Collected Short Fiction, page 290
An entire geological formation—a block of granite some hundreds of miles square—went rearing up like a singed stallion. The broken desert shuddered. And catastrophe struck the unsuspecting Domes planted square athwart the fault-line.
Aherne had been planning to leave that day. Valoinen and his ship were scheduled to make their regular appearance the following morning, and Aherne was in the process of saying his goodbyes when it happened. The ground seemed to scream in pain, and then everything tipped sideways. The moorings of the Dome broke loose from the land, stresses that had not been planned for rippled through the Dome, and a jagged split ran through the gleaming plastic from end to end.
Aherne felt the cold come rushing in. The atmosphere, so carefully generated, fled in an instant, and the harsh, nitrogenladen air of Mars came swooping down.
“Spacesuits!” someone screamed, and the panic was on. Eleven hundred people, dashing for spacesuits at the same moment. Children underfoot, screaming adults, frightened women.
Aherne gasped for breath; his head spun, and his eyes bugged wide. What had the Peruvian said? This was critical threshold—this was the moment from which there was no escape. The faint glimmer of the sun drifted mockingly through the rent Dome. This was it, now: the air of Mars. The unbreathable, cold, biting air of Mars. Critical threshold.
Somehow he found a spacesuit, and somehow he made his leaden fingers go through the motions that would get him inside the suit. He could barely see; his cold-nipped hands would not respond. But finally he was inside it, with air—real air—surging up around him.
Aherne leaned against the cold, corrugated-steel wall of a building for a moment, dazed, unable to understand what had happened. One moment he had been chatting amiably with Kate Greer and Sully Roberts; a moment later the sky had split, and he was fumbling to safety in the dark.
He sucked in air, gulped it down and let it warm his lungs, while his body slowly returned to normal. And then he looked around.
The scene was frightful. Wherever he looked, there were colonists. Most had managed to find spacesuits; those who hadn’t, and that included a handful of children, were huddled in unconsciousness on the ground, blue-faced from oxygen loss.
Sully Roberts was next to him, folded up in a heap along the wall near the open chest where the emergency spacesuits were stored. Roberts had managed to get himself inside a suit in time, but passing the critical threshold of anoxia had been too much for him; the big man was unconscious.
“Sully! Sully!”
After a moment, Roberts looked up. He struggled to his feet, shook his head tentatively, and clawed for his balance. Aherne steadied him.
It was like moving in a nightmare world.
Roberts pointed to a body lying a hundred yards away. A colonist who hadn’t made it.
“Let’s get going,” Roberts said hoarsely. “Maybe we can save some of them.”
Later, when everything was calm and a measure of order had been restored, the shattered colony tried to take stock. A general meeting was ordered in the central auditorium, and slowly the dazed, spacesuited figures filtered in.
Aherne took his seat at the side. It was only now that the reaction was starting to hit him. He felt overwhelming bitterness, anger at this cosmic joke—for now they knew that the Marsquake had wrecked the Dome. The report was written, the future of the Colony assured—and now, this.
He heard Carter’s voice dully calling the roll.
“Anderson, Leroy and Joan.”
“Here.”
“Antonelli, Leo, Marie and Helen.”
“Here.”
And then the dead silence after a name, and the repetition, and then the checkmark made on the long sheet that told of the dead. The toll-taking continued through the day, until finally the extent of the damage was known.
There were sixty-three dead, Carter announced, and fifty-seven in critical condition. The backlash of the quake had shattered the Dome beyond repair. Otherwise, the Colony had not been harmed badly—but it would have to start from the beginning, now. If there was to be any starting over at all.
Sully Roberts was despatched to the Peruvian Dome to find out how things were there. Aherne watched the big man go, out through the useless airlock and into his sandcrawler.
It was a tragic situation, Aherne thought. And then, slowly, he came to see that it was not. The quake could have happened at any time—but, as if some Power were guiding it, it had burst at the very moment of Aherne’s decision. It had waited until the returns were in, and then had unleashed its fury to show Aherne the fatal weakness in the entire Dome setup.
