VISUAL EFFECTS / CH. 6: HILL-WALKING WITH A MARTIAN

AFTERNOON, SATURDAY MAY 14TH 2270

It turned out that Alice had already had an introduction, in the sense that the student that Simon had mentioned was one of the twenty walkers from his church. She'd wondered why the tall willowy girl, who she'd assumed had Scandinavian ancestry because of her height and fair skin, was in the slow walkers group, but if she'd grown up on Mars that maybe explained a lot.

“Shall we walk back, or just wait for her?” Simon asked.

“Let's wait. I'll re-read that message with more interest. Want to look?”

“There's nothing confidential in it?”

“Not that I know of.” Together they read the note on her wrist unit.

“Dear Ms Findhorn,

Interesting to hear you're making enquiries on the life-support equipment story/non-story. As you know, I hit a brick wall in Luna City, although you're welcome to see if your face can get more out of the contractors than mine did. However, I'll be telling editorial that I won't be surprised if it's a wasted trip, if you only go for that reason. Maybe you could get further on the human trafficking angle than I managed to too. I think the Mars angle looks to be a much more fruitful line of enquiry, and Mars as a genuine colony is a far more suitable place for an office than Luna city, where practically everyone is there as an employee of LunaCorp, under a non-disclosure contract. I've pointed this out on numerous occasions to the board, and had some positive feedback lately. “Do get in contact if you want to follow up on any of what follows, but here are some tasters of what I'd imagine you doing on Mars as well as getting to the bottom of the story. (a) [Short term] there must be some kind of local Mars news channel, but I've never heard / seen any news from it on Earth, only the big-name channels sending someone out for a month or so. Perhaps we just need someone on the ground to work out who to sign a feed-in agreement with? There are almost a million people there now, and it's an insult to our readership that we get nothing. There's got to be some news-worthy items, why don't we hear it? Lack of care (embarrassment!), lack of contract or is there a conspiracy of silence for you to uncover? (b) [Medium-long term] we get some subscriptions from there, mostly recent emigrants, most don't stay with us. If you could (help) pull together a local edition, even once a week, with local interest stories, or some local perspective on the Earth stories, and just kept those subscribers, that'd be great. (c) [medium-long term] the Mars University has recently contacted us, asking if we happen to know anyone on Mars or going there, with your sort of experience, who might be able to help teach a course on journalism. Why not add yet another string to your bow? (d) last but not least, report on anything that gets your juices boiling, but that hardly needs saying, does it? Let me know what you think. Whit Holder, Strategic Planning office.”

“It sounds like he doesn't want you to get bored,” Simon said.

“Nothing worse than a bored investigative journalist. But I don't know. Journalist to editor is a known career path, so is journalist to lecturer, for that matter. I don't know if either of them are me, though. I'm not sure about this feed-in contract stuff.”

“Maybe we can pick Evangeline's brains,“ Simon said, just as she came along.

“If it involves resting, count me in,” she replied.

“It can do, I suppose,” Simon said.

“I thought you said this was a gentle slope!” Evangeline sank to the ground and took a long drink from her flask.

“It is,” Simon said.

“Had any trouble keeping your footing, or where you'd use your hands to keep you upright?” Alice asked.

“No, I guess not. You'd walk up stuff where you do?”

“Well, scramble is probably the right word, but yes. Your bag looks pretty heavy though.”

“It is. I just can't bring myself to go anywhere without a med-kit and emergency stuff. It's been drummed into me too well, I guess.”

“Ever thought of asking one of the muscular lads striding off into the distance to lend a hand occasionally?”

“I never do until they stride off.”

“Know any numbers?” Alice prompted.

“Wouldn't that be rude?”

“Isn't striding off into the distance seemingly without a care ruder?”

“A person should carry their own,” Evangeline said, obviously quoting.

“Ha. Some of those lads look like rugby players, I expect they could carry you a kilometre quite easily. They'd probably enjoy that a great deal too.”

“Everything just weighs too much,” Evangeline said.

Alice tried lifting her rucksack and whistled. “This certainly does. What do you think, Simon? Ten kilos?”

“More. Fifteen, maybe? I will carry it for a bit, Evangeline, but if you could ring for assistance I'd appreciate it. Alternatively, pick someone and I'll do the talking.”

“I couldn't,” Evangeline said, blushing.

“Evangeline,” Alice asked. “Does asking someone for help mean anything other than you weren't expecting this many hills?”

“That I'm a wuss.”

“You didn't grow up in this gravity. What else? You're blushing as though it's some kind of courtship thing.”

