yes. Need directions? Right now she's behind a bar or a serving counter in, urm, actually I'd need a map to tell you what dome she's in.”

“Tabitha wants me to keep my promises?”

“Is that so odd?”

“I was at university with her, assuming it's the same one.”

“One map,” Simon said.

“That one. Dome five. Dead centre of it.”

“Oh boy, am I in one big heap of trouble,” Jim acknowledged.

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DOME FIVE, 'THE BROKEN OATH' BAR AND RESTAURANT, 5PM.

Jim looked at the name of the restaurant and cringed inwardly. He stepped into the establishment.

“Closed until six,” Tabitha said from behind the bar, cleaning glasses.

“One plate of humble pie and a glass of well earned spite please, maybe followed by a tiny shot of forgiveness if that's possible. Someone reminded me today that I'd made some promises a while ago.”

The glass shattered.

“Jim?”

“Hello, Tabitha. Good name for the bar.”

“You think you can just walk in here and I'll forgive you for totally failing to turn up for the last three and a half decades?”

“Sorry. I got paranoid.”

“And now you're singing about code red with some young slip of a girl and suddenly decided to turn up?”

“You know that theology paper they're all talking about?”

“What's that got to do with you ruining my glassware?”

“Half an hour ago, I was surprised to find that the wife of the couple who put me up last night and the night before had that there gift. Told me there was only one person who wanted to do me harm on the planet at the moment, and she just wanted to wring my neck for breaking promises. I reckon I deserve that.”

“You never came. I waited, I thought, maybe one day, he'll wander into dome five and remember, especially if I put a great big reminder where we were supposed to meet. But no, you never came to dome five did you?”

“No. I never came here. I did the stats, worked it out. I was a target, so I was too scared to come, five was much too central to get to, once I got paranoid. I did think of sneaking in that night but was too scared. Then, I'm sorry, I didn't think you might have stayed here. And I looked out for you, but never saw you.”

“I've waited a long time for this. I tried chasing you down at one point, early on. You moved too quickly.”

“You could have left a message, surely?”

“You'd have thought it was a trap, I expect.”

“You knew Mack, surely?”

“A girl's got her pride, Jim. Stupid reason to waste a life, but...”

“So, what now? I've wronged you. You choose.”

“Promise one?”

“A year to the day after we finish university, I'll meet you in the middle of dome 5,” Jim said.

“You're late. Thirty five years.”

“I know.”

“Promise 2?

“and by then you'll have a business, I'll have finished touring, and I'll sing every Friday night in your bar. That's... really scary Tabs.”

“I know, I won't hold you to it, just wanted to know you remembered it. Promise three?”

“I won't date anyone else.”

“And? Did you keep it?”

“I did. Well, mostly. A few 'meet you at the bar later' type things, years after. Nothing serious.”

“For the record, I gave up waiting, almost twenty five years ago now, and married a persistent suitor. I've got two lovely kids, a boy and a girl, at university now. Ernest died three years ago. He was quite a bit older than me, heart attack.”

“And you kept the name of the bar? What did he think of that?”

“Thought it was a good name. Knew the story, you broke your promise, you lost, he won. Promise four?”

“And I'll ask you to marry me.”

“Go on then.”

“Even after all these years? I'm not much of a catch, I don't even know if I can stop moving around, or even come back to a place as public as this regularly.”

“You've got to stop some time, Jim. And you promised, and you came, too.”

“I came. So, will you marry me, Tabitha?

“Took you long enough to ask! I'll have to think about it, we're not the same people we were.”

“I know.”

“I think I'll have to ask what the kids think of the proposal, not to mention what they'd think of me wandering and homeless like you.”

“You'd leave your life, for me?”

“Don't know. One of us needs to change.”

“I'm not homeless by the way, just restless.”

“You've got a dome?”

“Four complexes. Not very big, of course, but I grow enough for trade. And I've got a new idea. Ever heard of sugarbeet?”

“Beet? Not cane?”

“That's what I thought. I looked it up, competitor to sugar cane, but it became uneconomic during the age of chaos, never was that great, compared to cane. Getting the sugar out looking like sugar is a bit messy, but I reckon that it'd be possible. Quite possible.”

“Who'd buy? I mean, yeah, Earthlings, spacemen and jits, but Martians have been on a low sugar diet for like, forever. Hence the good teeth and lack of obesity-related illnesses.”

