A PERFECT WORLD

CHAPTER 5









They left the capital building and boarded another of the elevated
transportation trains a block over.  They rode this train back out to the
beltline and then got on another for the trip to Karen's neighborhood.  The
trip took fifteen minutes and during it Ken was able to become a little more
adjusted to the queasy sensation caused by the inertial damping system on
the train.



They exited at a stop called HIGHLANDS 3.  The streets here were a little
narrower than they had been at the university section of the city, a little
wider than they had been downtown.  There were less people walking about as
well and the buildings that stretched into the sky were a little further
apart.  As they walked Ken was able to catch glimpses of the red Martian
soil between some of the buildings.



"Are we near the edge of the city?" he asked Karen.



"Fuckin aye," she replied.  "The more expensive housing units tend to be on
the edges of the city so a view of the landscape is possible.  The public
housing and the lower end upgraded housing are all closer to downtown.
Usually you can only see other buildings out the windows, particularly from
the lower floors."



"Well, its nice to see that some things don't change."



"What do you mean?"



"That's how it was in my time too.  The rich people lived in the places with
the views and the poorer people lived near downtown."



"Well, like I told you," Karen said, "I've spent eight years in school to do
what I do and I have a lot of responsibility.  Why shouldn't I be able to
live in a nice place with a nice view for my efforts?"



"I guess you should," he had to admit.



"Here's my building," Karen told him, leading him across the street.



Her building was called "Edgewood Towers Housing Complex".  It rose higher
than all of the surrounding buildings by at least thirty floors.  Red
carpeting covered the entrance foyer.  The doors slid open as Karen
approached and they were in a spacious lobby that looked like one that might
be found in a fancy hotel.  There was another of the fountains in the center
and shops of various kinds lined both sides.



"Lets get you a PC first of all," Karen told him, "and then we'll have
lunch.  I'll show you how financial transactions are carried out these
days."



"You don't use cash or credit cards?"



"No," she said.  "Cash hasn't been used since shortly after World War III.
And on Mars there is no such thing as a line of credit for consumer items.
You can get loans from the government for certain things but if you wish to
buy everyday items you have to have credits in your account."



"So everything is done by computer now?" Ken asked.



"You bet your ass.  Come on, I'll show you.  Let's go to the electronics
store."



She led him across the lobby to a shop near the elevators.  Zander's
Electronics Shop was the name of it.  They walked inside and Ken saw it was
sort of a futuristic Radio Shack.  Computer terminals, speakers, wiring and
components, and large television type screens were mounted on displays
throughout the store.  A short, dark skinned man, completely bald, was
sitting behind a counter with a computer terminal mounted on it.  He seemed
to be watching some sort of entertainment program.  He looked up at them as
they entered and gave an inviting smile.



Ken looked around in fascination at all of the merchandise.  "So all of this
stuff in here is sold by the government?" he asked.



"Oh no," Karen said, shaking her head.  "This is a private shop.  Most of
our consumer shops are privately owned."



"Really?" Ken said.  "I thought you said the government provided
everything."



"Not everything," she said.  "Just the basic items that are considered
necessities to life.  Zander here rents this space from the government, who
owns this building after all, but he purchases most of his inventory from
private suppliers and then sells it at a fixed rate.  He does of course
provide government items as well.  That is part of his mission."



"So you do allow private enterprise under you system?" Ken asked.



"Of course we do," she said.  "I told you that our system had elements of
capitalism as well as communism.  There has to be private businesses to fill
the gap between the necessities and the luxuries.  Zander and people like
him provide things for you to spend your credits on in order to make your
life more luxurious.  For instance, the government provides you with a
computer in your living space because that is considered essential to life
these days.  The government does not provide you with large screens for
video entertainment, or holographic generators for feature films, or VR
equipment for pornography.  If you want those things you have to work, save
enough credits, and buy them.  If you don't know how to install them you
have to pay one of Zanders' sons to install it for you."



"Did you say VR equipment for pornography?" Ken asked.



"Fuckin aye," she said.  "Pornography is a big business on Mars.  The best
porn is virtual reality porn, although it can be somewhat expensive.  You
put a VR helmet on and stimulation attachments to your genitals and hands."



"You're kidding."



"Not at all."  She frowned a little.  "It's not as good as the real thing of
course, but then porn is mainly a masturbation function anyway, isn't it?  I
imagine its quite a bit more rankin than the porn you are accustomed to.  I
have some of the attachments in my house if you'd like to try it out."



Ken found himself blushing again.  "Uh... I'll uh... think about it," he
stammered.



Karen smiled.  "Its kind of cute how prudish you are," she said.  "I'm sorry
I embarrassed you, but I do engage in masturbation quite frequently you
know.  Everyone does.  It's nothing to be ashamed of."



"I know," he said.  "It's just that it's a little embarrassing to talk about
it."



"We don't consider that to be so," she said.  "On Mars, masturbation
principals and technique are taught in primary school in fifth and sixth
grade.  It has been found that regular release of sexual build-up is an
important part of maintaining good physical and mental health.  You see..."



"Uh... could we maybe talk about this some other time?" Ken whispered in
interruption after noting that Zander, the proprietor, was avidly following
their conversation.



"Sure," she said.  "Have it your way.  That's what we're down with.  Come
on, let's go get you set up."



She led him up to the counter where Zander was sitting.  He smiled at her in
a familiar manner.  "Doctor Valentine," he greeted.  "How the fuck you be?"



"Just gnarly, Zander," she said.  "Just fuckin gnarly."



"That's the shit," Zander said.  "How are those new speakers working out for
your system?  Did I give you the straight shit or did I fuck you over?"



"It's the straight," Karen said.  "They sound like a fuckin rampage, I'm
here to tell you.  You really kicked my ass.  And thank your nice son for
putting that in for me.  He did his normal rankin job."



"He appreciates those tips you give him," Zander said.  "I'm telling you,
those two fight over who gets to do the job when you need something done."



"Well they deserve it," Karen said with a smile.  She pointed to Ken.
"Zander, this is Ken Frazier, a relative of mine from WestHem.  He just
became a citizen today."



"Well suck my hairy ass," Zander said, holding out his hand.  "How the fuck
are you, Ken?"



"Uh... I'm uh... fine, thanks," he said, still trying to interpret in his
mind most of what had just been said.  And had Zander just told him to suck
his hairy ass?  Was that a common expression?  Had Zander told him that back
in San Jose they might very well have been fighting a few seconds later.
Slowly he stuck out his hand and it was shaken.



"Shit on me," Zander said.  "That is one thick WestHem accent you have
there, my butt buddy.  No mistaking where you're from."



My butt buddy? Ken thought, resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his
shorts.  "Uh... I guess not," he said.



"So what's the shit today?" Zander asked, his tone turning businesslike.
"Ken needs a PC?"



"That ain't no shit," Karen told him.  "We just came from the capital."



"Okay then," Zander said.  "We talking Mars issue here?  Or would he like
something a little upgraded?"



"Something a little upgraded I think," Karen said.  "I'll pay for the diff."



"Fuckin aye.  What kind of upgrades do we want?"



