The Impulse to Punish
By Ty Johnston
Milton Colony, Mars
2169 A.D.
The helicopter came in low over the red dunes, spitting up scarlet dust and spraying Beadle Jedediah Prine’s goggles. Buffeting from the whirling blades rocked the tall man back on his feet as he stooped and waved the pilot to the landing beacon glowing nearby.
The helicopter came to a slow hover then twirled to one side like a gigantic insect circling to devour its prey. Winds from the blades continued to stir up a storm of the red sand, blinding Jedediah as the craft came to rest on open ground next to the flashing light.
As the hum of the rotors faded, the beadle shuffled forward with a ducked head.
A door on one side of the copter flipped open and a single figure dropped to the ground. He too kept his head down, but it was obvious he was as tall as Jedediah, though his long, dark hair was a stark contrast to the beadle’s red locks sticking out the edges of his helmet.
Once the engines died away, Jedediah brushed the scarlet dust from his gray jumpsuit and removed his goggles. “Dr. Simon?”
“You must be Beadle Prine,” the newcomer said, stepping away from the helicopter.
Now that he was nearer, Jedediah had a better view of the man. Dr. Simon’s hair was not completely black, but bore a white scratch down one side. The man wore the traditional pale garb of a medic, but his suit appeared exceptionally white in contrast to the carmine surface of Mars. A traditional, black leather satchel of some size hung from the doctor’s left hand, and the pocket of his suit was stuffed with what appeared to be surgical instruments wrapped in a plastic bag. He walked with a slight limp, which made the beadle wonder if the man had been a military medic at one time.
“Beadle Prine?” the fellow repeated the name.
Jedediah shook his head as if to knock away more of the red grit, then introduced a hand.
They shook.
Jedediah waved back the way he had come, toward a flatbed truck. “If you’ll come with me, doctor, I’ll get you to the colony proper where you can meet with the mayor. We’ve got a nice spread picked out for you already with a surgeon’s tent.”
Simon gave the pilot a thumbs-up signal, then followed his new companion as the helicopter’s rotors began to whine once more.
“Did you say ‘tent?’” the doctor asked as the two men climbed into the truck and the helicopter lifted away.
“It’s only temporary,” the beadle said, pushing a button on the dash to start the truck‘s engines. “We’re expecting another shipment of materials from Earth next month, and figure we’d set you up proper offices then. Most of the doctoring equipment you’d ordered arrived a few weeks ago.”
Simon remained silent as their trip began, watching as the red dunes and cliffs pass them by along a trail that had obviously been used more than a few times.
Eventually, he asked, “Why couldn’t the pilot drop me inside the city?”
Jedediah glanced at the man as if he were nervous to say anything, but eventually, “Too dangerous. The terrorists might’ve shot you down.”
***
New Boston was more town than city. It boasted barely two thousand living souls, though they were not crammed together. The settlement stretched out for several miles like a wheel around a central hub, all streets leading to the center. The buildings, some brick of native red and others temporary steel cargo structures, were often separated by wide expanses. The central portion of the town was a bit more crowded, being home to what passed as a hall for the local government, but even here the buildings had broad walkways between them.
A few of the locals walked the streets, most looking like farmers from the Midwest in their overalls, though a couple wore uniforms similar to Jedediah’s jumpsuit. All wore head coverings of one sort or other, straw hats or billed caps, or helmets pulled down low enough to cover their foreheads.
Some vehicles, a mix of traditional farm trucks and more modern hovercrafts, were parked along the streets.
Jedediah pulled his truck to a halt in front of one of the brick structures, a single-level edifice with large glass windows and a hanging metal sign proclaiming the place as Mayor‘s Office.
He shut off the engine. “The mayor’s inside. He’ll conduct your entrance interview.”
Simon raised an eyebrow and glanced from the building to his driver. “The exams were quite intensive before I left Earth.”
Jedediah grinned, but it seemed false. “The mayor gives a final interview to everyone who comes to town. It’s just to make sure we’re all clear on what’s expected.”
Simon grunted but said no more.
Seconds later they were out of the truck, Jedediah holding open the door to the office for the doctor.
The coolness of the air conditioning assaulted Simon as he entered. The outside had not been overly warm, the temperature in the lower twenties, Celsius, but inside the mayor’s office it felt as if late autumn had arrived.
As Jedediah followed him through the door, he shivered and glanced about.
The entrance foyer was short but wide with a glass wall and open glass door directly ahead, much like many offices in the civilized regions of Earth. Beyond was a large, carpeted room with a score of metal desks holding up personal computers, telephones and various other types of office equipment. Seated at most of the desks were obvious government employees of New Boston, men and women dressed in the jumpsuits Simon now found familiar. Most of them also wore head coverings, though some few did not.
None of them looked up as Simon and Jedediah entered the main room.
Jedediah motioned down an open aisle in the center of the room toward an enclosed office in the back. This room too had glass walls, and a glass door, and open blinds revealed a small, personal office in the chamber.
Jedediah pointed. “Mayor Preston is in there. I’ll wait outside for you. When you’re finished, I’ll give you a ride over to your place.”
Dr. Simon thanked the man, then crossed the large outer office, noting that few people looked up at his passing, and none offered a salutation or even a nod.
Through the door, he could see a short, stocky man with thinning gray hair sitting behind a wooden desk, a costly rarity away from Earth, the man dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a tie the color of the sands outside. He was talking with a grin into a portable phone. He waved for the doctor to enter.