“I'm wondering about wannas. I'm sure you know what sugar does to wannas. It's like addicts needing their next hit. That journalist girl thinks its a religion, well maybe, but I wonder if when they say they want to go home, are they saying they want one of those sweet things you fed me and me and I thought was vile?”

“You think they worship sugar?”

“I wonder if anyone asked them what their comfort food was back on Earth. Bet you it wasn't a nice soft-boiled carrot or an apple.”

“Course not,” Tabitha agreed “It'd be chocolate, or some favourite sweet. You want to ask wannas if being able to get sugar by the kilo might make it easier to stay here?”

“By the kilo?”

“Standard sized pack when I was growing up.”

Jim reassessed his plans, “OK, I guess the real experiment would have to be in my big dome then.”

“Know any wannas?”

“Not many are into the folk music scene.”

“No. Hold on.” Tabitha went into the kitchen, and returned with a sad-looking woman of about thirty-five, Jim assumed she was a cook or kitchen help.

“Ursula, this is an old friend of mine, who's got what might be the stupidest, most insulting idea you've ever heard. But I'd like to know your thoughts about it.”

“Short version,” Jim said, “if people started growing sugar on Mars, and it was like, do I buy three kilos of cabbage, ten kilos of potatoes or half a kilo of sugar, might that make staying on Mars more tolerable for the average wanna?”

“Proper sugar, not potato sugar or anything like that?”

“White crystals, isn't it? Like salt? I've not seen it up close.”

Ursula looked at him in shock, and Tabitha explained “Born here, thought mint imperials were practically poison, back when I was twenty and foolish and offered them to friends.”

A look of loss crossed Ursula's face, “But sugar cane won't grow, people've tried it.”

“I've just heard of something called sugar-beet.”

“What's that?”

“Bit like normal red-beet, but white and with lots more sugar. According to what I just read, it used to be grown in cold countries into the twenty-first century to help meet domestic sugar demand. It's always going to be a luxury, looking at how much processing is involved.”

“I don't care,” Ursula said.

“Oh.”

“I don't care how much processing is involved, I don't care if it costs twenty times its weight in potatoes. I'll grow it myself and process it in my bath if I have to. Just sell me the seeds, please!”

“I don't have any, sorry. But do you think it'd help?”

Tabitha added “He means, would the average wanna smile more, maybe even learn to love this strange planet, if they could get sugar on the open market, not just from spacemen?”

“I'm sure it would.”

“Well, Jim, I guess you're right.”

Ursula looked at Jim, judged his age, saw the flute at his belt, put things together and went pale. “Do NOT tell me if you're Scaredy Jim. Just don't tell me, OK? You've just given me a bit of hope I could like it here, so don't tell me. I don't want to tell him you know Tabitha if you are. And if I knew it, I might; I would, probably. I do wanna go home.” She hurried away, back to the kitchen.

“Fortunately, he's in space at the moment,” Jim said.

“Who?” Tabitha asked, confused.

“The spaceman with the list,” Jim asked.

“Hold on... you mean?”

“I'm officially, genuinely, code red. He's been passing out a list saying he's after autographs. Do you remember Anna, year or two younger than me?”

“Tall and blond?”

“Yes. Her name was crossed off the list, and she got a whole delivery of sabotaged breathers.”

“So, you're running?”

“Like I say, he's not here at the moment. I'm going to at least play one set, if you'll let me.”

“Don't do it, Jim. You heard Ursula. This is a restaurant, Jim, as well as a bar. Spaceman central, or tourists. There'll probably be other wannas, not here to help with the washing up.”

“Then, what, Tabs? I don't want to walk away and never see you again. And after tomorrow I won't know it's safe to come here.”

“Better tell me a better place to wait for you then, hadn't you?”

“Dome 29, Satursol nights, there's a folk evening at the Fiddler's Arms. That's where I sang with Alice. I'm well known for never visiting the same place two meetings in a row, so I'll try to be there on Saturday, and shock everyone. One mustn't be too predictable, after all! After that, I'll try and leave a message with Alice. Would that work?”

“I hope so. You'd trust her to know where you'll be?”

“She's good at keeping secrets. Journalist, you know? And she really wants to interview me eventually.”