Ken simply watched as Karen and Zander discussed the features of various
personal computers using guttural street slang.  He didn't follow most of
what was said although a few terms jumped out at him.  Holographic generator
was one such thing.  Phased connection was another.  Eventually they were
able to come to a mutual agreement on which PC would be perfect for him.
Zander then reached into a display shelf behind him and pulled out a small
device that was a little bit smaller than a cellular phone from his day.  It
was mostly black, with the words "NPI Electronics" stenciled in gold on the
front.  There was a small touch screen on the bottom of it and a flip-up
cover of some sort on the top.  On the back of it was a metal clip.  Zander
set it down on the counter before him and then reached into a drawer and
pulled out an electrical cord, which he sat next to it.



"Okay," Zander said.  "One NPI model 9.  With the government deduction
subtracted that's gonna run you eight credits."



"Fuckin aye," Karen said.



"Ken, if you'll lay some derm for me, I'll verify that you're entitled to
the government deduction."



Ken hesitated for a second, remembering what happened last time he was asked
to "lay some derm".  "Uh... will that show everything about me like at the
capital?" he asked Karen.



"Of course not," she told him.  "Zander is not entitled to view your
personal files like the government agents are.  All his computer will do is
check with the government files to see if you're entitled to a PC at the
moment."



"Oh, okay," he said a little doubtfully.  Put he put his right index finger
down on the screen.



"Looks like the system is down with you," Zander said.  He turned to Karen.
"Okay, if you'll lay some derm for me we'll wrap this shit up."



Karen put her finger down on the screen.  There was a beep from the computer
screen before Zander and he looked at it absently, giving a nod.  "That'll
do it," he said.  "Anything else today?"



"No, Zander," Karen said.  "That should do it."



Karen and Zander exchanged a few more profane pleasantries with each other
while Ken picked up his new PC.  It was very light in his hands, lighter
even than a child's toy phone.  The plastic casing felt very flimsy.



"Let's go get some lunch, Ken," Karen said, leading him out the shop.



"Sure," he said, following behind her.



Back out in the lobby they started walking further towards the back of the
building.



"So you see," Karen said.  "In this day and age, all of our financial
transactions are handled by the computer.  Internet connects Zander's system
to the main Martian system, just like any place that takes money for a
service.  We don't have any banks anymore like you used to have.  All of our
money is stored in our computer files the government maintains.  When I pay
for something, like your PC there, I simply put my finger on his pad, which
identifies me to the system.  His computer checks my account to see if I
have the required amount of credits for the purchase.  If so, those credits
are deducted from my account and added to Zanders' business account.  From
that account Zanders will pay his employees, who in this case, are his two
sons.  That's pretty much how all transactions are handled these days."



"Interesting," Ken said, thinking it over.  "So there is no need for cash
anymore."



"Exactly," she said, coming to a halt before another of the shops.  "This is
Belinda's.  A nice place for lunch when you want to go to a restaurant.  Not
too elaborate.  Just rankin food."



Ken read the sign out front.  "Belinda's Eats and Shit?" he said doubtfully.
"Is that really the name?"



"What's wrong with that?" Karen asked in complete seriousness.



"Nothing," he said dismissively.  "If you say its good, then its good."



They went inside, Ken still carrying his new PC and power cord in his hands.
The restaurant looked pretty much like what a restaurant in his day and age
had looked like.  Tables were geometrically arranged throughout the middle
of the dining area, and booths were arranged along the walls.  About half of
the booths and about a third of the tables were occupied with scantily clad
Martians in pairs or groups of three and four.  A few solitary diners sat at
a counter near the entrance to what Ken presumed was the kitchen.  Waiters
and waitresses, all dressed in light green uniforms of shorts and half
shirts, moved two and fro among the tables, delivering food or taking away
dishes.  The smell was of cooking meat and spices.



Instead of waiting to be seated, which had been the custom in Ken's time,
Karen simply led him to one of the empty booths.  When they sat down Ken saw
there was a small computer screen imbedded in the table surface on both
sides.  WELCOME TO BELINDA'S EATS AND SHIT, read large lettering on the
screen.  Below this were touch pads that were labeled ENTREES, APPETIZERS,
DRINKS, and DESSERT.



"Lets get some drinks first," Karen suggested.  "Just touch the screen where
it says 'drinks' and a menu will pop up.  You touch whichever drink you want
and the server will bring it over to you.  Once we get that coming, we can
order our lunch."



Ken touched the pad and another series of menus appeared, this one
subdivided into categories of drinks.  There was SODA, TEA, COFFEE, and
BOOZE.



"If you like wine," Karen said, "try a glass of the French Chardonnay.  It's
one of the imports we get from EastHem.  It's really static."



"Uh... okay," he said, pushing BOOZE and then paging through a few more
submenus until he found the selection that she was talking about.  He read
from the description which said that the wine was "premium, grade A shit,
with just enough booze in it to buzz you after two glasses".  The price was
listed at .4 credits.  He pushed the button and a friendly female voice told
him that his order had been sent.



"Let's get your PC activated," Karen said after she had sent her own drink
order off.



"Okay," he said, picking it up from the table.  He looked at it closely for
the first time, noting that, aside from the flip up panel and the touch
screen, there did not seem to be any buttons of any kind on it.  There was a
small hole in the back where the power cord presumably plugged in, but that
was about it.



"Now the thing you want to remember about your PC is to always carry it with
you.  It is the most important possession you have in this society.  It
serves as a communication device, as a computer access terminal, and it
keeps track of all of your finances for you."



"So its like a cellular phone from my day?" Ken asked.  "Just a little more
sophisticated."



"A lot more sophisticated actually, but yes, the cellular phones in the
early 21st century are the ancestors of what you are now holding.  Once
active, that PC will work only for you.  It will recognize your voiceprint
and your fingerprint.  Go ahead and flip open the screen."



He did so, and was met with nothing but a blank screen.



"Tell it to turn on," she said next.



"Uh... computer, turn on," he said into it, feeling a little sheepish to be
doing so.  His efforts were rewarded however, when the screen lit up,
showing a logo for something called Martian Internet Services.



"What the fuck is your name, Dawg?" the computer said in a rough, male
voice.



He looked at Karen, who nodded for him to go ahead.  "Ken Frazier," he said.



"Voice print recorded," the voice said.  "Will Ken Frazier be the owner of
this PC?"



"Yes," he told it.



"Lay some derm on the touch screen for verification."



He laid some derm and there was a beep.



"Identification verified," it said.  "Downloading data."  A pause of about
two seconds.  "Download complete.  You may now use this PC."



"So what exactly did it do?" he asked.



"It accessed the Martian Internet by locking onto a cellular antenna," she
explained.  "It downloaded all of the personal information it needs about
you to be your PC.  Your financial data, your address, that kind of shit.
If you tell it to go to com, which is communications, you can establish your
ID number.  That's kind of like a telephone number in your age but it also
links to mail as well."



He told his computer to go to com and the small screen lit up with a
communications icon.  At the same time the touch pad came to life with a
variety of options for him to choose from.  Karen walked him through the
process of finding out what his ID number was.  It turned out to be a
10-digit number that looked just like a traditional phone number with the
area code included.



"That was the basis for the original numbering system," Karen confirmed when
he mentioned this.  "That will be your number for life, no matter where you
move to, unless you request to have it changed.  Now tell me what it is and
we'll try it out."



She took out her own PC, which was a slightly different model by the same
company.  He read the number off to her and she in turn read it into her PC.



"Store under Ken Frazier," she told her PC, to which it responded, "fuckin
aye."  She then told her PC to contact Ken Frazier.