Simon pushed the door open and entered the office, finding it even more chill than the room outside, and took one of the two cushioned chairs facing the desk. The first thing he spotted on the desk was a King James Holy Bible.
Mayor Preston continued to grin as he spoke into the phone. “Hank, let me get back to you in a bit. Our doctor just arrived and I need to get him settled in.”
He listened a moment, nodding once or twice, then said, “Alright. Talk to you then.” He closed his phone and set it down. Placing his hands flat on the desk before him, his smile grew as he stared across at the doctor. “Well, it’s about time.”
“Pardon me?” Despite, the outward signs of amusement, the mayor’s words sounded accusatory.
Preston chuckled. “It’s about time we got a proper doctor here in Milton Colony, Dr. Simon. We’ve been getting by with a couple of nurses, a former army medic, and a veterinarian for far too long.”
Simon nodded. “Yes, that surprised me. One of the reasons I wanted to be shipped here.”
The mayor rested a hand on the Bible. “And to help provide for the good, God-fearing people of Milton Colony, I hope.” His smile did not waver.
Simon allowed a slight grin of his own. “Of course.”
“Good!” Preston leaned back in his chair and began rummaging through stacks of paper spread out upon his desk. After a few seconds, he held up a sheet and squinted at it. “Says here you were born a Jew.”
The doctor said nothing.
The mayor looked at the man. “Not that we’ve got anything against Jews here, you understand. It’s just, well, you know --”
“This is Milton Colony,” Simon interrupted. “Yes, I understand. You have no need for concern. I converted long ago.”
“Which church?”
“I was baptized by a roaming evangelical in the Holy Land originally. But most recently I was a member of The Most Holy Redeemer of New York City.”
“That Catholic?”
“New Catholic.” Simon huffed. “Is there a problem? My papers were approved before I left Earth.”
Mayor Preston continued to smile. “Just making sure of a few things, Dr. Simon. We’ve had some minor troubles in the past, a few colonists who didn’t quite know what they were in for before arriving.”
“I’m well aware of this colony’s policies. That is another reason I wished to be stationed here, and not one of the others.”
“Trying to escape the temptations of the secular world?”
“Trying to escape the sins of the secular world.”
The mayor chuckled. “Maybe you’ll fit in here just fine, doc. But there is one more little policy you should be aware of.”
“The stampings.”
Preston nodded. “So you know. Good. Some folks don’t believe it before they arrive here.”
“I noticed the hats and helmets.” Simon pointed a thumb back toward the main office. “It would seem the stamping policy has been well enforced.”
“We’re quite serious about it.”
“If I may ask,” Simon went on, “why are the hats allowed? Wouldn’t the community be better served if all was in the open?”
Mayor Preston’s grin died for the first time. “It was originally considered. I myself felt any coverings of the marks should be disallowed, but the ruling council decided it was too strong a burden for the sinners to constantly have their faults on display.”
“The policy seems counterproductive.”
“My very feeling.” Preston’s smile returned. “You won’t need to worry about that. Your record’s clear.”
“Let’s hope it remains that way.”
The mayor continued to grin as he pointed a finger at the doctor. “Yes, sir, let’s hope it does.”
The two men share a mirthless laugh.
“One other thing,” Preston said. “Go ahead and get things set up out at your spread, but I’ll be along in a few days for an inspection.”
“Inspection?”
“Just routine. I’ll have to look over your tools and equipment, and what medicines you’ve brought with you. Just to make sure there’s nothing too … untowar … for the colony.”
“I thought my inventory was approved beforehand.”
Preston didn’t stop smiling. “Just so’s there’s no surprises.”
***
It Dr. Simon a couple of days to get his living quarters settled in the farmhouse he had been afforded by the colony. With a wooden outer shell, the building looked like something out of the old prairie days on Earth, but in truth a steel structure covered in viynl siding.
The surgery tent, however, looked like something out of a war movie. The olive green canvas was enclosed, and big enough for at least three simultaneous surgical operations, but the floor was the bitter dirt of Mars. At least it was well supplied, the various tables and equipment covered by thin layers of plastic to protect from the elements.
Fortunately for anyone in need of the doctor’s services, Milton Colony was an environmentally-regulated region of the planet with little chance of a dust storm coming along to wipe away the tent or to infect the medical instruments.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about the terraforming,” Dr. Simon said as Mayor Preston climbed out of his shiny hovercar and meandered along the gray brick walkway that lead up to the front door of the doctor’s house.
The mayor still held the same smile from before. “It’s all underground. There’s miles and miles of ducts and machinery running right beneath our feet.”
The two men shook hands and Dr. Simon led the newcomer into the tent a short walk from his current home.
“The terraforming equipment’s been running nearly twenty years now,” the mayor rambled on as they walked, “since I first came here with my Pop. We’ve worked out all the kinks pretty well. Seems just ’bout like old Earth, don’t it?”
Dr. Simon nodded. “Other than the lack of proper soil and the red glare off the sky, it’s remarkably Earthlike.”
“Did you have some concerns?”
The doctor shook his head. “I’m concerned about the conditions of my workspace. A tent does not qualify for a sterile environment.”
The mayor never stopped smiling. “It was the best we could do for the time being. We’ll have you a proper setup in a month or two, once the next ship arrives.”
“Would you mind if I inspected the terraforming plant?” Dr. Simon asked.