“It is. It's like... I'm asking you to carry my tent, I trust you with my life, my future.”

“Tent?”

“Everyone carries their own tent, in case of a storm.”

“Here a storm means you maybe get wet.”

“Rad. storm, I mean.”

“You've got a portable radiation shelter in this bag?” Simon asked.

“Of course.”

“No wonder it's heavy.”

“I don't understand how you dare go out without one, but I guess more atmosphere protects you or something.”

Alice said, “Evangeline, when people here talk about staying inside or covering up because of solar radiation, they're talking about ultra-violet, not solar flares.”

“Hardly anything gets through the Earth's radiation belt,” Simon added.

“It's not a very big threat then?” she asked.

“Not a threat at all at ground level. Pilots and air-crew who are at ten kilometres up all day long get a higher radiation exposure than most people, but even then they don't need shelters.”

Evangeline blushed “I've been making a fool of myself, haven't I?”

“No, because no one's asked what was in your bag,” Simon said.

“But it's worth knowing how important it is on Mars,” Alice said. “Thanks for telling us.”

“Yeah, right. Useless information.”

“Not useless,” Alice said. “My employer's asking me if I want to go there. Can we start walking? And who would be a good guy to ask to carry your bag, given that he won't understand the undertones?”

“Chris,” Evangeline said, naming one of the muscle-men of the group. She had no doubts about his faith, he had a good reputation, and had even preached one day. Also, although he'd been a bit distant recently, pretty much immediately she'd told him she going back to Mars soon, she'd thought that before then, he had maybe been on the verge of asking her out.

“Got his number?”

“Yes. You'll really do the asking? I couldn't possibly...” She blushed again.

“Not a problem,” Alice said. Once she'd got the number, she dialed.

“Hi Chris, this is Alice from the back of the line. Firstly, don't you guys up the front think that getting to the station an hour before the rest of us is going to be a bit boring? Why not stop and admire God's handiwork a bit? And secondly, one of the reasons Evangeline's being slow today is she didn't expect the hills to be this steep, so packed for all eventualities. Her bag must weigh in at fifteen kilos plus. Would you feel like being an absolute gentleman and waiting for us to catch up? I expect Simon's going to be getting tired by then. Really? Well, if you're sure. See you soon then. Thanks!” She disconnected, and told the others. “He said he didn't like standing around doing nothing, because then his muscles would cool down. So he's going to run back to us.”

“Run back?” Evangeline asked.

“He's young, he's fit, he's used to the gravity, and there's a pretty girl in distress,” Alice said, with a smile.

“This is so embarrassing.”

“So, let's change the subject, if that's OK?”

“Very much so,” Evangeline said, “Your employer wants you to go to Mars? Why?”

“Several reasons, one of them was finding out about ... Oops, sorry, what do you call yourselves?”

“You're Earthlings, we're Martians,” Evangeline said, with a grin.

“Really?” Simon asked, surprised.

“Yep.”

“What about people who've just got there?” Alice asked, guessing there was some period before people could call themselves Martian.

“Jits, mainly. Some are Crims, a few are Wannas.”

“Crim as in criminals?”

“Yes. Wannas just want to go back home. Jits do things like leave their tent or their screamer at home, which turns them into dead Jits.”

“Screamer?”

“Radiation warning.”

“Oh, right. Can't a Crim be a Jit too?”

“Of course. But a Crim doesn't get so much freedom about how to kill themselves.”

“And what do you call someone who's learned to take all the right precautions?”

“A Bird.”

“A bird?”

“Yeah, mythical creature. There aren't any on Mars. Everyone's a Jit sometimes, you see. Survive a year and unless you're not learning, you're a Martian.”

“Jit as in Idjit?” Simon asked.

“You catch on pretty quickly for an Earthling,” Evangeline said, her eyes laughing.

“Thank you.”

“OK, one question my boss wanted me to find out was what news organisation Martians would consider a good and reliable source of news about what's happening on Mars.”

Evangeline looked at her in confusion. “I don't understand.”

“I'm sure it sounds like a really stupid question,” Alice said, meaning to go on.

“It sure does, you're asking which muck-raker is the most reliable? None of them, all of them!”

“Urm... where would you find out about, say. What some important person had said?”

“Propaganda, you mean? Their site, if you really wanted to know, but if its important then you'll hear it soon enough.”

“Urm. OK... let's take something I worked on recently.”

“You're a muck-raker?”

