The Martians(120)
In the hut's restaurant it was even more crowded than the terrace, and so Peter went back outside. He was content to wait; the late sun was illuminating clouds passing just over their heads, turning them to swirling masses of pink spun glass. No one noticed or cared about a solitary observer standing at the rail; indeed there were others along it doing the same thing.
Near sunset it began to get cold, but the hikers who passed by there were used to cold, and dressed for it, and all the tables on the terrace remained full. Finally Peter went to the headwaiter to get on a waiting list, and the waiter pointed to one of the two-person tables right on the railing, down near the end of the terrace, occupied by a single man. “Shall I see if he'll share?”
“Sure,” Peter said. “If he doesn't mind.”
The waiter went and asked the man, then waved Peter over.
“Thanks,” Peter said as he approached, and the man nodded as he sat across from him.
“No problem.” He appeared to be nursing a beer. Then his meal came, and he gestured at it.
“Please go ahead,” Peter said, looking at the day's menu. Stew, bread, salad; he nodded at the passing waiter, pointing at the menu, and ordered also a glass of wine, the local zinfandel.
The man had not been reading anything, and now Peter wasn't either. They looked at clouds tumbling by, the canyon below, and the great shattered wall opposite them, shadows stretching long to the east, emphasizing the depth of every little embayment, the sharpness of every spur.
“What textures,” Peter ventured. He had not made conversation for a long time.
“You can see how deep the Brighton Gully really is from here,” the man agreed. “That's rare from any other angle.”
“Have you climbed it?”
The man nodded. “It's mostly a hike, though. All of it, now, if you take the ladder trail, which most people do.”
“I'll bet that's fun.”
A squint. “It is if you're with a fun group.”
“You've done it often then?”
Swallow. “Guide.” Another swallow. “I guide groups in the canyonlands. Treks, climbs, boating.”
“Oh I see. How nice.”
“It is. And you?”
“Noachian Aquatic Redistribution. A co-op in Argyre. On leave now, but going back.”
The man nodded and stuck out a hand, mouth full. Peter took it and shook. “Peter Clayborne.”
The man's eyes rounded, and he swallowed. “Roger Clayborne.”
“Hey. Nice name. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. I don't often meet other Claybornes.”
“Me neither.”
“Are you related to Ann Clayborne?”
“She's my mom.”
“Oh! I didn't know she had kids.”
“Just me. Do you know her?”
“No no. Just stories, you know. Not related, I don't think. My folks came on the second wave, from England.”
“Oh I see. Well—cousins, no doubt, somewhere back there.”
“Sure. From the first Clayborne.”
“Some kind of potter.”
“Maybe so. Do you spell yours with an i or a y?”
“Y.”
“Oh yeah. Me too. I have a friend spells his with an i.”
“Not a cousin then.”
“Or a French cousin.”
“Yeah sure.”
“E on the end?”
“Yeah sure.”
“Me too.”
The waiter dropped off Peter's meal. Peter ate, and as Roger had finished, and was nursing a grappa, Peter asked him about himself.
“I'm a guide,” he said with a shrug.
He had gotten into it in his youth, he said, when the planet was raw, and had stayed with it ever since. “I liked showing people my favorite places. Showing them how beautiful it was.” That had gotten him into various red groups, though he did not seem to mind the terraforming in the way Peter's mom did. He shrugged when Peter asked. “It makes it safer, having an atmosphere. And water around. Safer in some ways, anyway. Cliffs fall on people. I've tried to keep the canyons free of reservoirs, because they saturate the sidewalls and cause collapses. We had some successes early on. The dam down there at Ganges, keeping the north sea out of the canyons, that was our doing. And the removal of the Noctis Dam.”
“I didn't know it was gone.”
“Yeah. Anyway that's about all I've done for the red cause. I thought about getting more into it, but . . . I never did. You?”
Peter pushed his stew bowl away, drank some water. “I guess I'm what you'd call a green.”
Roger's eyebrows went up, but he made no comment.
“Ann doesn't approve, of course. It's caused problems between us. But I spent my whole childhood indoors. I'll never be outdoors enough.”
“The suits didn't suit you.”