They had planned and planned—and yet not figured on an upheaval of the ground a hundred miles away. They could never have planned on it.
Now, and only now, was Aherne sure of what had to be done.
They remained in the meeting hall, sitting quietly, waiting for Roberts to return. Aherne studied the faces of the men near him—faces that reflected the dream that had turned into a nightmare in a sudden single unforeseen moment.
Abruptly the door opened and Sully Roberts burst in, hardly ten minutes after he had left.
“What’s the matter, Sully?” Carter called from the dais. “Didn’t get there?”
“No need to,” Roberts said. “I met the whole batch of them on the way. Their Dome was smashed too, but they got things under control quicker than we did and the whole Peruvian colony set out en masse to see if we needed help.”
Roberts stepped to one side and Echavarra entered the hall, clad in a brightly-coloured spacesuit that looked oddly out of place in the drab assembly. Behind him, Aherne could see a swarm of small, spacesuited figures—the Andeans.
“We’ve come to see what we could do,” Echavarra said. “The quake got our Dome too—but naturally my people didn’t feel the effects of the sudden change in air as much as yours did, since we were conditioned to something almost as bad.”
Of course, Aherne thought. The Peruvians would simply have moved in a leisurely fashion toward the nearest spacesuits. No panic, no casualties.
Aherne stood up. “Dr. Carter?”
“Yes, Mr. Aherne?”
“Would you mind calling a recess of the meeting for a while? I’d like to speak to you and Dr. Echavarra privately.”
Aherne felt as if he held the future of Mars in his hands as he looked across the table, flicking anxious glances from sad-eyed Carter to Echavarra and back.
“I’ll put it bluntly,” Aherne said to Carter. “I’m going to have to rescind my earlier report. Your colony is definitely not suited for continuation.”
Carter went white. “But we can rebuild the Dome! You said—”
“I know what I said,” Aherne cut in smoothly. “But it’s all been voided by this quake. Dr. Echavarra put it very nicely for me during one of our meetings: you and your colony are only guests here. You’re subject to the whims of the landscape for survival. It can’t work on any long-range basis. You can’t pin all your hopes on a fragile dome, and expect to build a lasting colony.”
Carter seemed to shrink in on himself. He bowed his head. “Then I was wrong,” he said. “The quake proved it.”
Echavarra’s beady eyes lit up. “Does that mean you’re shifting to my side, Mr. Aherne?”
“Not quite,” Aherne said. “You have part of the right answer: your men were adapted enough to be able to ride with the blow when the Dome was destroyed, and in a couple of generations they won’t even need the Dome. But they’re not material for building a new world with. They’re ignorant, primitive men with low cultural possibilities, coupled with high survival quotients.”
He turned to face Carter, sensing now that the situation was completely in his grasp for the first time since he’d left Earth. Now he understood the entire picture, and now he knew what his report would say.
“Dr. Carter, you’ve got the other side of the coin. High cultural level, low survival factor. Everything about your colony was marvellous except the fact that it would fold up like a paper bag at the first crack in the Dome.”
Carter nodded grimly. “So we’ve discovered.”
Aherne leaned forward. “Now—does what I’ve just said suggest a solution?”
“Could we—build one big Dome for both colonies?” Carter asked hesitantly.
“Exactly. One Dome. Assimilate. Mingle. Combine the hardiness of your Peruvians, Dr. Echavarra, with the all-around ability of your men, Dr. Carter. Breed a new race from the two stocks,” Aherne said triumphantly. “A new race—capable of living on Mars and belonging there!”
“The pressure—” Echavarra said.
“Keep it at ten pounds for a while. It’ll be uncomfortable for both groups, but not for long. Eventually Dr. Carter’s group will develop the same kind of strength Dr. Echavarra’s men have. It may take a couple of generations, but it’ll work—eventually.”
The two leaders were glowing. “You’ll recommend this to the UN?” Carter asked.