"Direct com from Karen Valentine," the voice from his machine told him a
second later.



"Tell it to answer," Karen advised.



"Uh... answer," Ken said.  A second later a tiny, three dimensional hologram
of Karen's head and upper body suddenly appeared in front of his screen,
seeming to hover in the air, its movements mimicking Karen's exactly.  It
was so real that it looked like he could reach down and pick it up.  He
tried this in fact but his fingers only met empty air.



"You see?" Karen and her hologram said.  "Simple as can be.  Just say end
call and the connection will stop."



"End call," he said and the image disappeared.



"Would you like to input Karen Valentine's ID number into the database?" the
PC asked him next.



He looked at Karen and she nodded.  "Uh... yes," he said.



"Fuckin aye," the PC told him.  "It's done."  The screen then returned to
the communications icon.



"That's some shit," Ken said in wonder.



"If you ever need to get hold of me for anything," she said, "all you have
to do is go to com on your PC and tell it to contact Karen Valentine.  If I
can't answer you at the moment my mail system will take a video message from
you.  I'll show you how to set up your own mail message too."



"How much does all of this cost?" he asked, thinking that the monthly
service fee must be outrageous.



"Nothing," she said.  "Internet, communications, banking, and everything
else on the PC or on the home computer system are provided by the government
as part of their mission.  They are deemed vital to life and so they are a
constitutional right."



"Because it makes sense, right?"



"Because it makes sense," she confirmed.



A waiter came a moment later and delivered a glass of wine for each of them.
Ken sipped at his and found it was a pretty ordinary tasting variety of
Chardonnay, no different from what he had once enjoyed with his wife in her
pre-pregnancy days.  They then spent a few minutes paging through the food
options and placing their orders.  Ken was surprised to see the cuisine was
very much the same as what might've been found in a Denny's or Lyon's
restaurant.  He ordered a cheeseburger with mushrooms and French fries and a
side of salad.  The computer screen promised his meal would be there
shortly.



While they waited they sipped their wine and Karen explained more of the
features of his PC to him.  She showed him how to adjust the volume and how
to change the voice the PC talked to him with (he chose a more gentle,
feminine voice instead of the gruff male one).  She then had him go to the
financial screen, where his credit account was displayed (there was a
balance of 0 in it) and where the items he was entitled to under the
constitution were listed.



"All of this stuff is free?" he asked, reading through it.  It listed ten
pairs of shorts, ten shirts, two pairs of moccasins, housing credit for
public housing, and a lengthy list of grocery items such as meat, cereal,
milk, vegetables, and various condiments.



"Those are your basic constitutional allowances," she said.  "As you can see
in the notations, the food items renew every week, the clothing renews every
two months, and the housing credits are indefinite.  When you go into the
shops you'll find the constitutional items are marked with a Martian symbol.
That's a silhouette of the planet with the moons in orbit above it.  If you
want upgraded items - better meat or vegetables or better quality clothing -
the cost of your constitutional items will be deducted from the upgrades."



"So the constitutional food and clothes aren't all that good?" he asked.



"They're not bad," she said with a shrug.  "Especially the basic staples.
Milk and most of the vegetables I get from the store are my constitutionals.
The beef however is only hamburger, London broil, hot dogs, and things of
that sort.  I like to get nicer cuts so I pay the difference.  I also like
pre-cut and pre-boned chicken instead of a whole chicken.  That costs me a
little more too.  As for clothes, well, my wardrobe is about half Government
issue and half upgrades.  As you've seen, we don't have quite as much
interest in fashion as your people did, although we do have an extensive
lingerie market."



"Lingerie?" he said.



"Oh yes.  Martian women love lingerie. Of course the lingerie items are all
considered luxuries so you'll have to pay for them yourself."



"Of course," he said slowly.  "Is it just me, or do you Martians seem to be
well... somewhat preoccupied with sex?"



"No more so than any other culture in history," she said.  "The difference
here is that we embrace it instead of trying to hide it."



The waiter brought their food a moment later, setting two steaming plates
down before them.  Ken, who was quite hungry by now, dug into his
cheeseburger, finding it to be nothing short of delicious.  The meat was
thick, tender, and very flavorful.  The lettuce was crisp and green.  The
tomatoes had the unmistakable taste of vine-ripened.  Even the cheese, which
was sharp cheddar, seemed to have a texture that was much superior to what
he was used to.



"You down with your food?" Karen asked as she watched him chomp and chew.



"Fuckin aye," he told her, hardly realizing he was using the Martian
expression.  "I think this is the best hamburger I've ever had."



"We take our food very seriously on Mars," she said.  "That entire burger
you're eating is made from Martian agricultural products.  The meat and the
cheese comes from the cattle production facilities outside of Proctor.  The
vegetables are from the greenhouses outside of Eden.  Even the bread is made
from wheat grown in the Libby greenhouses.  Our quality control and
production standards are quite stringent."



"I guess so," he said.  "Is all the food on Mars this good?"



"You ain't tasted shit yet," she said.  "This is nothing but a low budget
convenience restaurant.  Wait until I take you up to Branner's Chowdown up
on top of the building.  That's an exclusive, gourmet restaurant.  Even that
has nothing on Marcella's cooking though."



"Marcella?  Who is Marcella?"



"My bitch," she said.



"Your... bitch?"



"Uh huh," Karen said with a nod.  "I guess the closest thing you would call
it is a..." She thought for a moment, trying to recall the terms, "uh... a
housekeeper or a maid.  Anyway, she makes most of my dinners on the nights
I'm home.  She's a culinary arts major at the university."



"You have a housekeeper?" he asked.



"A bitch is what we call them," she said.  "She keeps the house clean, does
most of my shopping for me, cooks my meals, and does my laundry.  I pay her
150 credits a month and give her room and board.  She's a nice girl.  Wants
to open her own restaurant someday.  You'll like her I think."



"I see," he said.  "What do you call them if they're male?"



"A bitch," she said.  "The term is unisexual."



"Of course."



Ken had a few more bites of his burger, sipping from his wine between chews.
"So I would assume," he said during the next pause, "that your restaurant
business is private industry as well?"



"That's right," Karen confirmed.  "Eating out is a luxury item.  This
restaurant is run by Belinda Maxely and her husband."



"So it's not part of a franchise or anything like that?"



"We don't allow franchises on Mars," she said.  "That would be a violation
of the anti-corporation clause of the constitution.  Our founding parents
were very clear on that point.  Nothing that resembles big business will
ever be allowed here."



"So where do you draw the line?" he wanted to know.  "What if this Belinda
person wants to open another restaurant?"



"She would not be allowed to," Karen said.  "A citizen is only allowed to
operate one business for their livelihood.  She can change locations and
open up somewhere else, but she cannot lease another space and open another
shop."



"Doesn't that kind of unfairly limit her?"



"Not at all," she said.  "As I told you before, prices are fixed here.  In
Belinda's case, she is allowed to charge a certain percentage for each menu
item above what it cost her to assemble the ingredients.  This percentage
allows for all overhead costs, such as lease of the space and employee
salaries, both of which are also fixed under the law, and a fair profit
margin.  If she has a proper location and fills a need at that location -
which she most certainly does here - she will make a comfortable living and
maybe, if she is really good at what she does, become fairly wealthy.
Neither she, nor any other business owner is allowed to expand beyond that
however, and, as I mentioned before, there is really no need to.  Once a
business reaches a certain size, once the owner becomes removed from the day
to day operations, corruption and inefficiency sets in."



