Heliopolis is its name;
Death and mayhem is its fame.
Death of hope and death of dreams,
Death of men and all their schemes.
That verse was true a thousand years before the first man set foot on Heliopolis II. It was true when Matilda arrived there. It was true when Dante Alighieri visited the place. It would be true a thousand years after both were dead. That's the kind of world it was.
To begin with, it was hot. The daytime temperature often reached 135 degrees Farenheit. At night it cooled done to a bone- melting 100.
It was heavy. At 1.18 Galactic Standard gravity, it meant you felt like you were carrying an extra 18 pounds for every 100 pounds of actual body weight.
It was thin. The oxygen content was 87% of Galactic Standard. Even strong fit men often found themselves gasping for breath, especially after exerting themselves in the Heliopolis II gravity.
It was dusty. The wind whipped across the barren surface of the planet, causing dust devils to rise hundreds of feet high as they swept through human and alien cities alike.
It was dry. Oh, there was some water, but hardly enough for the planetary populace. The natives made do with what was there; a water ship landed twice a week to make sure that the Men didn't run out of the precious stuff.
It was hostile. The native inhabitants, a humanoid race known as the Unicorns, doubtless due to the single rudimentary horn that grew out of each forehead, didn't like each other very much, and they liked Men even less. Almost everything Men did seemed to give offense, and no matter how often they lost their battles against the humans, they never tired of regrouping and fighting again.
So why did Men risk their lives and sacrifice their comfort to stay on Heliopolis II?
Simple. It possessed two of the most productive diamond pipes in the galaxy. The diamonds couldn't be mined with water, of course, not on Heliopolis II, but they could be separated from the rocks in which they were embedded by carefully-focused bursts of ultrasound. It was a delicate operation: not enough strength in the bursts and nothing was accomplished, too much and even the diamonds could be shattered.
It never occurred to the miners that the ultrasound, which was beyond human hearing, might be what was driving the Unicorns to such violent states of aggravation—and, in truth, it probably wasn't, since they were a violent sort even before Men began mining. Probably the ultrasound merely served to remind them that Men were still working on the planet, and that knowledge was more than enough to work them into a killing frenzy every few weeks.
Matilda hadn't spent as much as five minutes' researching Heliopolis II before she decided to rent a ship. It was more expensive than chartering one, but at least she would have the comforting knowledge that the ship was there if she needed to leave in a hurry.
As she approached the planet, she wondered why the One-Armed Bandit was there. Was he there to rob the mines? Well, if he was, she had no serious problem with that. The Democracy owned the mines, which meant he'd be robbing the Democracy, just as Santiago had done so many times more than a century ago.
Of course, if he was there to rob the mines, he'd probably accomplished his mission already and gone on to some other world. After all, her information wasn't current; all she knew is that he was on Heliopolis II six days ago.
On the other hand, the mines could be so well-guarded that he was still casing the job, still studying the opposition. If that was the case, she'd have a chance to see how he performed against overwhelming odds.
She was still considering all the possibilities when her ship touched down and she approached the robot Customs officer.
"Name?" asked the machine.
"Matilda."
"Last name?"
"No."
"Matilda No, may I please scan your passport?"
She held her titanium passport disk up to its single glowing eye.
"Your passport is in proper order, but your name is not Matilda No. Please step forward so that I may scan your retina."
She stepped forward and looked into its eye.
"Thank you," said the robot. A sword-like finger shot out, and its needle-thin extremity touched her passport. There was a brief buzzing sound. "I have given you a five-day visa. If you plan to stay longer, you will have to go to the Democracy consulate and have it renewed."
"Thank you," said Matilda, starting to step forward. The robot moved to its left, blocking her way.
"I am not finished," it said, and she could have sworn she detected a touch of petulance in its mechanical voice. "The world of Heliopolis II accepts Democracy credits, Far London pounds, New Punjab rupees, and Maria Theresa dollars. There is a currency exchange just behind me that can convert 83 different currencies into credits."
"I have credits and Maria Theresa dollars," replied Matilda.
"You will almost certainly be using personal credit for your larger expenses," ," continued the robot. "The machines at all the commercial ventures on Heliopolis II are tied in to the Bank of Deluros VIII, the Bank of Spica, the Roosevelt III Trust, and the Far London Federated Savings Bank. If you have not established credit with one of these banks through their thousands of planetary branches, you will be required to spend actual currency. Should you try to leave Heliopolis II without settling all your bills, your ship will be impounded and you will be detained by the military police until a satisfactory settlement has been arranged."
"Is that all?" asked Matilda.
"No," said the machine. "Will you require adrenaline injections while you are here?"
"No," she said. "At least, I don't think so."
"Do you wish to have your blood oxygenated?"
"No."
"Will you require intravenous injection of fluids?"
"No."
"Should you change your mind, all of these services are available, for a nominal fee, at the military infirmary. I am required to warn you that Heliopolis II, while habitable, is considered inhospitable to the race of Man."
She waited for the robot to continue, but it fell silent and moved back to its original position.
"Is there anything else?" she asked after a minute had passed.
"I am finished."
"What do I do now?"
"Pass through the disease scanner just beyond my booth, and then arrange for your accommodation."
"I'd rather go into the city first and see what's there."
"You will not want to walk from one hostelry to another. You can examine 360-degree holographs of all of them right here in the spaceport. Then you will hire a vehicle, enter it, instruct the governing computer where to take you, and emerge only after the vehicle is inside the climate-controlled hostelry. After that you are free to do whatever you wish, but I am programmed to warn you not to go outside unless it is essential."
"Thanks."
She walked to the disease scanner, passed through it without incident, checked the holographs of the human city's seven hotels and choose one called the Tamerlaine, then walked to a row of vehicles. The first in line opened its doors as she approached. Once she was seated it slid the doors shut, asked her if she was the woman who had booked her room at the Tamerlaine, and then raced forward. Just as she was sure it was going to crash into a wall the entrance irised just long enough to let her through, then snapped shut behind her.