“If you’re both agreed,” said Aherne.
They nodded as one.
“Let’s go back inside and announce the decision, then,” Aherne said. “Because you’ll have to get right to work building the new Dome. You can’t live in space suits for long, you know.”
“Right,” Carter said. He rose and led the way back to the meeting-hall, where the colonists were waiting impatiently for word on what was happening.
Aherne took his seat at the side again. This was strictly Carter’s and Echavarra’s show, and he intended to remain completely detached.
As Carter began to speak, outlining the new plan, Aherne let his eyes wander around the auditorium. It was crowded—crowded with the tense-faced UN colonists, and with the Peruvian men as well, garbed in their bright-coloured spacesuits.
Aherne saw his report taking shape now—the memo that would set the pattern for man’s future conquest of the planets. Thankful that he had seen the right way in time, he sat back, relaxing at last, and listened to Carter’s enthusiastic voice as it rolled out majestically.
Then he looked down. Almost at his feet, he saw a Peruvian boy of about nine, round and awkward in his lemon-yellow spacesuit, and one of the UN colonist children, a pretty blonde girl of four. They were staring shyly at each other in mutual curiosity.
Aherne watched them. They were the forerunners, the founders of the race of the future, the new men.
No. Not men, Aherne thought. Men are creatures who belong on Earth. Not men.
Martians.
Rescue Mission
Snaring both Earthmen in a mind-web was easy for the mutant telepath. But once you’ve caught your prey—how do you get rid of them?
RICK MASON’S SHIP was still high over Mordarga, coming in for a landing, when the cry for help sounded in his audio phones. Rick frowned, reached to the control panel to turn up the amplification—then realized that the voice had not come over the audio after all. It had spoken in his mind.
Help! Rick, they’ve caught me!
There was urgency in the mental cry. Instantly, Mason sized up the situation.
It was his partner, Klon Darra, the Venusian—the other half of this mentally-attuned Solar System intelligence team. Klon Darra was in trouble!
He focussed his mental energies and replied: I read you, Klon Darra. What’s the problem?
The response was blurred and indistinct, as if the Venusian were laboring under great mental strain. I . . . landed on schedule. Fell into hands of . . . ruler. In prison. Going to be tortured. I.
Mason struggled to keep his attention on his descending spaceship while picking up the Venusian’s fading mental voice. Go ahead, Klon Darra. I hear you.
They’re going to torture me. Help me, Mason. Help!
Where are you? Mason asked.
Dungeons of the main palace, Mordarga City. Hurry, Rick. There’s not much time.
Mason switched on the fore visiplate and the mottled grey-and-blue surface of Mordarga became visible ahead of him. The planet Mordarga was one of the universe’s potential trouble-spots. That was why the Solar System Government had sent a team of its intelligence agents there.
But they had planned on a leisurely, detailed reconnaissance of the planet, intending to return to home base with a full account of Mordarga’s weaknesses and future militaristic plans. Now, that was changed; Klon Darra would have to be rescued at once. The Mordargans probably knew by now that the Solar System had discovered Mordarga’s warlike aims.
Rick began setting up his landing orbit. The tiny two-man ship curved sharply downward as his trained fingers played over the control console. The planet of Mordarga sprang up to meet the downplunging ship.
MORDARGA WAS IN the Sirius system, a big, ugly world inhabited by big, ugly humanoids. Mason landed in a secluded spot on the north continent of the planet, coming to rest in a foul-smelling valley between two looming mountains.
Jutting angular blue-leaved trees stuck up around, and hoarsevoiced alien wildlife chattered and yawped in the background. Mason strapped his safety-kit to his side, flipped on the homing-switch he’d need to find his way back to the ship, and lightly swung down to the ground. He started to walk.
Unless his figures were wrong Mordarga City lay three miles to the west. He kept his receptive mind attuned, hoping to hear from the Venusian again but Klon Darra was not sending.