“Nope, not at all, but it’s a big place. You might not know where to start.”
“I’ll trust any of your engineers to guide me,” the doctor said. “My first concern will be their filters.”
“Good, good.” Preston slapped Simon on the back as if they were old friends. “I’ll have Jedediah come over and pick you up tomorrow. He’ll take you out to the plant entrance. That sounds alright to you?”
The doctor nodded again.
“Good,” Mayor Preston said. “Now show me around a bit.”
The tour did not take long, no more than a half hour. The mayor made a show of inspecting the surgical instruments and the various medical equipment, but it was obvious he had little idea of what he was seeing.
Eventually they went to the house, and into the doctor’s front office where Preston looked over a shelf layered in various plastic vials and bottles.
Glancing over the titles of the pills, the mayor nodded slowly. “I see typical stuff here. Minor pain relievers, stomach pills, antibiotics and the like.” He turned to look to the doctor. “Anything stronger? Morphine maybe?”
Dr. Simon sat down behind his desk, pulled a small key from a pocket, and unlocked a drawer and opened it. Lifting out several handfuls of bottles and canisters, he placed them carefully on the desktop.
The mayor leaned forward, his gaze scanning the inscriptions on each vial. His usual grin had dried up.
“What’s this?” He pointed at what appeared to be a small, portable breathing canister similar to what an asthmatic would use.
“Telephanol.”
“Telephanol? Never heard of it.”
“It’s for the doctor, not the patient,” Simon explained. “It allows a temporary form of minor telepathy.”
The mayor’s face screwed up as if he didn’t quite believe what he was being told.
“It’s new but legal,” Simon went on. “The FDA approved it last year. It allows the doctor to become more in tune with the patient.”
“You mean it helps the doc figure out what the person’s suffering from?”
“Something like that. It allows the physician to read the patient’s thoughts in order to discover exactly where any pain might lay, and possibly what can be done about it.”
Preston frowned. “You say this is legal?”
“Yes.”
The mayor stood up straight. “Was it on your original inventory sheet?”
“It was. Is there a problem?”
Mayor Preston stood there staring at the canister. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to Jedediah first. It’s the beadle’s job to inspect this kind of stuff before it arrives, but I’ll probably have to consult the ruling council.”
“Very well.” Simon lifted the canister and held it out to the mayor.
Preston waved off the item. “No, no. You hold onto it for now, but don’t use the stuff until I get it approved.”
Simon returned the medicines to his desk drawer and locked them in.
The mayor continued to frown.
“Something else bothering you?” Simon asked.
“I don’t see any guns,” Preston said, “not a one. What with all these drugs, you never know what might happen.”
“My understanding was that the colony’s crime rate is rather low.”
The mayor’s grin returned, but it was not one of delight. “You’re expected to take part in the local militia, Dr. Simon, even if you are a medical man. Surely you realized this before you signed on. Milton isn’t exactly beloved by some of the other colonies. Not all have our reverence for the Lord.”
“Have there been troubles?”
The mayor nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Simon slid open another drawer and pulled out a small semi-automatic pistol. He held the weapon up for the Mayor to see.
“I believe this will do for a medic,” Simon said.
“For now,” Preston said, seeming unnerved at the presence of the firearm. “I’ll make sure Jedediah issues you a rifle and signs you up for militia practice.”
“Very well.” Simon placed the gun back in the drawer.
The mayor’s smile reappeared. “And I’ll expect to see you in church this Sunday. Wouldn’t want our new doctor to miss out on the first service after his arrival.”
“I will be there,” Dee said.
***
It was later that afternoon when the doctor received his first patient, a man by the name of Joe Colter, with a thumb split nearly in two. Joe was a farmer from Florida who had shipped out to Mars with a dream of growing tropical fruit in the warmth of the newly terraformed planet.
“Preston put an end to that, the fat bastard,” Colter grumbled as he removed his blood-stained shirt and climbed aboard the examination table in the medical tent. “He’s got the temperature on the terraform machines set so low I can’t get any oranges to grow, let alone something more exotic. Have you been to his office?”
Dr. Simon nodded as he removed the homemade wrappings from around the farmer’s hand.
“Keeps it as cold as an igloo in there, that fat sumbitch,” Colter said, then added, “He about the terraformers changing the soil, but it’s still just rust and clay. The atmosphere’s not even adjusted for a proper rain more than once every few months.”
Simon examined the cut, which was a deep slash down the center of the thumb. It appeared to be exactly what it was, a workplace accident caused by a table saw.
“Not a fan of the mayor, I take it?”
“He gets the job done, I suppose.” Colter winced as the doctor began cleaning the injury with a cotton ball swathed in alcohol. “I just didn’t know what I’d signed on for when I came here. I wanted a good Christian colony to raise a family, but this place is like something out of the Middle Ages.”
Dr. Simon blinked and leaned back, away from the injury. A curved shadow hung over the farmer’s hand. The doctor glanced up at Colter.
“Would you mind removing your hat?”
The farmer gripped the bill of his cap with his good hand as if he feared the covering would fly away. “Do I have to?”
“It would help me to see.”
Colter sighed. “Alright.” He removed the hat and dropped it onto the table.
Simon stared at a single word tattooed in tall, black letters across the farmer’s forehead. “Acedia,” he read softly.
“It’s Latin,” Colter muttered.
“I know,” Simon said.
“You know what it means?”
