ell that seemed to be
a natural growth, as if it had been chopped from some vine. He lighted
it, not knowing what to expect. Then he coughed as the bitter, rancid
smoke burned at his throat. He started to throw it down, and hesitated.
Jake was smoking one, and it had killed the craving for tobacco almost
instantly.

"Some like 'em, most don't," Jake said. "They won't hurt you. Look--see
that? Old Martian ruins. Built by some race a million years ago. Only
half a dozen on Mars."

It was only a clump of weathered stone buildings in the light from the
tractor, and Feldman had seen better in the stereo shots. It was
interesting only because it connected with the legendary Martian race,
like the canals that showed from space but could not be seen on the
surface of the planet.

Feldman waited for the other to go on, but Jake was silent. Finally, he
ground out the butt of the weed. "Okay, Jake. What do you want with me?"

"Consultation, maybe. Ever hear of herb doctors? I'm one of them."

Feldman knew that the Lobby permitted some leniency here, due to the
scarcity of real medical help. There was only one decent hospital at
Northport, on the opposite side of the planet.

Jake sighed and reached for another bracky weed. "Yeah, I'm pretty good
with herbs. But I got a sick village on my hands and I can't handle it.
We can't all mortgage our work to pay for a trip to Northport.
Southport's all messed up while the new she-doctor gets her metabolism
changed. Maybe the old guy there would have helped, but he died a couple
months ago. So it looks like you're our only hope."

"Then you have no hope," Feldman told him sickly. "I'm a pariah, Jake. I
can't do a thing for you."

"We heard about your argument with the Lobby. News reaches Mars. But
these are mighty sick people, Doc."

Feldman shook his head. "Better take me back. I'm not allowed to
practice medicine. The charge would be first-degree murder if anything
happened."

Lou leaned forward. "Shall I talk to him, Jake?"

The old man grimaced. "Time enough. Let him see what we got first."

Sand howled against the windshield and the tractor bumped and surged
along. Feldman took another of the weeds and tried to estimate their
course. But he had no idea where they were when the tractor finally
stopped. There was a village of small huts that seemed to be merely
entrances to living quarters dug under the surface. They led him into
one and through a tunnel into a large room