The Forgotten Sea of Mars
Mike Resnick
Prologue
The day breaks with surprising suddenness in Arizona, and as I stood on a bank overlooking the headwaters of the Little Colorado, I watched the starry heavens fade into the bright blue sky which marks the Southwestern day. I, like so many others before me, had a few weeks ago unplugged the phone, packed my gear, locked my house, and taken a temporary leave from the rigors of that phenomenon we call society.
Arizona had seemed to me the ideal place for the solitude and beauty I craved, and so I had rented a cabin that was once owned by a famous writer and set up housekeeping.
This day was to remain in my memory for a long time, although it began innocently enough. As usual I was off at daybreak, wandering through the hills and canyons, sketching, photographing, and generally exploring in my amateur fashion. I had borrowed a horse but could see no reason for making him carry my weight during the heat of the day and spent most of the time during my excursions leading him by the rope that was attached to his halter.
. . .