“Something similar to the word ‘sloth.’”
Colter’s face grew red with anger. “That bastard, Preston. Said I broke their precious laws when I couldn’t grow those oranges like I’d told them I would. Said I was lazy. Wasn’t my fault he kept the temperature down to nothin’!”
As if not to embarrass his patient, Simon went to work gathering the items he would need to suture the injury. “That’s the price we pay for living in New Boston, I suppose.”
“Among others,” Colter said with venom.
***
Milton Colony boasted twelve churches, more than any of the other score of colonies on the planet, but The First United Church of Jesus on Mars was by far the largest. More than four hundred people crowded into the structure the first Sunday after Dr. Simon’s arrival. There were the usual messages and prayers offered at the beginning of the service, but no music. A hymn book could not be found in the place.
The sermon was a lengthy recalling of the struggles that the twenty-year-old colony had fought during its time on the red planet. Dust storms, malfunctioning terraforming equipment, even a couple of strange diseases had besieged the colonists. “But with the power of the Lord,” intoned the minister, “we have pulled through.”
The majority of the churchgoers all wore head coverings of one kind or another. Bonnets and scarves adorned the women’s heads. The men wore straw hats and bowlers along with their Sunday best.
Once the sermon was finished, the throng was permitted to stretch their legs and walk around for a bit.
“But don’t go too far,” the lanky Reverend Miller spoke from his pulpit. “We’ve got another preaching comin’ at you in quarter an hour.”
There were a few moans from the crowd, but most seemed to take the minister’s words in stride as they sauntered out into the bright red Martian day.
Simon found himself surrounded by a dozen of the townsfolk. He shook the hands of folks he didn’t know, and accepted four invitations to dinner before the mayor approached and tapped him on the shoulder.
The doctor turned to look at the man.
“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be dropping by this afternoon to pick up that can of whatsis,” Preston said.
“The Telephanol?” Dr. Simon asked.
“Yes, sir, I do,” the mayor said. “Sorry, but the council ruled against it. Thought it was too dangerous. I have to agree. Jedediah didn’t know what it was, but let it go on your invoice because he figured it was likely safe. The boy slipped.”
“I’ll be looking forward to your visit,” the doctor said just before a score of townswomen, most of them mothers his age, pulled him away to introduce him to their daughters.
A heavy-set woman with yellow hair beneath a rose-colored bonnet grabbed Simon by an elbow and dragged him away from the squawking.
“Let me get you away from all them birds,” she said with a big grin.
The doctor laughed at her, but didn’t resist.
As soon as they were off to one side of the crowd, the woman stuck out a hand. “Nice to meetcha, Dr. Simon,” she said. “The names Annabelle Colter. You fixed up my Joe just the other day, and I wanted to give you my thanks.”
Simon took the offered hand. He found the woman’s grip as strong as that of any man.
“Sorry I couldn’t come with Joe,” she went on, “but somebody had to stay and work the farm since he’d hurt himself.”
“No apologies necessary,” the doctor said.
The woman laughed and slapped him on a shoulder. “That’s alright. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you a cobbler and bring it ‘round. How’s that sound?”
Simon was about to offer an answer, but Joe Colter appeared at his side.
The farmer held up his bandaged hand. “Thanks a lot, doc! I’ll be up and plowing this rusty dust before no time after your help.”
Simon opened his mouth again to speak, but once more was cut off as loud whispers began to roll through the crowd and people began to point.
A familiar flatbed truck was barreling in the direction of the church from the outer limits of the town central, going so fast it was throwing up clouds of the planet’s crimson dust.
Joe Colter grimaced as if a bitterness lay on his tongue. “That’s Jed Prine’s truck.”
And sure enough it was. The beadle slammed on his brakes, pulling the vehicle to a halt in front of the church mere yards from the closest attendees.
“Mayor, we’ve got a load of troubles,” Jedediah said as he jumped out of his truck and marched toward Preston. “Doug Mattwaite has gone crazy!”
The mayor waddled forward. “What’s he done?”
“It started with him refusing his stamping,” Jedediah said. “He came up before the whole congregation of the Second United just like he was supposed to, but when Reverend Smith began the ceremony, Doug jumped up like a crazy man and started screaming.”
“Did you arrest him?” the mayor asked.
“He ran off before I could,” Jedediah explained. “Then he drove off home and locked hisself inside. He’s got a shotgun and says he’ll shoot anybody that comes near his spread. Says he’s not going to let nobody tattoo words on his face.”
Mayor Preston huffed. Then cursed under his breath.
“What you want me to do?” Jedediah asked.
Preston removed his jacket, revealing half-moon shaped sweat stains beneath his arm pits. “Round up a posse. I’ll go along, and I’m sure several of the men here will too. We’ll have to surround the place. Maybe smoke him out.”
Dr. Simon stepped forward. “Don’t you believe that’s a bit drastic?”
Preston turned a sour face on the man. “The law is the law. He sinned before God and man, and has to pay for it. If you don’t like it, Dr. Simon, I’m sure you can leave on the next ship that arrives. Or better yet, maybe your services would be more welcome in one of the secular colonies.”
The words were harsh, and the flat silence of the crowd was like a dying man waiting to gasp for a breath of air that would never come.
To the amazement of all, Dr. Simon stood his ground. He said not a word, but he did not move away nor did he blink.
The mayor stared back, but after a few moments, he looked away.
