May 17, 2018

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 126: Stepan of Burroughs


On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters, go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

Stepan said,  “First I’m going to grow a garden, help in any way that I can – and I was a paramedic in the Free Martian Combined Forces, so I can run a clinic. I’ll share my food,” he looked pointedly down at Quinn, “And I’ll work to guide those who want to learn skills they can use to build a freer, stronger Mars.”

“You’d do that? When do you talk about your God?” QuinnAH asked.

Stepan shrugged and looked down the stairwell, “When the time is right. First I serve people, then I share with them.”

“So you trick people into wanting to know about your god?”

Stepan spun around, suddenly reminded of himself questioning Dad’s philosophy. Remembering Dad’s hand flashing out at his impertinent son. Stepan grimaced and nodded, “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

Quinn spread both arms wide, “What other way is there to look at it?”

Stepan started down the staircase, looked over his shoulder and said, “I think of it as earning the privilege to be heard.” He kept on down. Quinn ran across the roof, presumably to grab the gMod disk, and followed Stepan down a short time later. Quinn didn’t stop to examine the space-suited skeleton. He had better things to do. He stopped. What was the skeleton in the spacesuit? Clearly not one of the delphinoid alien who belonged to the other spacesuit. But was it Human by default? Why did he – and the others – assume that just because the suit was bipedal and bilaterally symmetrical that it had to be a Human suit?

He stopped and went back up the stairs to the landing and knelt down, looking at the suit in the dim light. He pulled out his recorder and lit the scene. In the stark light, the suit certainly looked like it had been worn by a Human. It was “face down”. After recording it by stepping around it, he knelt down, narrating, “I’m going to flip the suit over.” He reached underneath, wondering if there were any microscopic life forms that still survived on the surface of the suit.

Stiff with age, it didn’t manipulate like it was made of material. It turned like a huge, person-shaped pancake. The helmet remained globular. It flopped over, raising a cloud of dust when it fell. Stepan held his breath as it settled. Using the light again, he saw instantly that there were no attached identification patches, at least that still remained, though there were not circular or rectangular markings that might indicated they’d been attached. Enough Humans on Mars went around without patches, though it was not only socially gauche, it was also illegal in some Dome jurisdictions. But, Burroughs wasn’t one of them – at worst, it was considered bad manners.

The bad-mannered Human, so old it was only bones in a bag. He pursed his lips, considered, then reached out and popped the seals on the helmet.

There were no seals left. Metal grated and easily released. He set it aside. He could stand up, grab the feet and shake out the bones. He could also treat the dead with respect. He slowly reached in, not particularly excited about touching the bones of a dead person.

He was startled when he touched a large, smooth bone – though it wasn’t shaped like an bone he’d ever seen on a Human. He gently grabbed it and pulled it out. He flashed the light again to reveal an obvious beak, probably the upper half if the dull curve on the tip was an indication.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” QuinnAH shouted from the foot of the stairs.

Stepan almost dropped the remains. “I found something,” he shouted down.

Quinn charged up the stairs like any other teenager confronted by mystery. “What…” he began, then froze, one foot still in the air. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

Stepan said softly, “I think we’ve found ourselves another alien.”



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