"So Belinda's Eats and Shit is a one of a kind place?"



"Located only in this building," Karen confirmed.  "Other housing and
commercial buildings have their own restaurants - all unique and run by
individual owners.  In fact, it somewhat works out that each housing
building tends to be like a small community within itself.  In this building
for instance, we have a butcher, a grocer, a caffeine joint, several
intoxicant bars, an electronics store, two clothing stores, a jewelry store,
and a fine furnishings outlet.  Each one of these stores is run by
individuals or a family.  Most of the people who live in this building shop
at these stores for their day to day needs."



"So its kind of like you're living in a small town, right here in this
building," he said, starting to catch the concept.



"Fuckin aye," she said.  "It really is kind of the way things were in small
towns in the pre-corporation days on Earth.  Our business owners are really
the backbone of the luxury business on Mars and most of them thrive.  Fully
30 percent of our working population are business owners or employees of
them."



"What about unions?  Do you have those?  Is there a grocers union or a
restaurant servers union?"



"We have no need for unions on Mars," she said.  "In effect, the government
itself serves as the union.  Workers rights are a big section of our
constitution.  Salaries are fixed at a set level.  Our standard workday is
eight hours and our standard workweek is 32 hours.  Any overtime, either at
the daily level or at the weekly level, must be voluntary on the part of the
worker and must be compensated at double time.  Paid vacations are also
regulated by the government and increase according to time on the job.  Any
grievances are handled quickly by an impartial government moderator."



Ken was fascinated by her explanation.  It really did seem that these
Martians knew what they were doing.  "And since you don't allow big business
or corporations," he said, following a train of thought she'd brought up the
previous day, "it would be hard for your employers to lobby government
officials to change the rules in their favor, or to corrupt the moderators."



"It would be impossible," she confirmed.  "As I told you, our government
officials remain reasonably pure to their mission, which is to keep the
planet running fairly for everyone."



They finished up their meal a few minutes later and Karen pushed an icon on
the menu screen that said "The Damages".  A bill for 4.56 credits appeared
along with an advisement to pay at their convenience and a thank you for
patronizing Belinda's Eats and Shit.



"Now then," Karen said, pulling out her PC, "I'll tell you what I'm going to
do.  I'm going to give you two hundred credits out of my account and you can
buy lunch for me."



"You don't have to give me any money," Ken protested.



"I know that I don't have to," she said, "but I really want to.  There are
things you're going to want to buy while you get used to living here.  Until
you get a job or some other means of income, you won't be able to get
credits any other way.  Don't worry, I can afford it."



"But..."



"No buts," she said.  "I insist.  It's the least I can do after jerking you
out of 188 years of sleep."  She opened her PC.  "Computer on, financial."
She waited a moment, looking at the screen, and then said, "Computer,
transfer two hundred credits to account of Ken Frazier."



"Fuckin aye," it said.  "Lay some derm for verification."



She put her finger on her touch pad and there was a beep.



"Transferred," her PC told her.



"Now then," she said, flipping hers back shut again and putting it back in
her pocket, "go ahead and take yours out.  Go to financial and you should
see two hundred credits in your account."



He did as she said and sure enough, he was now showing a balance of two
hundred.  "Wouldn't it be kind of easy to rob you if that's how you transfer
money?" he asked.  "What's to stop a robber from sticking a gun in your face
and telling you to transfer all of your money to his account?"



"Several things," she said.  "First and foremost is the fact that there will
be a record of whose account the money has been transferred to, wouldn't
there?"



"Oh yeah," he said.  "I guess that makes sense."



"Coupled with that is the fact that robbery of any kind is a rankin offense.
Offenders will do five to ten years at hard labor, depending on the violence
of the crime.  Not many people are going to commit a crime they're certain
to get caught at when that is the penalty.  One thing you'll find on Mars is
that our criminal justice system works extremely well.  Our prisons are
unpleasant places to be and we do not allow people to get off on
technicalities or because they're rich or influential.  As a result, we
really don't have all that much serious crime anymore.  Certainly nothing
like what it was in your days.  I'm not saying that we're crime free by any
means, but you can walk the streets here in just about any part of town in
safety."



"So your cops have it kind of easy then?"



"Well, they stay busy," she said.  "Although probably not in the same way
that you used to stay busy on Earth.  If you'd like I can arrange for you to
accompany a patrol team during their shift.  My brother has a little pull
with the NPPD."



"I think I'd like that," he said, excited at the idea of watching future
cops operate.



"I'll start working on that as soon as I can," she said.  "In the meantime,
why don't you pay the bill and we'll go up to my house."



"Okay.  How do I pay the bill?"



"Just touch the menu screen where it says pay."



He did so and the screen asked if he would care to leave a gratuity for his
server.  "I guess some things never change," he mused.  "How much should I
leave?"



"Ten percent is the customary amount," Karen told him.  "So that would be
.45 credits."



"Okay," he said.  He pushed the yes icon and a numeric pad appeared, asking
for the amount.  He punched in .45 and then "done".  The screen showed him
his new total - which was 5.01 credits - and asked him to confirm.  He did
so and was then asked to lay some derm for verification.  He put his right
index on the screen and there was a beep and another thank you.  At the same
time his PC - which was still open on the table next to him - beeped and the
amount of his account balance was adjusted to 194.99 credits.



"And that's it," Karen said.  "Shall we head up?"



"I guess so," he said, standing up.







+++++





Karen's living quarters were on the 123rd floor of the building, just six
floors below the roof level.  They rode the elevator up and stepped out into
a spacious hallway that was lined with oil paintings and potted plants.  The
doors in this hallway were spaced a considerable distance apart, which led
Ken to believe that the apartments up here would be large.  This was a
supposition that turned out to be entirely correct.



The door was a plain sliding one, not unlike all of the others Ken had seen
so far.  It had the number 12306 stenciled in black upon it.  Next to it was
a simple touch screen.



"Your fingerprint serves as your key these days," Karen explained to him.
"I'll have my computer authorize you for unrestricted entry into the
apartment.  All you do is touch the screen, and..." she touched it and the
doors slid silently open, revealing a marble tiled entryway.



They stepped inside and the door slid shut behind them.  Ken looked around
in amazement.  Karen's apartment was not just large, it was huge,
considerably larger than the house he had lived in in Pleasanton.  The
entryway led to a large room that appeared to be a family room or
entertainment room of some sort.  A marble fountain spewing a soft cascade
of water was the centerpiece.  Arranged around it was a collection of plush
looking furniture in matching shades of earth tones.  A large bar, complete
with glass rack, sat in one corner.  It appeared to have been constructed of
oak wood or something damn near like it.  On the opposite wall was a huge
television type screen.  The floor was beautifully polished hardwood with
several rugs in strategic places.  Leading off from this room were several
hallways.



"This is the party room," Karen said.  "I don't entertain all that much but
I do have a few intimate guests over from time to time.  This room is
primarily for that function."



"It's nice," Ken said, taking it all in.



"I'm glad you like it.  When you want to watch some movies I have the big
screen and Zanders' best sound system."  She started walking towards the far
end of the room.  Before she made it more than a few steps however, there
was a curious trumpeting noise- obviously made by an animal - from one of
the hallways.  It was followed by unmistakable thudding of heavy feet
hitting the floor in an enthusiastic manner.  A second later the animal in
question burst into the room, heading directly for Karen.