“Jedediah, go to the militia station and unlock the rifle cabinet. Me and some men will be along to load up and head out to Mattwaite’s place.”
***
Simon sat on the back of Jedediah’s truck along with four other men as the vehicle trundled along. Each man held a rifle except for the doctor, who carried a medical kit and his pistol.
When they pulled up to Doug Mattwaite’s homestead, a dozen trucks encircled the steel shack, though the drivers had been smart enough to park at least fifty yards back, giving them some safety from Mattwaite’s shotgun. At least four score colony men were hanging around the trucks, nearly all hefting a rifle or shotgun. The doctor raised an eyebrow when he spotted a couple of beam weapons among the group. Such rifles were generally too expensive for civilians.
Mayor Preston stood with several other men, all dressed in jumpsuits or coveralls beneath hunting jackets, behind a pickup truck facing the solitary door to the shack. In his hands he held a bullhorn.
“Better give up, Doug!” The mayor was yelling into the screech box as Simon and the others walked up. “There’s no way out! Face it like a man and get your head stamping. After that, maybe we can forget about today’s foolishness.”
The answer was a blast of buckshot from a window. One of the trucks’ headlights exploded.
Heads ducked all around except for the doctor.
Simon stepped forward to the mayor. “Don’t be a fool, Preston. That man’s obviously not coming out.”
The colony leader gave the doctor a disgruntled look, then offered up the bullhorn. “If you think you can do any better, Mr. High-and-Mighty, feel free to do so.”
Simon took the bullhorn and raised it to his lips.
“Doug Mattwaite! You don’t know me, but my name’s John Simon. I’m the new doctor for the colony. If you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to talk with you about what’s going on.”
A curtain moved from behind one of the windows where a round, nearly baldhead appeared. “Say your peace, doc! But it ain’t gonna make no difference. I ain’t gonna let them brand me like some animal!”
“How about I come in there and we talk in private?” Simon shouted through the bullhorn.
Even fifty yards away, the gathered gang could see Mattwaite’s nervous eyes jittering around from one of them to the other, and then finally settling on the doctor again.
“Hold up your arms!” He shouted after several seconds.
Simon did so. From his left hand hung his medical bag and from his right the bullhorn.
“Is that a pistol I see tucked in yer pants?” Mattwaite asked.
“It is,” the doctor called back without the help of electronics. “I’ll leave it here with one of the others if you’ll allow me to come forward.”
Silence followed, then “Alright, doc!” Mattwaite shouted. “Drop yer gun off there and come on forward slowly! I got my shotgun aimed on you, so no funny business!”
Simon set the bullhorn on the hood of the truck, pulled out his pistol and laid it next to the bullhorn. Finally, he rummaged through his med-kit, removed an item, slipped it into a coat pocket, and dropped the kit on the ground.
He turned to the mayor. “I expect my gun and bag to be there when I return.”
“If you return,” Preston said with a smirk.
Simon marched forward.
The sun beat down upon him, but no sweat showed on his brow. As he drew near the concrete slab that fronted as a porch for the house, the curtains behind the window ruffled closed and he could hear the clicking noises of the front door being unlocked.
“Take it nice and steady,” Mattwaite said from the other side of the door. “Come on in slow and gentle like.
Dr. Simon pushed the door open. Darkness greeted him, only the light stretching forth from the open doorway and a vague haze provided by the curtained windows illuminated the interior. He could see no sign of Mattwaite.
“Walk in and sit down to yer right,” the voice said from behind the door.
Simon moved forward slowly, his eyes slowly adjusting to the faint light. Straight ahead against the back wall was a couch and a small table topped with a monitor and keyboard. To his right was a reclining chair covered with a pattern of pink flowers on a blue background. To the left was an open space before the window, then an open doorway to another room.
Mattwaite stood in the open area, a pump shotgun in his hands pointed at the doctor’s chest. “Take the chair, doc.”
Simon sat. His hands in his pockets.
Mattwaite kneed the door closed.
“Say your piece, mister,” Mattwaite growled.
The doctor appeared unaffected by the black hole of the barrel aimed at him. “I know we don’t know one another, Mr. Mattwaite, but I’ve come here to ask you to give yourself up peaceably.”
Mattwaite snickered. “If it was just between you and me, doc, I might do that. But I’m not about to give that mayor of ours an inch of satisfaction.”
Simon sighed. “I’ve known the man a week or so now. If you get shot down in a bloodbath, don’t you believe he would still find satisfaction in that?”
Mattwaite said nothing.
“This place is insane,” Simon went on. “On its face it looks like a nice little community, but underneath --”
“Underneath, there’s a belly full of vermin running things,” Mattwaite interrupted.
Simon nodded his agreement. “I understand why you don’t want to be stamped. I wouldn’t either. It’s inhuman.”
“It’s ungodly,” Mattwaite said.
“Yes,” Simon said. “I doubt our Lord Jesus Christ ever had anything like these brandings in mind.”
“Nor his apostles.”
“Nor his apostles,” Simon said. “But Doug, you getting killed won’t do anyone any good.”
Mattwaite gave a quick glance between the curtain, then turned back to the doctor.
Simon removed his hands from his pockets, keeping them at his sides between his thighs and the cushioned arms of the chair.
“Call it pride, if you want, doc. But I’d rather be a dead man than go the rest of my life marked like some pinned-in cow.”
“There are ways to remove tattoos,” Simon said. “I could do that for you.”