“That's certainly not how I think of it,” Alice said, “If you say a muck-raker, to me it means someone who looks for anything they can publish which embarrasses people, without checking if it's true or not. Whereas an investigative-journalist is someone who looks carefully into what they're investigating, looking to separate truth from lies, and trying to help people understand the situation, expose errors in propaganda, and so on.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a muck-raker. Good muck is really valuable, but you don't want any dross or slivers in it, so you've got to rake it carefully.”

Alice looked at her in surprise. “So... muck-raker is a good term?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So what would you call what I call a muck-raker?”

“Dross-slinger.”

“The joys of language change,” Simon said, with a grin.

“Urm. Yes,” Alice agreed, “So... can you tell me about how muck-rakers get word out about what they've found out?”

“They blog it.”

“Blog as in put it on their own site, where someone else might list their favourite songs, or what they thought about the sermon?”

“Yeah.”

“So you can't actually make a living being a muck-raker?”

“Sure you can.”

“How?”

“Someone likes your blog, they tick the little box based on how much they like it, and you get a gram or five from their account. On it's own that's not much, of course, but enough people give you a gram, and you're knee deep in the good stuff.”

“You're talking about a micro-payment system?”

“Yes.”

“What about news from off-planet?”

“What about it?”

“Is there any way for people to learn what's happening here, or on the moon?”

“People blog what they hear, for example. There's a few companies trying to get people to pay per month or year in advance, but that's a Jit's way of paying for something.”

“Your boss is going to be really happy about this, Alice,” Simon said.

“I know....” Alice thought for a while, then said “Evangeline, it strikes me that looking at a whole list of blogs to see if anyone's got a new article out could take a lot of time.” Evangeline nodded “Do you have any system where someone looks at lots of blogs and recommends them to people, maybe with comments or something like that?”

“Oh, yes, right. Clusterers. I guess they're like your news channels, but... less in control.”

“And does the clusterer pay the people who write blogs, or the people who write blogs pay the clusterer, or what happens?”

“You can just look at cluster, and treat it like a blog, and decide how you like it, but after about ten visits you get asked if you want a fixed rate, so rather than pay-per-visit, you pay every day you visit. That's usually a good deal.”

“Hold on... when you visit a blog you always pay?”

“Not for stuff about people's kids, or how their cactus is growing, no.”

“Don't people ever vote that they don't like something when they're just trying to save the money?”

“No-one's that stingy, surely?”

“I don't know what a gram is worth.”

“Right now, a gram is one gram of bio-matter. But they're talking about what to do when plants grow outside. Even lichen is causing concerns, there are some Crims who think they can just scrape it off the rocks. That's our air they're stealing.”

“What would happen to people caught doing it?”

“They'd lose their pile. Second offence, they'd lose some, maybe all their topsoil too. It's that bad.”

“What happens to someone with no topsoil?”

“They can't farm, they can't feed themselves. Maybe someone would let them work their field for a bit, you know, for a feed. I really don't know. I guess they'd let them take home what they've eaten, too.”

“Take home what they've eaten?”

“Valuable bio-matter,” Simon explained, and Alice suddenly realised how... biological this was ending up.

“Can I ask, you talked about having accounts...”

“Yeah, at the processing plant. You don't want people just dumping on their compost heap, that's unhygenic, not to mention gross. So... bio-matter dumps are all measured and at the plant they turn it into good stuff, not stink-stuff. Of course the workers get to keep a gram per ten kilos or something like that, I can't remember exactly, so they do OK out of it. But anyway, most people have a real heap and a virtual heap.”

“But if people end up growing so much they don't need all the compost they produce, what does that do to the economy?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Lots and lots of blogs on the subject, I assure you. We'll probably need to get off the bio-standard entirely.”

“Probably. Evangeline, is this public knowledge? I mean, I think the average Earthling has no understanding what it must be like even growing a fraction of their own food.”

“I know. It came as a real shock to me to realise that not only was I not going to get a receipt for a bio-matter dump, but that sometimes I might have to pay to do it.”

“Lots of education on the way here, I presume?”

“That would have been good, I got a few hints from asking people, but otherwise I just got things like school text books for civics week, and I could read up on what future-jits were learning on their way out, and try to find out why that was news... but, that left some gaps,” she indicated her bag.

“So, would you be interested in writing it up? I think I can persuade my boss it's well worth paying you for.”

“Urm, you think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“I have been writing some of it, actually, to stick on a blog at home, but I guess I could write something for you too. But... how does it work here?”