At first Ken thought it was a dog since its basic size was about the same as
that of a Labrador retriever.  The size however, was where the canine
similarity ended. Instead of fur the animal had gray skin with only a few
hairs sticking out here and there.  And instead of a snout full of doggy
teeth and a pink tongue there was a long trunk that hung to the floor.
Below the trunk a pair of sharp looking tusks protruded.



"Hi, Pee-Pee," Karen said with a smile, leaning down as the animal lumbered
enthusiastically up to her.



"Is that an elephant?" Ken asked, although he could plainly see that it was.



"This is Peanut," she said as the diminutive pacaderm wrapped its trunk
around her leg affectionately.  "He's an Indian elephant.  I've had him
since I graduated from med school."  She scratched the top of his head with
her fingernail and Peanut made a contented rumbling nose from deep within
his throat.



"He's so small," Ken said.  "Is he a real elephant?"



"Well, he's been genetically engineered to grow only to this size," she
said, "but other than that, yes, he's a real elephant."



Peanut unwrapped his trunk from Karen's arm and then walked over to Ken, his
large eyes looking him up and down.  He stuck out his trunk and began to
sniff at Ken, starting with his torso and moving upward until he was at his
neck.  Ken stood nervously as he felt the warm moisture of the trunk opening
touching his skin.  Suddenly the trunk slid down his arm and wrapped around
his wrist, tightening there.  He felt his arm pulled towards the elephant's
head.



"He wants you to scratch his head," Karen said.  "He likes that."



Ken scratched the rough skin just over the eyes and his arm was released.
Peanut made another of those contented growls.



"I think he likes you," Karen said.



"Do many people on Mars have elephants as pets?" he asked, continuing to
scratch.



"Oh sure," she said.  "Elephants, tigers, lions, bears, you name it.  The
exotic, engineered pets became popular here back in our early colonial
days."



"Does anyone have cats and dogs?"



"There are a lot of those as well," she said.  "I've always liked elephants
though, that's why I got Pee-Pee.  Huh, Pee-Pee?"



At the sound of his nickname Peanut pulled away from Ken and went back over
to Karen, who had knelt down on the floor.  He put his trunk up on her
shoulders and rubbed it against the side of her face.  Karen petted the end
of it with her fingers for a moment and then stood back up.  "Well then,"
she said.  "Let's show you the rest of the place."



She led him around from room to room, obviously proud of her apartment.  Ken
could not help but be awed by it.  There was a large dining room just
adjacent to an even larger kitchen area.  Beyond this was another, smaller
family type room with more furniture and a smaller screen television set-up.
There was an office just adjacent to this and then a huge master bedroom
complete with a Jacuzzi, over large bathtub, and a shower stall big enough
for five people to fit in.  There was a smaller, though still spacious
secondary bedroom just next to it that Karen said was the guest room.



"It's where you'll be staying," she said, leading him inside.



The main part of the room consisted of a large bed, a few furnishings, and a
desk with a computer terminal on it.  Attached to the room was a private
bathroom with a standard sized shower and a slightly larger than normal
bath.



"Marcella will clean your room for you and make your bed every morning,"
Karen said.  "And if you put your laundry into the hamper in the bathroom
she'll make sure it's washed, dried, and put away by the next morning.  The
other room opposite the guest bathroom is Marcella's by the way.  Don't go
in there unless you're invited.  That's considered very impolite in our
society."



"Uh... okay.  Where is Marcella?  Is she in there now?"



"No, she's in school right now.  She does her morning chores and then heads
out for classes every weekday.  She comes back at around 1530, does another
clean up, and usually has dinner ready at around 1800.  She has the weekends
off but she usually hangs out here anyway and tries to keep ahead of the
mess.  We have to make our own dinners on Saturday and Sunday night though."



"That sounds reasonable," Ken said.



"And it is the law after all," Karen remarked, leading him back through the
house into the entertainment room.  "Computer, lights to low," she said and
the lighting dimmed down.



"What did you do that for?" Ken asked.



"I wanted to show you the view," she said.  "It's really rankin from here.
Computer, blinds open in entertainment room."



On the wall opposite the television screen, blinds suddenly slid upward into
a hidden slot, revealing a huge picture window that stretched the length of
the room.  Ken looked at the view that was revealed and whistled
appreciatively.  As Karen had said, it was pretty rankin.  They were on the
very edge of the city and this window faced outward over the Martian
surface.  The red surface dotted with rolling hills stretched off to the
horizon before him.  Rising above that horizon, from well beyond it, the
jagged peaks of mountains could be seen.  Off to the right side of the
window the city skyline came into view with its towering buildings
reflecting the dim sunlight.  Off to the left side, several miles distant,
was a large flat area that looked like an airport.  Strange vehicles that
looked like aircraft without wings were visible moving from place to place.



"That's Halligan Heights over there to the east," Karen pointed out.  "It's
another high-end housing area.  Over there to the west you can see the
spaceport.  And due north of us there, those are the foothills of the Casa
Royal Mountains.  Just over the horizon are some of the larger peaks of the
range."



"Its beautiful," Ken said quite honestly as he took it in.  It was a
soothing mix of wild desolation and science fiction like grandeur.  He
thought he could sit here and stare for hours.



"It costs me a buttload," she said.  "That ain't no shit.  But I love
scenery so I'm willing to pay the extra rent for a house with a view."



"How much does this place cost?  If you don't mind my asking that is."



"500 credits a month," she said.  "Or about sixty percent of my base income.
Pretty hefty I'll admit, but to me it's worth it."



"And the government is your landlord?"



"Well, we don't really use that term anymore, but yes, the government owns
this building, as they do every building on Mars, and I pay those credits to
them to live here.  The lease for the shops downstairs is also paid to the
government."



"And so that's where the government gets all of its money then?"



"No," she said, "you're oversimplifying things again.  Remember what I told
you earlier?  The credits do not actually represent anything other than a
medium of exchange.  The government has as many credits as it needs.  There
is no finite amount of them and the only tracking that is done is to make
sure that people pay what is owed to the government for products or services
that it provides.  When I pay my 500 credits for the month the government
computers just note that I've paid and the amount is subtracted from my
account.  Those credits then effectively disappear forever.  When the
government then has to pay someone, say a construction worker or a
maintenance worker in this building, than they just add however many credits
are required to that worker's account.  They cannot run out or have a budget
deficit because they are the ones who create the credits in the first
place."



"That is such a bizarre concept," Ken said, shaking his head.



"To you perhaps," she said.  "But to us, it only makes sense to do it this
way.  The citizens have an impetus to work and are rewarded for their
achievements.  Hard work and greater education entitles you to positions
that pay more credits.  Having more credits allows you to buy nicer things
and live in nicer housing.  That keeps the motivation factor strong among
the populace.  And from the government end of things, when something needs
to be built or funded, they don't have to scramble around trying to find the
money to budget for it.  If we need another school, or another college, or
more greenhouses, then they are just built and the workers who build them
are just paid.  If we need to hire more police officers or dip-hoes or
teachers, we just do it.  Any person on Mars can run out of money or not
have enough for something, but the government never can."



"Doesn't that lead to a lot of wasteful spending though?" he asked.