“You sayin’ if I go along with this nonsense, you’d be able to set me arights in a few days?” Mattwaite asked.
“Yes.” Simon leaned forward in the chair, closer to the other man.
Mattwaite thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. They’d see my forehead was clean.”
“Nearly everyone wears a hat around here,” Simon said. “You could too.”
“Or I could leave,” Mattwaite said.
“Where would you go?” Simon asked. “Preston just let you walk out of here after everything that’s happened.”
“I meant I could leave after you removed the tattoo,” Mattwaite said. “There’s a place right around here, within drivin’ distance, where I could go.”
“Are you saying there are colonists living nearby, outside the city limits?” the doctor asked.
“The Valles Marineris canyon’s just thirty miles south of here,” Mattwaite said. “I’ve got friends and family living down in there.
“Does Preston know this?”
“He knows. Everybody knows. We’ve all got kin down there. We’re not supposed to go there, but some of us do from time to time, payin’ visits and the like.”
“How do they survive?”
“They’re just inside the terraform loop. They’ve got huts and caves, getting by with whatever they took with them when they left, plus some of us here take them goods every once in a while.”
“When I arrived, Jedediah Prine mentioned something to me about terrorists,” Simon said. “Are these the people you’re talking about? He made it sound as if they were dangerous.”
“Preston and his lot talk a lot about terrorists, but there ain’t no terrorists,” Mattwaite said. “Just folks that got tired of Preston’s ways and decided to head out on their own. We ain’t even supposed to talk about it.”
The doctor glanced toward the window.
“Listen to me, Doug,” Simon said, “if you surrender to me peaceably, I’ll make sure to remove whatever marking they give you. I’m sure they’ll be watching you and your place for a while, but eventually they’ll look away. Then you can escape, if that’s what you want.”
Mattwaite raised an eyebrow. “Why you so interested in savin’ me, doc? We don’t even know one another.”
The doctor was silent for a moment, then, “I don’t want to see any man die because of Preston.”
Doug Mattwaite stared into Simon’s eyes for a moment, then took a step back and placed the shotgun flat on the ground at his boots. He stood tall and said, “I’m ready to face them whenever you is, doc.”
***
The door to Mattwaite’s place swung open with a creak. The doctor stepped out on the porch with a shotgun in his hands
“He’s coming out peacefully,” he announced in a quiet voice.
Mattwaite sidled out behind the doctor, then stood to one side holding his empty hands high.
The mayor and half a dozen others rushed forward. Beadle Prine cuffed Mattwaite’s arms behind his back, marched him across the front yard, and deposited him in the back of a waiting hovercar.
Simon handed the shotgun to the mayor.
“How’d you manage that?” Preston asked.
“I spoke with him,” Simon said, “which was apparently more than you were willing to do.”
The mayor watched the vehicle containing Mattwaite drive off back toward town. He spat, his mucous turning red when it hit the iron oxide of the ground.
Simon removed a syringe from a pocket. “And I didn’t have to use this to knock him unconscious.”
Preston glanced from the tip of the needle to the doctor’s face. He appeared disgusted. “I’ll give you a ride home. Then I can pick up that can of Telephanol.” His words were likewise filled with disgust. It was obvious he did not care for the colony’s latest addition.
“Fair enough,” was all Simon had to say.
***
It was a bright morning, the sun spreading its fingers across the red dust, when Jedediah Prine’s truck pulled up out front of the doctor’s place.
“Mayor said you wanted to check out the terraformers,” the beadle said. “Thought I’d take you out to see them today.”
Simon offered no argument against the trip. He locked up the house and, as always, carried along his medic’s satchel.
The trip took longer than the doctor had expected. They had been driving along a worn path that was just barely a road, heading north for nearly an hour when the entrance to the underground terraformers, a steel-gray bulk the size of a house, finally appeared on the horizon. As they approached, an entrance big enough for their vehicle slid open. Jedediah slowed and drove right in, switching on his truck’s forward lights as the door slid shut and plunged them into darkness, and soon their eyes adjusted to the gloom. Then Prine shut off the engine and climbed out of the vehicle. Simon followed.
They were in a bare room of steel walls. Jedediah stepped to a corner and pushed a green button on the wall.
The flooring began to hum, then the doctor felt his stomach hitch. They were going down, riding a large elevator.
“Only takes a few minutes,” the beadle said. “I’ll skip the first two levels. They’re mostly just storage for parts and such. The real work begins in the basement.”
Soon enough they came to a halt. The big steel doors slid open again with a slight hiss and a puff of dust. Glowing neon tubes far overhead revealed a room the size of a sports arena with tall walls of oily metal. Mechanical hums and clanks could be heard in the distance echoing down shafts in the side walls, these openings large enough to drive a semi-truck down. Any vehicle, however, would have been stopped after about twenty yards. From floor to ceiling were wide metallic blades that looked something like vertical window blinds. Beyond the rows of blades in each tunnel were gigantic fans with twirling blades.
Jedediah headed toward a large open door with a glassed-in area just beyond it. On the other side of the glass, the doctor could see an office that contained row after row of computer banks and several steel tables laden with various electronic equipment. A plastic sign with the words “Control Room” engraved upon it hung on the open door.
The beadle walked through the door into the room, motioning for Simon to follow.
“Does this control the whole operation?” The doctor waved a hand about the room as he obeyed, indicating the computers and other accessories.