They made a good team, Mason and the Venusian. A pair of Earthmen somehow never were as efficient together as a mixed-planet outfit; the green-skinned Venusian had certain attributes Mason lacked and vice-versa. Together they were a well-nigh perfect intelligence team. Knowledge of Mordarga’s future intentions was essential to the safety and security of the Solar System.
Suddenly Klon Darra’s voice sounded in his mind.
Mason, have you landed yet?
Yes. I’m on my way. You all right?
They still don’t know why I’m on Mordarga. They picked me up on suspicion. If you can, get me out of here before they find out.
I’m three miles out of Mordarga City. Can you hold out for another half hour? Mason asked.
Silence for a moment. Then the Venusian said, I think so. So far they’ve just tried some elementary torture. Not kid stuff but I’m still okay.
Mason grinned. A Venusian’s pain threshold was fantastically high; the Mordargans could torture Klon Darra for days without getting any essential information from him. But there were other methods.
Klon Darra said: They’ve sent for a telepath. Once they penetrate my mind they’ll know why we’re here. We’ll both be cooked.
Don’t worry, Mason telepathed. I’ll be there with bells on.
There were occasional buildings now, he saw; the main bulk of Mordarga City lay up ahead, sprawling in a disorderly, confused fashion. The Mordargans, for all their neat precision of mind, cared little about the arrangement of their cities.
Mason saw some of the Mordargans now—husky brutes seven feet tall, square-shouldered and thick-muscled. They were gray-skinned with blazing white eyes and savage fangs; they diverged most sharply from the humanoid pattern in the pair of thick, stubby antenna sprouting from their heavy-browed foreheads.
Those antenna governed the extra Mordargan sense—the sense of balance, of perspective, of distance-judgment. It made them deadly in a hand-to-hand fight.
A couple of the Mordargans looked at him suspiciously but without overt antagonism. Earth and Mordarga were still theoretically at peace and Earthmen on Mordarga were, if not common, at least not totally unknown.
Mason kept his eyes to the ground and walked quickly past the Mordargans. They were a surly, unpredictable race; he didn’t want any trouble with them now.
He tried a message to Klon Darra.
Hey, Venusian! How’s it going?
The telepath is due to arrive in one hour, Rick. Where are you now?
On the outskirts, just coming into the city. I’ll be there to spring you in plenty of time.
The main palace was visible ahead, about a mile further into the city. Mason quickened his pace. There was time but not much.
He stepped between a pair of drunken Mordargans who were jostling each other on the narrow street. Suddenly one of them turned and said, “Hey, there’s an Earthman. Come on, Terran. Have a drink with us?”
THEY WERE WOBBLING unsteadily. Mason caught his breath. He had little enough time to get to Klon Darra as it was. He calculated the speed at which they could move and wondered if he could outrun them.
“Sorry,” he snapped. “I’m too busy for a drink now.”
He lowered his head and ran. They grunted in surprise and started to chase him. He heard their heavy feet clobbering along on the pavement. He cursed. They were probably just trying to be sociable but this was no time for that.
“Ho, Earthman! You run fast but your legs are short!” He glanced back. They were gaining on him. A tangle of buildings loomed up ahead and he made for those.
A rough hand clamped around the back of his neck and dragged him to a halt. Mason spun around and waded in without waiting for an introduction.
His fist crashed into the stomach of the nearest Mordargan and sent him rocking back against his companion. Mason hit him again and he started to sag. The heavy body thudded against the pavement.
But the other Mordargan was more sober. He stepped over his companion’s unconscious body and wrapped mighty arms around Mason’s middle.
The Earthman gasped and turned purple. His fists pounded at the alien without avail.
“Had enough, Earthman?”
“You’re choking me! Let go!”
“When a Mordargan invites you to drink with him, you drink!” The alien tightened his grip and Mason felt the universe reel. He could hardly see; his eyes were ready to pop. Against the 300 pound Mordargan he stood no chance at all.
Suddenly the alien released him. Mason took several hesitant, dizzy steps, sucking in breath as fast as he could. The alien’s bearhug had nearly finished him.