"What's wasteful?" she asked.  "If you have an infinite supply of something
its kind of hard to waste it, isn't it?  But in answer to your question, no,
we only build things or staff things that make sense in any particular
situation.  The government itself is staffed with just enough employees to
make it run.  As you saw from the capital building, we have a minimum of
bureaucracy and things tend to run rather smoothly."



"That was rather quick," he said.



"So anyway, that's the house," she said, walking over towards the bar.  "Go
ahead an make yourself at home.  I took the liberty yesterday of getting you
some extra clothes and basic hygiene things like a toothbrush and a few
combs.  They're in the drawers in your bedroom and your bathroom."



"Oh... well, thanks you."



"You're welcome," she said.  "And now, how about we relax for a bit.  Do
want a drink?  Or maybe some smoke?"



"Some smoke?" he asked.



"You know, marijuana?  I have some really good Eden green."



"Is marijuana legal now?" he asked, walking over to the bar.



"Fuckin aye," she said.  "It has been since about mid-way through World War
III.  The WestHem government needed to raise money for the war so they made
it legal and taxed the shit out it.  We've always grown really good weed
here on Mars.  It seems to love the iron rich soil."



She pulled out a small metal box and set it on the bar.  It had a picture of
a marijuana leaf on the lid and the words:



Martian Agricultural Department

Eden Greenbud

Rankin, High Quality Shit



She opened the lid and the inside was lined with wet, sticky looking buds.
The pungent odor wafted out.  She picked up one of the smaller buds and set
it on the bar.  She then reached down below the bar and pulled up a metal
and plastic device that looked like a bong of some sort with a hose running
out from it.  She flipped up a small panel on the top of the device and put
the bud she had fished out inside.  She then closed the panel and picked up
the hose.  The end of the hose went into her mouth and she pushed a button
at the tip.  A whirring sound issued from the bong and Karen sucked in.  She
held the smoke for a moment and then exhaled it into the room.  She then
offered the hose to Ken.  "Care for a hit?"



"I haven't really smoked any since I was in college," he said.  "The army
and the police department kind of frowned on it."



"Yes, I imagine they did," she said.  "But it's nice and legal now.  Smoke
is very much a social thing in our culture these days, even more so than
alcohol, although that will always be the king of the intoxicants.  So what
do you say?  Take a few hits with me and then we'll have a drink and talk.
I'll try to catch you up on everything that's happened in the solar system
since you went to sleep."



"Well... when in New Pittsburgh," he said with a shrug and took the hose.





+++++





Whatever else happened on Mars in his new life, Ken knew one thing for sure.
He had made himself a friend for life in the form of Peanut the diminutive
pet elephant.  The two hundred pound pacaderm had been following him around
all day and all evening, caressing him with his trunk whenever he sat down
and pulling his hand to his gray head so he could scratch it.  Through
dinner-which had been an impressive beef lasagna prepared by Marcella, the
maid, or bitch as Karen called her- Peanut had sat next to him on his
hindquarters, begging like a dog despite Karen's admonishments that he
should never be fed at the table.



He was in Ken's room now, at 2330, lying on the floor next to him with his
trunk extended and resting on Ken's leg as he sat in the chair before the
computer terminal.  Actually, to be perfectly correct, the room was Peanut's
and Ken was the one who was the guest.  In the corner were the elephant's
food and a small water fountain for him to drink out of.  Next to it was a
sealed structure, somewhat like a small shed, which served as an elephant
box.  The touch screen outside the sliding door was even programmed to open
to Peanut's trunk print.  Every once in a while Ken would pick up a walnut
from a jar of them on the desk and hold it up in the air.  Peanut would grab
it with his trunk, put it in his large mouth, and happily crunch it up,
always giving Ken an affectionate caress on the neck as thanks.



Before going to bed for the evening Karen had taught Ken how to access the
Martian Internet, both to watch television programming and to view
information.  It was a remarkably easy thing to do.  The web sites, though
infinitely more sophisticated than those in Ken's days, were set up much the
same way.  Instead of a mouse moving a curser, you simply touched the screen
to open a new link or to page up and down, but the pages themselves and the
process of surfing was very much the same.



Ken knew he should get some sleep.  Not only was he tired from the long day,
the alcohol, and the marijuana that he'd consumed, but he also had to get up
early in the morning.  Karen had arranged for them to fly to Triad Space
Station the next day to meet Marjorie, his great granddaughter.  The
spaceship they had been booked on was scheduled to leave New Pittsburgh
Spaceport at 0800.  And Karen had assured him that 0800 meant 0800 exactly.
But despite his fatigue he could not drag himself away from the computer
terminal.  An exciting world of information was literally at his fingertips,
information on everything that had happened over the last 188 years while
he'd been frozen in time.  Each new fact that he uncovered, each new
historical date and milestone, would inevitably lead him down another path
of fascination.  Not even his nervousness about flying on a spacecraft the
next day, not even the numbing grief over the loss of his wife and family
from his life, could detract him from the wonder he felt.



Karen had given him a basic overview of solar system history during their
talk.  The four and half hours he had spent before this terminal had
supplied many more details.  He was finding that he now had a very unique
perspective on historical events.  He was a man from 2003 who was able to
see everything that would happen in his future.



He had learned that the world had gone on pretty much as it had been in the
years immediately after his shooting.  America had fought a brief war with
Iraq shortly after his death and then another, briefer war with Libya in
2005.  The economy had drifted into a near depression in the years following
this but otherwise, nothing much happened until 2009.  That was when things
took a drastic turn.



World War III was the focus of many of the entries he had looked over.
Though he had not even begun to scratch the surface of everything that had
happened during the ten years of the war, he had a fairly good idea of just
what had transpired.  The war had begun on January 1st, 2009 when Indian and
Chinese forces numbering in the millions suddenly burst across the Chinese
border into Russia, overwhelming the country in a matter of weeks.  From
Russia the Indians moved west, digging in on a broad line across Eastern
Europe, and then south, into the oil rich Middle East.  The Chinese, moving
in the other direction, quickly captured Siberia and then, in a move that
had been thought impossible at the time, staged a seaborne invasion of
Alaska by using Japanese car carrying ships and the entire inventory of the
Japanese and Chinese navies.  From Alaska, the Chinese burst into Canada and
then began moving south, towards the continental United States.  The WestHem
armed forces, which consisted of the armies of the United States, Canada,
Mexico, Brazil, and Venezuela, rallied to try to meet the onslaught but were
hampered by the sheer numbers of men, tanks, and aircraft coming at them.
They were slowly ground backward, into Washington and then to the Columbia
River on the border with Oregon where they were finally able to stop the
Chinese from advancing further.  From there a broad front opened up on the
plains of Washington, Idaho, and Montana, a front that stretched from the
Pacific Ocean to the Rockies.  A stalemate developed, similar to that
experienced in France in World War I but much larger and much deadlier.
Neither side could force the other backward, neither would retreat.  For the
next seven years the two combatants bashed at each other, killing millions
on both sides.  American cities, particularly those with major factories and
those that were transportation hubs, were continuously bombed by Chinese
aircraft.  It was only the development of a practical anti-tank and
anti-aircraft laser system by the WestHem forces in 2017 that finally broke
the stalemate.  From there, another two and a half years was spent slowly
pushing the Chinese back to China and the Indians back to India.