“The majority of it,” Jedediah said. “Every few miles along the ducts there’s a minor operating station in case we have a major breakdown here.”
“How many miles does the terraforming run?”
“Nearly a hundred miles altogether.”
Jedediah touched the glass top of a desk. The desk top lit up, becoming a flat screen computer monitor with several open windows scattered around, including one for environmental controls in the colonies’ region and another for specific controls of the terraforming equipment itself.
He pointed at a readout onscreen. “This shows the temperature aboveground, precipitation, barometric pressure, all the basics.”
His finger slid to another window on the monitor. “Over here are the basic weather controls. We can’t cause any major changes immediately, but we can coax the environment to do what we want. We’re still working on the soil content, but we’re making headway. It just takes time.”
Simon stared out one of the large glass windows into the main structure of the terraformer. “Is there anyone else down here?”
“Just us.”
“Who keeps all this running?”
“It’s mostly automated. We’ve got a couple of engineers who look in on things every few days, and some mechanics and tech guys, but for the most part it runs on its own.”
Simon pointed through the glass to the tall blades running from floor to ceiling in the nearest tunnel. “Are those the filters?”
“Sure are. They’re open right now, but we close ’em when we’re cleaning the equipment. Wouldn’t want any untoward chemicals to seep into the atmosphere.”
“I suppose not.”
***
The sky was black with only a few stars beating their way through the maroon haze when a knock came to Doug Mattwaite’s door.
The man answered with an old-fashioned revolver in one hand.
“It’s awful late,” Mattwaite said with the light from his computer screen spreading a blue glow across the front porch.
“My apologies,” Dr. Simon replied.
Mattwaite shoved the gun into a pocket of his jeans and tipped back his cap to show his fresh marking. “You walk all the way out here to remove this thing?”
The doctor nodded, holding up his medical bag. “And I have a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you mind if I borrow your truck tomorrow night?”
***
The sun was just beginning to tiptoe over the craggy horizon when Dr. Simon let himself into his own home. He placed his medical bag on a kitchen counter, then made his way out to the surgeon’s tent.
Pulling off a heavy sheet that had been covering a steel operating table, he yanked on one of the fiber rope handles of a large wooden crate beneath and the box slid from under the table. A label on one side read “Telephanol - 50 containers.”
***
The walk to Mattwaite’s in the middle of the next night was unremarkable though tiring. The vehicle was where Simon had been told it would be, and the keys were waiting in the ignition.
Then there was the hour drive north.
The terraforming facility was, as expected, quiet and empty. The doctor could only shake his head at the lack of security as he pulled the truck through the sliding doors onto the elevator.
Minutes later, he was dragging the box of Telephanol into the gigantic main hall of the terraformer. He pried open the crate with a hammer taken from the control room and stared down at the fifty metal canisters shining beneath the overhead neons. The containers were quite a bit larger than the simple device the mayor had taken.
***
The next morning the town was quiet. Abnormally quiet. Deathly quiet. Every once in a while, a slight wind ruffled the red sand into a miniature cloud, then the cloud floated away, broken apart on the very same wind. But nothing else moved. No one was on the streets and no vehicles were on the roads other than the few that had been parked there the night before.
Into this silence drove Dr. John Simon in Doug Mattwaite’s truck with Mattwaite sitting in the passenger seat, his calm, sleepy eyes surveying the surroundings.
“Where is everybody?”
Simon gave a brief look to his companion. “In hiding.”
“Hiding?” Mattwaite’s eyes shifted from building to building as they veered through town. “Why should they be in hiding? It’s early, but folks should still be up and around.”
“They’re hiding because of the guilt.”
The passenger shot a glance to the driver. “Guilt?”
“Guilt of everything they’ve hidden from one another.”
Simon steered the vehicle around the circle at the center of New Boston.
“I don’t get it,” Mattwaite said. “You said you were taking me into town to show me something.”
The doctor waved a hand in front of them, across the view of buildings passing by. “It’s a new day in New Boston.”
***
The silence of the town was soon broken by the rumblings of another truck. The vehicle roared into town like a rampaging beast, spewing up rusty dust as it skidded around a curve.
Mattwaite pointed from the passenger seat of his truck where Simon had parked it in front of Mayor Preston’s house. “That’s Joe Colter.”
The truck barreled past them and squealed to a stop at the end of the street, where the last house gave way to red desert beyond. The hatless farmer from Florida shot out of his vehicle with a pistol in his left hand, his face as red as the Mars surface and full of rage.
“What the hell?” Mattwaite said.
Simon watched Colter march toward the front of that last house. “I didn’t expect things would happen this way.”
Colter stopped in front of the house and fired into the air. The shot was like a crack of thunder across the desolate town.
“Jedediah Prine!” Colter shouted. “Show yourself!”
Mattwaite reached for the knob of his door.
“Wait,” Simon said.
Mattwaite hesitated, and then watched.
“It’s time for you to pay, you sumbitch!” Colter screamed.
The door to the house suddenly thrust open. Onto the front porch stepped Jedediah Prine, dressed in a robe and his usual helmet, a rifle in his hands.
“What do you want, Joe?” the beadle asked.
“You know what I want!” the farmer yelled. “You sumbitch! You been sleeping with my wife all along!”
“Not true!” Jedediah shouted back. “Annabelle and I came clean! You know we haven’t done anything since we were marked!”
“Liar!” Colter shouted. Then he raised his pistol and fired.