“It's different, very different. I'll try and explain, And then, if you really want a challenge, you can try and work out some way that blog-writers on Mars can be paid for news-channels here using their stuff,” Alice said.

“Yeah. I don't imagine you'll want to ship kilos of good-stuff to them. And Mars is a net exporter of pretty much everything except comets and people.”

“How about education, travel, things like that?”

“Eh?”

“You're here to get education, right? It's costing you or your parents something, I presume.”

“Yeah. A whole heap of something.”

“So there must be some official rate of exchange.”

“There must be. I've never seen it though. Actually, I'm wrong, my parent's had some Earthling money, they've paid my trip with that.”

“But since there's trade, there must be currency conversion somewhere.”

“You'd hope so. You'd hope that Mars Corp isn't just paying us for our labour with the product of our labour they've siphoned off.”

“Would that be even possible?” Alice was shocked.

“With sufficient self-sufficiency, why not?” Simon asked. “If I tell everyone on the planet their labour is worth a credit an hour, and everyone agrees that a credit is a valuable thing...”

“But the bio-material...”

“Grows” Simon pointed out. “Add light and water and your kilo of biomass becomes a lot of plant. Then take the deposited bio-material. Is what comes back when you make a withdrawal purely biological, or do they add in... what's the term for smashed rock? Regolith?”

“That's the term,” Evangeline agreed, “And yes, good-stuff has regolith in it.”

Alice's instinct suddenly realised there could easily be a story here, “Right, so, is that just making up for any drying during the processing? If not, what happens to the rest of the biological material? It might be interesting to look up old records, if you can find them, of how much stink-stuff it takes to make a kilo of good-stuff.”

“Records? Don't trust them, they can be altered or glitched. I'll check Grandad's diaries.”

“Your grandfather?”

“He was one of the Firsters. On mum's side, I'm third-generation.” she admitted, quietly.

“Doesn't that make you something like royalty?” Alice asked.

“Yeah, well. Not officially,” Evangeline replied, embarrassed. “But don't tell anyone, OK? It was a bit of a Jit thing to say.”

“Is that what you're researching?” Simon asked. “You said it was family history.”

“Urm... if I answer that, it doesn't go any further, right?”

“Of course not,” Alice agreed.

“I found something in Grandad's diaries that says Mum and the other direct descendants of the firsters ought to have become active Mars-corp shareholders with majority representation on the board and the like, sixty years after the founding. That was six years ago, and nothing's changed. That's the real reason; Mars ought to be fully self-governing within a decade, and there's not even a Martian voice on the board. I've been trying to quietly find out what's going on, but I'm most of the way through my time here, unless I miss this approach, and I've not got very far.”

“How far have you got?”

“The original exploration contract is on display at a certain museum. I got the curator to move the little picture of everyone signing it which had been carefully positioned to cover the relevant portion of the contract. It's in there all right.”

“Not telling him of your link to it, I hope?”

“No, I just asked why some of the text was being hidden when there was plenty of space for the photo beside it. He said 'no idea' and moved it. I got a photo of it. It's not the same as the version on the net. I've also got quite a few Mars-corp histories, authorised or not. There's no mention of changing the contract, the company being taken over, or anything like that. Oh, in case you're wondering, I also left my wrist unit firmly off-line, and had make up and dark glasses on, so hopefully no one knows it was me at all.”

“How did you find out the contract was there?” Alice asked.

“I didn't, but I hoped. There were a lot of copies signed, one for each firster, one for their home town museums, one for all the national museums, and so on. I wanted to cover my tracks, so I browsed sites to see who had displays about Mars, and visited a lot of them in increasing distance order from here.”

“Sounds like a lot of leg work! Keep doing that, if it's feasible. Don't stop just because you've found what you're looking for, or you'll let them know you've found it if they're really tracking you.” Alice advised.

“I did learn some other things: there was lots of political maneuvering and stuff going on before the contract was signed, that's why so many copies were made. There have also been quite a few thefts of copies of the contract, always attributed to collectors, so museums don't advertise when their copy is on display.”

“And no one's been caught?”

“No.”

“Another thing you should know. Yesterday, I talked to a university professor about some rumours on the moon that dud safety equipment was being certified as good. He mentioned 'underhanded boardroom shenanigans' at Mars Corp some years back, and promised to get back to me once he'd verified his memory against his records. So, I have a perfect motivation to investigate Mars Corp's internal structure, history, legal status and the like. I also got a message on Thursday from God, via Simon here, that I'm on the right track for something He wants me to do, as well as a call to come back home from being in denial about God. My guess right now is that we're not talking about this by accident.”