It was cruelly ironic that the very substance that the war had been fought
over in the first place - oil - was almost completely depleted during ten
years of battle.  The end of World War III marked the end of human culture's
reliance on fossil fuel.  In addition to depleting the oil, the Earth's
supply of easily mined iron ore, another basic staple of industrial life -
was similarly eradicated by the war.  Billions of tons of steel were turned
into bombs, aircraft, artillery shells, armored vehicles, ships, railroad
cars, and every other kind of war material, much of which was exploded and
burned over the battlefields.  The history that Ken was now a part of
stemmed directly as a result of these war caused depletions.



EastHem and WestHem turned from allies to cold war enemies within two years
of the unconditional surrender of the Asian Powers in Tiannamen Square.
Within ten years of this a frantic space race was begun when EastHem placed
a settlement on the lunar surface in order to secure a supply of iron ore.
WestHem countered by setting up its own mining colony on the surface of
Mars, where the ore was easier to reach and water supplies were more
plentiful.  That first colony was the settlement of New Pittsburgh, where he
now lived.  From there, other mining cities were built in the northern
latitudes of the planet.  And then, as an experiment, an agricultural
development was placed on the Martian equator.  It was thought at first that
the experiment would fail and that food would have to continue to be shipped
from Earth to supply the workers and administrators that made the mining
operations work.  To the surprise and delight of the powers-that-be however,
it was found that nearly any crop would grow extremely well in the
controlled environment of a Martian greenhouse.  Eden, the first of these
agricultural cities, quickly expanded and was soon supplying all of the food
to the hungry Martians.  From there, other agricultural cities sprang up
along the equator and within twenty years surplus food was being shipped in
the other direction, back to Earth.



This period of Martian history was referred to as the Agricultural Rush.
 From the ranks of the unemployed class of WestHem, millions of people made
the trip across space in search of jobs in the agricultural, mining, and
construction industry.  It was touted as the largest, fastest mass migration
in human history.  The problems began when equilibrium was reached and there
were finally enough greenhouses to supply all of the food needs.
Construction workers were laid off by the millions, creating huge ghettos in
the formerly pristine planet.  From there, the unemployment grew worse as
the Earthling corporations that owned everything began to merge with each
other and streamline their operations.  The Martians themselves, especially
those of the second and third generation, were considered inferior to the
Earthlings and were subjected to blatant prejudice.  They were not allowed
in management positions so when there were layoffs it was they that took the
brunt of the losses.



The persecution of the Martians in the name of profit margins gradually
worsened over the years and the resentment this caused stewed like broth in
a cooking pot.  Finally this stew was whipped up into a brisk boil by the
actions of Martian governor Laura Whiting in the year 2146.  Thought to be a
proper politician by her WestHem masters - which meant that she was
corrupted by their money and would do whatever they told her - she showed
her true colors during her inauguration speech when she declared that her
one and only goal was to make Mars free of WestHem.  According to the
articles he was reading, Laura Whiting was a charismatic woman with the
ability to rile a crowd into a frenzy with her speeches.  And rile she did.
So much so that the federal authorities tried to indict her on trumped up
corruption charges.  It was this indictment, and the attempt by federal
authorities to take her into custody for extradition back to Earth, that led
to the firing of the first shots of the revolt.  After nearly two years and
the deaths of more than 11,000 Martians and more than half a million
Earthlings, Mars was completely free and the constitution they now lived
under was in place.



Ken paged back and forth through this timeline on the Martian Internet,
traversing the time between World War III and the Martian Revolution.  He
did not stick to chronological order by any means, he simply surfed from
place to place, taking any sidelines that struck his fancy.  He read article
after article, viewed holographic files and video files, listened to sound
bytes, perused charts and statistics graphs.  He stared at the screen
despite his sore eyes and the ache in his lower back, petting and feeding
the pet elephant next to him every once in a while.



Just before midnight he was deep into an article about the development of
fusion power, a thread that he had surfed to from an article about rationing
during World War III.  Yet again the perspective that he was receiving by
viewing issues from his day from 188 years in the future astounded him.
According to Martian historical sources, practical cold fusion, which was a
source of cheap, clean, and environmentally safe power, had been developed
and perfected in the United States around the year 1989.  Had it been
desired, fusion plants could have been set up in every city and could have
been supplying limitless electricity at a cost of nearly nothing by the year
1995.  However the process was kept secret due to pressure from oil
companies and power generating corporations, both of whom had enormous power
over the government and had much to lose if cheap power became readily
available.  It was only after World War III was raging and most of the
western oil supply was cut off that fusion became "officially" perfected and
generating plants were constructed.



"I really lived in some sleazy times," he whispered to himself, hardly aware
that he was speaking aloud.  Beside him Peanut, who had been dozing, raised
his trunk up at the sound of his voice, rubbed it along his flank for a
moment, and then put it back on his leg.



A voice suddenly issued from the air around him.  It was a soft feminine
voice that he recognized as belonging to Marcella.  "Ken," she said.  "Do
you mind if I come in for a second?"  She was speaking to him through the
intercom system that was part of the door mechanism.  Karen had done this
several times earlier in the evening.



"Sure," he replied, stifling a yawn.  "Come on in."



The door slid open and she entered the room.  She was a petite woman,
standing only a little taller than five feet.  Her features were mostly
Caucasian though with a liberal sprinkling of Hispanic and possibly
African-American as well.  Her hair was light brunette and shoulder length,
though the ponytail that it was tied into was colored bright yellow.  Her
half shirt, which matched her ponytail, was even briefer than most, almost
bikini-like, and did little to restrain her larger than average breasts.
Though she was ten years old on the Martian calendar, which made her almost
twenty under his calendar, the medical science of the Martians made her look
like she was about fifteen, sixteen at the most.  They had been introduced
earlier that day when she'd come home from school and she had been in and
out of the living room while he and Karen had been having their talk
earlier.  She had also had dinner with them.  She didn't talk very much but
she seemed very nice.



"I thought I saw a light under the door," she said, smiling a bit.  "You'd
better get to bed soon.  You have an early flight tomorrow."



"I know," he said.  "I'm just catching up on some history.  I feel a bit out
of place as you can imagine."



"I bet that ain't no shit," she said sympathetically.  Marcella, as Karen's
"bitch", and member of her household, knew what Ken's origins were.  Ken had
again expressed reservations that his secret was out and was again assured
that confidentiality would not be broken.  Marcella, as an employee of
Karen, was obligated not to discuss any information that she gained about
her employer's business, habits, or anything else with anyone else.  Ken's
reservations had then switched to whether or not Marcella would honor that
commitment but Karen had assured him that confidentiality obligations were
taken very seriously in Martian culture and that breaching them was
considered the ultimate faux pas.



"Let me tell you again how much I enjoyed your dinner tonight," Ken said.
"That was, without a doubt, the best lasagna I've ever had - in either one
of my lives."



"Thank you," she said with a smile.  "I'm glad to see that my culinary
education hasn't been wasted so far.  Can I get you something else?  I'll
fix you up some pizza or some tacos for a midnight snack if you want."



"Oh, no thanks," he said.  "You don't have to fuss over me.  I'll be going
to bed pretty soon."



"How about a drink then?" she countered.  "I'll fix you something from the
bar.  Karen also has some nice beer imported from Earth if you like that."



"No, I'm fine, thank you."



"Okay," she said, stepping a little closer, so that she was behind him.
"How about a little something to help you relax then?  You look awfully
tense."



