The Rolling Stones by Robert A. Heinlein

‘We will, Grandpa, we will. They’re good bikes.’

The shuttle swooped to a landing on the Grand Canal and was towed into a slip, rocking gently the while. The twins were glad to climb out; they had never before been in a water-borne vehicle and it seemed to them an undependable if not outright dangerous mode of travel. The little ship was unsealed with a soft sigh and they were breathing the air of Mars. It was thin but the pressure was not noticeably lower than that they had maintained in the Rolling Stone — a generation of the atmosphere project had made skin suits and respirators unnecessary. It was not cold; the Sun was right at the zenith. Meade sniffed as she climbed to the dock. ‘What’s the funny smell, Hazel?’

‘Fresh air. Odd stuff, isn’t it? Come on, Lowell.’ They all went inside the Hall of Welcome, that being the only exit from the dock. Hazel looked around, spotted a desk marked ‘Visas’ and headed for it. ‘Come on, kids Let’s stick together.’

The clerk looked over their papers as if he had never seen anything of the sort before and didn’t want to now. ‘You had your physical examinations at Phobos port?’ he said doubtfully.

‘See for yourself. They’re all endorsed.’

‘Well… you don’t have your property declaration filled out for immigration.’

‘We’re not immigrants; we’re visitors.’

‘Why didn’t you say so? You haven’t posted a bond; all terrestrial citizens have to post bonds.’

Pollux looked at Castor and shook his head. Hazel counted up to ten and replied, ‘We’re not terrestrials; we’re citizens of Luna Free State — and entitled to full reciprocity under the treaty of ’07. Look it up and see.’

‘Oh.’ The clerk looked baffled and endorsed and stamped their papers. He stuck them in the stat machine, then handed them back. ‘That’ll be five pounds.’

‘Five pounds?’

‘Pounds Martian, of course. If you apply for citizenship it’s returnable.’

Hazel counted it out. Pollux converted the figure into System credit in his head and swore under his breath; he was beginning to think that Mars was the Land of the Fee. The clerk recounted the money, then reached for a pile of pamphlets, handed them each one. ‘Welcome to Mars,’ he said, smiling frigidly. ‘I know you’ll like it here.’

‘I was beginning to wonder,’ Hazel answered, accepting a pamphlet

‘Eh?’

‘Never mind. Thank you.’

They turned away. Castor glanced at his pamphlet; it was titled:

WELCOME TO MARS! ! !

Compliments

of the Marsport

Chamber of Commerce &

Booster Club

He skimmed the table of contents: What to See — Where to Eat — And Now to Sleep — ‘When in Rome-‘ — In Ancient Times — Souvenirs? of course — Business Opportunities — Facts & Figures about Marsport, Fastest Growing City in the System.

The inside, he found, contained more advertising space than copy. None of the pictures were stereo. Still, it was free; he stuck it in his pouch.

They had not gotten more than ten steps away when the clerk suddenly called out, ‘Hey! Madam! Just a moment, please—comeback!’

Hazel turned around and advanced on him, her mouth set grimly. ‘What’s biting you, bub?’

He pointed to her holster. ‘That gun. You can’t wear that — not in the city limits.’

‘I can’t, eh?’ She drew it, opened the charge chamber, and offered it to him with a sudden grin. ‘Have a cough drop?’

A very pleasant lady at the Travellers’ Aid desk, after determining that they really did not want to rent an ancient Martian tower believed to be at least a million years old but sealed and airconditioned nevertheless, made out for them a list of housekeeping apartments for rent. Hazel had vetoed going to any of the tourist hotels even for one night, after telephoning three and getting their rates. They tramped through a large part of the city, searching. There was no public transit system; many of the inhabitants used powered roller skates, most of them walked. The city was laid out in an oblong checkerboard with the main streets parallel to the canal. Except for a few remaining pressurised domes in ‘Old Town’ the buildings were all one-storey prefabricated boxlike structures without eaves or windows, all of depressing monotony.

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