“Urm.. Sorry, did you say you'd been denying God?”

“I went through a seven year phase of pretending to myself God wasn't real, yes. God has been very patient with me.”

“And now you're walking hand in hand with Simon? In just a few days?”

“Yes.”

“I thought...” Alice heard flash of resentment there.

“You thought Simon was Mr Unobtainable?”

“Yes.” she agreed.

“So did he. Simon, I think Evangeline needs to hear more of the message.”

He nodded. “God told me that Alice needed my help and protection, and to tell her that she was on the right path, and must go along it, but if she took it alone she wouldn't survive. So yes, feeling all protective of her helped me not be too scared of her.”

“I told Simon before lunch that it'd be a lot easier if he'd just let me call him my boyfriend, rather than 'this guy I'm going on lots of dates with, who's expecting to save my life out of obedience to God. We're mostly dating so that he know how I react, but if we do fall in love then that's OK.' I guess Samuel trying to muscle in pushed him over the edge and he actually decided to call me his girlfriend back.”

“Oh. Samuel again?”

“He warned you off too?” Alice asked.

Evangeline nodded. “He's a bit worrying.”

“When I was a student, he smooth-talked me into a date, and tried to get me to agree to stroke his pet. Turned out to be a tarantula: a potentially deadly spider about this big.”

“Sick.”

“Like Sue said, he's probably got some issues left to resolve.”

“Yeah. So... you're not actually girlfriend-boyfriend?”

“We're definitely dating, and definitely interested in seeing where that takes us,” Alice said gently.

“Oh. Right.”

“It's a bit complicated, but we also did a lot of talking ten years ago, but never met face to face. We probably thought we were in love, then I got told I was cursed, went home in tears and found my parents were dead and so I believed it. I told Simon back then he should forget about me, because I didn't want him hurt too. But we only worked that out after Samuel's intervention.” Alice shrugged. “Anyway, the short public version without miraculous intervention is probably that we bumped into each other when I was visiting the university, got talking and realised we used to be phone-friends.”

“Which isn't the whole truth, but it's a good approximation,” Simon agreed.

“What about Chris? What's he like, other than muscular and kind?” Alice asked, seeing he'd be with them soon.

“He grew up on a farm, and has always wanted to go to Mars.”

“You'd better tell him about always carrying his tent with him, then.”

“Please don't tell him my tent's in there,” Evangeline said, desperately. “I'd die.”

“Probably not literally, but OK.”

----------------------------------------

[What do you think?] Simon asked her without moving his lips, as Chris greeted Evangeline, picked up her bag and they started chatting.]

[I think she wanted confirmation that you weren't available, or she might have changed her mind about Chris.]

[I never knew she felt anything for me.]

[Maybe she didn't, and Samuel often uses you as a ploy. I'm glad she's resistant.]

[Me too. You need to talk to Steve sometime, about him, remember.]

[Yes.]

[But I wasn't actually asking about what you thought she was thinking about me, I was thinking about Mars.]

[Sounds like a path to me.]

----------------------------------------

“Eva, what have you got in here?” Chris had asked, as soon as he picked up the bag. “Lead weights?”

“Mostly med-kit. All these cliffs, I don't feel prepared without it. And some extra water. And my purifier in case that runs out.”

“Any chance I could beg you for some? I probably shouldn't have run back, I drank all mine.”

“Jit,” she accused with a smile to soften it, handing him a spare flask.

“Not a dead Jit yet though.”

“Not yet. You just wait, some day when I'm not around to get you out of trouble...”

“Your trip home's soon, isn't it?”

“Might be, doesn't look like it though. I've got an open return.”

“That's great!” he said.

“Is it? Why?”

“Sorry, selfish of me. I was just thinking, if I don't want to be a dead Jit, I need to hang around you a lot more.”

“You're really going to come to Mars?”

“As soon as I can. It might take me years to save up for the ticket. But I will.”

“Why do you want to go so much? You can't go for nice walks like this any time you feel like it.”

“Not without your tent, and your med-kit, and everything, I know. Not to mention a breather. But all that vast untamed, uncultivated barren wilderness...” Evangeline's heart leaped. Most Martians didn't like the wilderness at all, but she did.

“Which you hardly ever see, because your compost needs you.” She had to point it out, for honesty's sake. Some of the Wannas thought they'd have a view of wilderness every day, or something. Then a horrible thought occurred to her.

“You don't have relatives there do you?”

“No yet.”

“Not yet? Someone else going?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then what do you mean, not yet?”