"Like what?" he asked, thinking that she had some sort of over the counter
drug or herbal tea.



"Well, I give a really rankin blowjob," she said, her face perfectly
composed.



His eyebrows came up.  "A blowjob?"



"Yes," she said.  "You know?  Sucking your cock?  Slurping some schlong?
Didn't they do that back in your day?"



"Well... uh... yes," he stammered.  "But not usually... you know, uh... only
when in an intimate type of relationship usually."



"Hmmmph," she grunted, shaking her head a little.  "You people were pretty
fuckin prudish, weren't you?  Why don't you come over to the bed and I'll
show you what I can do."



"Well, thanks for the... uh... the offer, but shouldn't we get to know each
other a little better first?"



She laughed as if he had made a particularly funny joke.  "I know that
you're a guest of Karen who is having trouble sleeping on his first night,"
she said.  "What more do I need to know?"



"Well yes... but..."



"You don't want to insult my hospitality, do you?" she asked, giving a
feigned pout.



"No, I wouldn't want to do that, but..."



"Well all right then," she said sweetly, walking around so that she was in
front of him.  She nudged Peanut with her bare foot, causing him to raise
his head up.  "Go lay down somewhere, Pee-Pee," she told him.  "I've got
work to do."



Peanut gave a little trumpet of displeasure but slowly got to his feet.  He
walked over to his water dish, took a quick drink, and then lay down in a
heap, his eyes staring vindictively at Marcella.



"Poor little Peanut," she cooed sadly and then turned her attention back to
Ken.  She slowly dropped down to her knees so that her head was between his
legs.  She licked her lips and then looked up at him.  "Well, are you going
to take out your cock for me?"



"Uh... Marcella, maybe we should think about this for a minute," he said.



She sighed playfully.  "Okay, I'll take it out then.  I guess a bitch's work
is never done."



She reached forward and grabbed the waist of his shorts.  With a quick,
expert tug she pulled the front down.  His limp cock flopped out at her.
Ken was still trying to think of a way to protest her actions, to tell her
that this just wasn't right, when she leaned forward and ran her tongue over
the top of his member.  At her touch his protestations died in his mouth and
he felt the first surge of blood go rushing in.



"Mmmm," Marcella said playfully as she tongued up and down, making him
stiffen a little more.  "Vintage 21st century cock.  Tastes pretty damn
good."



She swirled her tongue around the head a few times, wetting it with her
saliva.  He groaned a little at the sensation and more blood rushed in,
firming him up to a full hard-on.  Whatever his own misgivings were, his
cock surely liked what was going on.  His cock thought that life in the 22nd
century was just grand.



She put her hand on him now, grabbing him gently around the base and
starting to slowly move up and down.  After one last lick of the head she
took it gently between her lips.  Ken felt himself enclosed in a wet, warm
cavern and he groaned louder this time, his head going back on his
shoulders.



"Mmmm," Marcella moaned around his cock, her mouth dipping lower down upon
him, her tongue swirling teasingly about.



Ken's hands dropped down of their own volition and found her hair.  It was
baby soft and very fine.  He looked down at her, watching as she bobbed her
head up and down slowly.  Her eyes were looking directly up at him, staring
into his own.  She smiled around his cock and he was again struck by how
youthful she looked.  Her face was so innocent looking, so sweet.  It looked
like high school sophomore - probably a member of the glee club - was
working him over.  This thought only served to shamefully arouse him even
further.



She continued to slurp on him, setting a steady up and down rhythm
accompanied by firm pressure from her jacking hand.  She sucked steadily as
she performed, with just enough pressure to make his manhood throb in
delight.  Ken had had quite a few blowjobs in his life, from his wife, his
girlfriends, cop groupies, even professional whores in Bahrain during his
army days.  Never had the sensation felt better than what Marcella was
providing for him.  Whatever else they were, these Martians really knew how
to perform sex acts.



He let his hands slide further down, across her bulging cheeks and onto her
neck.  He caressed her there for a second and then let them go lower, until
his fingertips were touching the tops of breasts protruding from her half
shirt.  Receiving no signs of discouragement from her, he pushed them into
her top, so that her large breasts were in his palms.  They were firm
beneath his grip, the nipples pushing forcefully out at him.  He squeezed
them gently and she moaned out her pleasure from around his cock.



She began to move faster, her hands squeezing just a little harder, her
mouth head bobbing up and down like a machine.  With her free hand she began
to caress his balls, rubbing them just enough to elicit a new dimension to
the pleasure that he was feeling.  Ken was completely lost in the blowjob
now, his mind clear of historical facts, new customs, even his missing wife.
The only thing in the world for him was the sucking mouth upon his cock and
the sweet, teenager's face it was attached to.



When she began to hum, imparting a gentle vibration to his manhood, Ken felt
the orgasm machinery start to gear up.  Marcella, noting the involuntary
thrusting of his hips, the tightening of his hands on her breasts, realized
this as well and increased her efforts.  Ken felt the waves of pleasure
build to a crescendo and then burst throughout his body.  He groaned aloud
and began to erupt jets of semen.  Marcella never missed a beat.  She
continued to jack up and down, continued to suck, her throat working
frantically as she swallowed his offering down.



Only when the last of the pleasure spasms had faded away did she slowly let
his cock pop free of her mouth.  It was glistening with her saliva but
sparkling clean, without so much a drop of his sperm remaining.  She licked
her lips a few times and smiled up at him.



"Well, how do you feel now?" she asked.



He took inventory of his body and found that he really did feel relaxed, his
muscles no longer tense, his back no longer aching.  And he could feel a
warm fatigue settling over him, wanting to take him away.  "Good," he said.
"Really good.  Thank you."



"Glad to help," she said, standing up.  She leaned over and gave him a kiss
on the cheek.  He could smell the musk of his semen on her breath as she did
so.  "Anytime you have a little trouble sleeping, you just let me know and
I'll come in and relax you, okay?"  She gave him a saucy look.  "I've been
known to do a little more than blowjobs to help with such things too."



"You have?"



"Oh yes," she said.  "Just ask Karen.  She says I'm the best bitch she's
ever had."  She laughed a little.  "Of course I'm the only bitch she's ever
had, but what can you do?"



"Are you saying that what you just did was part of your job?"



"The blowjob?  Well, not exactly.  I don't have to do anything beyond my
official duties.  But a good bitch goes above and beyond the call of her
mission and I'm a good bitch.  Besides, you're cute and I kind of wanted to
see what kind of cock you have.  Now I know."



"I guess you do," he said.



"Well, I'm off to bed.  If you need anything else, just tell the computer to
call me in my room."



"Okay, goodnight, Marcella."



"Goodnight, Ken.  Have wet dreams."



With that she walked through the door, leaving him sitting there with his
shorts pulled down.  He pulled them back up again and stood up, looking at
the door as it shut behind her.  Peanut, now that she was gone, came over
and assumed the begging position.  Absently, Ken picked up a walnut and gave
it to him.  He still felt relaxed and sleepy.



"Computer, terminal off," he said, looking up at the ceiling.  The screen
clicked off silently.  He walked over to his bed and pulled back the covers,
lying down in them.  "Computer, lights out."



The lights blinked off leaving him in darkness.  Less than five minutes
later he was asleep.  He slept soundly and dreamlessly for the first time
since his reawakening.