The bullet caught Jedediah in the right shoulder. He screamed, a torturous sound like that of a dying rabbit. Then he raised his rifle with his good arm.
Each man fired simultaneously.
Colter dropped and a red splotch appeared on his forehead to ruin the words tattooed there.
The beadle also dropped, but only to his knees. He sat there crying in the dust, a stain the color of that grit spreading on his chest. He sobbed one last time, then he fell over.
Mattwaite’s voice shook. “This is crazy. What did you do?”
***
The knock on the mayor’s front door went unanswered for the longest time.
Finally, “What do you want?” came from behind the door.
“It’s Dr. Simon,” Simon said. “We need to talk, Preston.”
“I’m not coming out there!” the mayor shouted. “I heard those gunshots. I know what’s going on!”
“You have no idea what’s going on,” Simon said, “but perhaps I can enlighten you.”
A curtain moved to one side of the door, followed by the clicking noises of the door being unlocked.
Simon glanced down the street toward Mattwaite and saw a few others were beginning to stir from their homes.
Simon gently pushed through the mayor’s door into his living room.
Preston closed the door. He had a beam pistol in one hand, pointing it at the doctor. “Have a seat.”
“I think not,” Simon said. “I won’t be staying long.”
Preston backed away toward an opening to another room. He waved his gun at the curtained window. “This is all your fault.”
“What is?”
“What’s going on outside. Nobody going out of doors. Those shots. Who was it?”
“Prine and Colter.”
“Figures, those two idiots.”
“Sounds as if the beadle had been sleeping with Joe’s wife.”
“Had been,” the mayor said, aiming his gun on the doctor again. “It had worked its way out a few months ago. The affair came to light when Joe caught them kissing one night. But we took care of it.”
“We?”
“The community. The church. Me. The council.”
“You branded them.”
“We marked them, which was the proper thing to do.”
“But then this happened,” Simon said, pointing out the window.
“The affair must have still been going on.”
“Apparently.”
“Now there’s shootings going on and people afraid to leave their house,” the mayor said, “and it’s your fault.”
“Why me?”
“I’m not dumb,” the mayor said. “I know you must’ve put some of that Telephanol into the terraforming system. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“What are you talking about?” Simon asked.
Heat flared in Preston’s eyes. He raised the beam gun to point it at the doctor’s face. “Don’t belittle me by acting like I’m some stooge. You know good and well what’s going on.”
Simon stared through the curtains as if he were the only one present in the room. “I came by to tell you I am leaving,” he said. “Doug Mattwaite is going with me. We’re heading to the settlements in the south.”
“You’re joining the terrorists?” Preston’s voice was angered and incredulous.
“They’re not terrorists, and you know it.”
“They’re living outside the law!”
“They’re living outside the town.” Simon’s expression hardened into a gaze of steel directed at the other man. “They’re just trying to survive, without having to live by all your rules. By your holding their very lives over their heads with the terraformers.”
“They’re terrorists!”
“No,” Simon said. “If you wish to give that label to anyone, then give it to me.”
“What?”
“I told you I came here fully aware of the colony’s policies. I’ve made you and your good townsfolk aware of one another’s sins. Now none of you can keep secrets.”
Simon turned toward the door.
The pistol followed him. “What makes you think I won’t gun you down right here and now?” Preston asked.
“You’re not that kind of man,” Simon said, still facing the door. “At least not yet. But you will be. Soon.”
The short, chubby mayor took a step toward the doctor, poking at the air with his pistol as if he were about to pull the trigger. “Just tell me one thing? Why is it I can’t read your mind?”
Simon glanced to the man. “I made sure Doug and I were out of range of the Telephanol.”
Preston lowered the gun and stared at the ground. His free hand clutched at the remains of stringy, gray hair atop his head. “My God, the town will come apart.”
“The effects are localized to the town and should only last a day or two. However, your terrorists are quite safe. You won‘t be, though. Not for long.”
With that, the doctor opened the door and stepped into the daylight.
A larger crowd had gathered around the two bodies, shielding the dead men from view. Mattwaite was standing near his truck, his hands shaking, his eyes wet.
“Are you ready to go?” Simon asked as he approached.
“Go where?”
“South. To the settlements.”
Mattwaite stared at the crowd where rumblings and raised voices stirred around the dead. People were pointing toward Simon, Mattwaite and the mayor’s house.
“We’d better go,” Mattwaite said to the doctor, though he seemed hesitant to move.
Simon moved around to the driver’s side of the truck and climbed in. Through the open passenger window, he said, “They’re not coming for us. They’re coming for the mayor.”
Mattwaite looked toward the crowd. The doctor’s words seemed true. The group was approaching now, slow but angry. Weapons were in hands, some firearms and some clubs or tools. But none of these people were glaring at the truck. Their eyes were on the house behind Doug Mattwaite.
“What are they doing?” Mattwaite asked.
“I’d say they’re about to kill your mayor,” Simon said, starting the truck. “After all, he’s been taking all of your initial investments and the taxes he charges and depositing them in an off-planet account on Earth.”
The throng grower louder and nearer, Mattwaite’s nerve finally buckled and he climbed into the truck
Then Simon drove off.
Mattwaite watched out the back window for the longest time, his truck throwing up the red dust behind it as it barreled away and soon shielding his view.
Then the shouting intensified and shots rang out. The house was soon on fire and full of screams.