“I'm an optimist. I don't plan on being a Wanna or a Jit. But I reckon I could cope with being a dad, when the time comes.”

Evangeline decided she wouldn't tell him about the invitation system, intended to prevent in-breeding. Not yet, anyway. As a born-martian, she could apply for an off-worlder with no other relations on Mars to join her.

“Oh right. You mean, 'not until I find the Martian of my dreams'?”

“Yeah.”

“There's a site for that sort of thing.” she said.

“Not surprised. There's a site for everything. But I'm more for spending time with people face to face.”

“Good plan, you don't know what kind of basket-case would put themselves on that sort of site.”

“Single, lonely, unable to form lasting friendships...”

“Is that a description of yourself?”

“I hope not.”

“Good, I'd hate to have some guy who can't form a lasting friendship hanging round me.”

----------------------------------------

“Alice?”

“Yes, Evangeline?”

“You're really going to rake some muck for me?”

“No. I'm going to do it for me. Nothing like a little hint of big corruptions doing the dirty on the little people to get me all enthusiastic about getting up in the morning.”

“What's this?” Chris asked.

“A bit of a mystery connected to Mars Corp. Best looked at from this end, I think,” Alice replied.

“Mars Corp are corrupt?” Chris was worried.

“Not all of it,” Evangeline said “But... well, there are some inconsistencies between what was promised to the firsters and present reality.”

“They took an enormous gamble, didn't they? Sad they didn't make it,” Chris said.

“Lots didn't make it through those first few orbits. But most survived, had kids even. I know a couple.”

“Really? I'd heard none did!”

“Interesting” Alice said, “Any idea where and when you heard that?”

“A couple of years ago, in connection with the anniversary. They spoke as though it was common knowledge. Want me to look it up?”

“Please,” Alice said.

----------------------------------------

Chris's initial search was a bit of a flop. It was a press release and simply said 'Of course, since there aren't any living descendants of the first colonists, they won't be represented at the United Nations celebration of the colonisation of Mars.' Evangeline was not very impressed.

“I've found an earlier release, Alice.” Chris reported. “I think Eva might not like it.”

“OK. Evangeline, why don't you stick your fingers in your ears, so you don't feel tempted to swear.”

“I never swear.” Evangeline reported, but still complied, and even went a little way off so she wouldn't have to listen to the lies.

Chris reported in a whisper, “'Mars Corp carried out an extensive search of its records ten ago and located no living descendants of the first group of Mars colonists. Since that time, no-one has come forward to claim such descent. We regretfully conclude that though the first colonists will live on in the memories of the colony, and their pioneering spirit will be honoured, their genes are no are no longer on Mars.' It's from about eight years ago.”

Alice beckoned Evangeline over, “Evangeline, can you tell me about record keeping on Mars?”

“Record keeping?”

“Births, deaths, marriages.”

“Oh. We're a bit informal. For the first fifteen, twenty years, everyone knew everyone, and there were so many computer glitches with power outages and storms that it was all kept on paper. After that, Mars Corp tried to get a bit more organised, and people could register births and deaths if they wanted to, but paper's still king. Marriages are recorded by churches, but Mars Corp decided it wasn't going to define marriage, only changes of name on claims. That's all they care about, really.”

“So Mars Corp have some records, but not all?”

“Yeah,” Evangeline replied “Oh no... they only checked their own records? What sort of Jit idea was that?”

“Wouldn't the claim records show things?” Alice asked.

“Naah. To register after a death you show your paper-work to the council, and then they just write in the new name on the claim record.”

“What happens when there are several people with the same name?”

“They bring in the neighbours who say 'Of course that's his son, no he had another but he died, poor lad, can I go now?' But that's not done by Mars Corp anyway, they just get the instructions from the council.”

“So, Mars Corp records are not a good way to search for people?”

“New arrivals? I'd guess they know who you are. Second Gen? Maybe half. Third? You've gotta be joking.” she grinned and sung a line from a song: “'Regist'rin's a Jit thing to do.'” Then she turned pale. “What if it's true?”

“What?” Alice asked.

“That song has been around a long time, before I was born. There's this singer, Scaredy Jim, a real loaner, a seconder. He'll wander into a dome, buy stuff, sell stuff, sing songs, get stuff in return, go back to one of his claims. It was one of his earliest.”

“What did the song say?”

“It goes like this, 'Firsters die too easily, seconders the same, safety's in the paperwork, better t' change yer name. Someone doesn't like us, pass the word around, when they come a looking, better not be found. Regist'rin's a Jit thing to do.' There were other verses, saying that paper records are best, don't trust the corporation.”

“You sing beautifully,” Chris said, making her blush.

“He's saying that there was someone picking off firsters?” Alice was shocked.

“And seconders,” Evangeline said. “Rumours abound, dud life support spares, that sort of thing. Nothing's ever been proven.”

“What are seconders? Second wave?” Chris asked.

Evangeline shook her head. “Second wave are just early first Gen. Seconders are firster's kids.”

“And he saw a link between getting onto Mars Corp's system and accidental deaths?” Chris asked.

“Yeah.”

“What happened to him?” Alice asked.

“Still around, last I heard, still singing. Popular, recognised, anything unlikely happens to him there'd probably be a riot.”

“So Mars Corp saying 'no one's come forward and claimed descent from a firster', could be a result of his singing?”

“Yeah. And it's all just a nasty rumour that that mortality rates among seconders dropped when they stopped registering.”

“But is it true?”

“I don't know. Mars is dangerous. But... the Corp's got a lot of muscle. Some things it does really well. Others? I'll pass.”

“I guess if you're singing his songs, you're not registered,” Chris said.

“Shh. Don't tell anyone,” Evangeline replied.

“But do you really think there are assassins wandering Mars?” Chris asked.

“Who knows? But someone I know once hacked into the Corp's computers and got their records. He or she plotted claim size against mortality rate. The rate's pretty boring until you get to bigger than average claims.”

“But big claims might be from riskier behaviours, or health,” Chris said, “Big claims mean being born on Mars, don't they? Maybe that's just not healthy?”

“I asked that. Same effect if you only look at second gen people. And it's a healthy place to be born. It might just be that you're further from others, or travelling more if you've got a bigger claim. It might be that power's less reliable, but I doubt it. One of the things Mars Corp does really well is power.”

“How do people get claims?” Alice asked.

“Being born, inheritance, coming, coming after paying your own way or by invitation, helping others like a good citizen in times of trouble, solving crimes, useful discoveries, all sorts of things.”

“What do you mean, coming by invitation?” Chris asked.

“Oh, there's a few categories. University lecturers, for instance, assuming they stay.”

“Oh, right! Is there, like, a list of openings?” Chris asked hopefully.

“Published many research papers, yet?” Evangeline asked.

“Ah, no.”

“And when you get a claim, that's just some random spot on the map?” Alice asked.

“No, you can choose. Some people have a number of places, and then hope to grow them bit by bit, others just have one place. You can trade too, hand in your claim to the pool and get somewhere else instead. That's handy when people marry, for instance, if they've only got a small claim, then they can make something bigger. Some people want a claim by a road, as a trading post, others go for good land or even good views.”

“So, you've got a claim somewhere? Where?” Chris asked.

“Rude to ask,” Evangeline replied.

“Sorry.”

“What are you actually able to do with a claim?” Simon asked. “I mean, is it just for the future?”

“Oh, you can build on it if you've got the materials, put up a dome, or a complex even. You can seed it with lichen spores, which helps break up the regolith, or mix in left-over compost to improve it that way. But you don't want to do any of that if you think you're going to swap or sell it.”

“I thought that only Mars-corp had domes,” Chris said.

“They own the big ones most people think of, but no, there are loads of private domes, practically every family has one or more. ”

“Is it rude to ask about your family dome?”

“Domes.” she corrected, with a smile. “We've got one complex in Valles Marinaris, just like everyone who's sane, and another one in the Hellas basin, because that's even lower. Dad's tried a few plants outside there, they're not happy, but they're not dead yet either. See, evidence!” She showed them a picture of herself, wearing a breather, beside some plants.

“What does a complex mean?” Simon asked.

“It means that you can really live there: house-dome plus one or more farm domes. A simplex would be one or the other, probably a farm dome.”

“I've just realised something,” Chris said, looking at Evangeline's long dark hair with new eyes.

“What's that?”

“Your beautiful hair, it didn't grow in a few months.”

“Oh. I've been planning to visit Earth for ages. I didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“But you don't mind sticking out at home?”

“I'm not first-gen, Chris, and my parents aren't Jits. I'm allowed to have long hair. If you notice, I'm not minding my heap either. It's quite capable of looking after itself.”

“But I thought...”

“You thought every heap needed constant care and attention?”

“Urm, yeah.”

“Depends on how big it is, how long-established, how much compost you're taking out of it. That's the biggest trick, of course. Mix it up regularly and stop taking out the good stuff as long as you can.”

“But you need bio-matter for the topsoil,” Chris protested.

“Yeah. That helps too.”

“What does?”

“Mixing in proven topsoil.”

Chris's head was spinning. “Eva... you've got proven topsoil you mix back into your heap? I thought that was an firster thing?”

“Early years first-gen or firster? OK, there's differences in initial claim sizes, but there's not that much age difference, and the firsters were pretty happy to see some new faces, from what I hear. It's an experience thing, you grow fast-growing stuff for biomass. You dig it up, mash it, don't take the soil off the roots, put that in too, mix really well, aerate, water it carefully.

Does wonders for the heap. And never take more than half your heap, and never put the stuff you get from the processing plant on your real heap, and if you can avoid it, don't use it pure either.”

“Why not?”

“It's ready for your topsoil, but it's sterilised. If you can, just use it as currency.”

“Wow.” Chris exclaimed. “I really want to hang around you a lot, Eva.”

“Just for the free advice?” Alice chipped in. “Some girls might might feel used like that.”

Chris had the grace to be embarrassed. “Can we talk, Eva?”

“What have we been doing?”

“Chatting in company.”

“Oh. You mean can we talk, as in you carrying my med-kit sort of talk?”

“I'm not quite sure what that means, but possibly.”

“So... How far are you planning to carry it?”

“As long as you'll let me... Olympus Mons?”

“Do you know what you've just said?” she asked coldly, and strode away quickly. Walking someone to Olympus Mons meant leaving them high and dry and feeling as useless as the soil and the atmosphere were up there. Or dead, sometimes.

“Probably not what I wanted to. Sorry.” fifty steps further on he caught up and asked “So what would have been a good answer?”

“Depends what you wanted to say, doesn't it?”

Chris glanced at Alice and Simon, who had continued to walk at their previous pace. “I wanted to say that I like you a lot, have done for months, and I don't just want to spend time with you because of what you know or who you know. But.... I just don't see how I'm going to get to Mars quickly with a reasonable claim, and I don't want to make you stay here another four or six years, and I don't see it working out. But I still want to find you amongst the million plus there when I do get there, just in case, you know, you haven't found anyone else.”

“And you worked all that our today?”

“No. Months ago. That's why... I don't know, it just can't work, can it?”

“Jit!” She said, accusingly.

“What did I do now?”

“Knew you were in trouble and didn't ask an expert for help.”

“Oh. Please, Eva, what should I do?”

“First, you ought to ask a very important question.”

“Eva, what do you think of me?”

“Put my bag down,” she said, softly.

“OK.”

“Right, now open it,” she said in the same tone, “and tell me what you see.”

“Urm. Bottle, some kind of heavy fabric, med kit, I guess the thing with the pipe is your purifier?”

“Yes.”

“And...” he looked at a box with a dial on it. “Is that a radiation detector?”

“I can be a Jit too. Lived on this lump of wet rock for over a year and never asked why no one was worried about solar storms. Now you can pick up my bag again, Chris. Assuming you want to.”

“I've just seen something really really significant and not recognised it, haven't I?”

“Probably.”

“And somehow it answers my question?”

“Correct.”

“And this is a kind of test?”

“You could think of it as that. Or as a reply.”

“I'm guessing that there's something in this bag that you wouldn't let just anyone carry, and if you're letting me carry it then it's significant.”

“You're catching on,” Evangeline said, as Simon and Alice caught up.

“Everything all right?” Alice asked.

“Yes.” Evangeline didn't take her eyes off Chris.

“We'll just walk on then, shall we?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Well, you know what you're doing,” Simon said.

“I don't,” Chris said. “Eva, am I allowed to ask you or even Simon and Alice for a hint or something?”

“No.”

“I don't understand how I should react, because I don't know what it signifies. I don't know if you're trusting me with something important or treating me like scum.”

“Oh, all right then, I won't make you decide now,” Eva said, reaching for the bag.

Chris snatched it up. “I'm not having you wearing yourself out, Eva.”

“Even when you don't know what it signifies?”

“I'll take the risk. If it's another insult to you, I'm really really sorry. If it's an insult to me, fine, we know I'm a Jit anyway, you can make fun of me all you like. I'll still carry it as long as you let me.”

“O.K. Simon, Alice, do you want to go first or second? I need to educate my risk-taker here.”

“You go first, but when you're into general stuff, can you let us back in?”

Alice smiled at Simon, “Assuming we get the invitations that have been waved under our noses, we're planning on taking a risk too.”