Marsbound m-1

by Joe Haldeman

  I couldn’t sleep. Kissed Paul good night and silently went back to my place, where I memorized his note and then destroyed it, tearing it into small pieces and rolling them up like pills, then swallowing them with sips of water. Carmen Dula, human shredder.

  When Dargo had said it, it sounded like paranoia. From Paul, it sounded almost reasonable. I had to consider, reconsider, the argument on its own merits.

  Go back to the beginning:

  1. Red did not plan to initiate contact with humans. He showed up only when it was necessary to save my life, an event he couldn’t have predicted. (But that situation would have presented itself sooner or later, with somebody.)

  2. The Martians didn’t know that I’d get the lung crap—which required their lifesaving intervention. (But maybe they did know— Red certainly didn’t waste any time responding—and maybe they’re lying about every Martian getting it. Maybe it was genetically tailored for young humans.)

  3. The effect of the ruby laser on the yellow family proved that they didn’t know about the Other beforehand. (Or that they were good actors.)

  4. They don’t know how their technology works, themselves. It’s self-repairing, eternal. (Or so they say.)

  5. For a deception to work would require the whole Martian population to live a lie, all the time. (Or maybe just the dozen or so we’re in constant contact with—and they were chosen by the Martians themselves, not at random.)

  It would have to be all of them, eventually, since as far as I know there were no restrictions on human investigators like Terry and Joan.

  I did finally sleep, and had a disturbing dream. I was at a party on Earth, a formal one like a gallery opening. I moved through it like a ghost, glass in hand. No one paid any attention to me.

  Except a large handsome man with red hair and a red tie. He studied me intently. But when I went toward him, he receded somehow, dream logic, and disappeared.

  No one on our side was, strictly speaking, a linguist, but Josie spoke Chinese and Spanish as well as English, and had been hammering away at consensus Martian. Oz had Latin and Greek as well as Norwegian. I made a “drinks” date with them, to get their angle on the Martian languages, just before my next tête-à-tête with Red.

  Our diets in Little Mars were controlled about 10 percent by our own input, and 90 percent by the Mars Corporation experts, who weren’t about to send us up a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whenever we felt the need. But we did have a carboy of ethyl alcohol with a computer-controlled tap. You showed it your retina and it dispensed a shot or two of “vodka,” which was pure ethyl alcohol distilled from Hilton garbage, with a little lime flavoring, cut with 50 percent absolutely pure water from Hilton sewage. You could mix it with various things. I chose grape-juice concentrate and another tumbler of water, to make it resemble wine.

  Oz took two ice cubes and a drop of “bourbon concentrate.” Josie tipped hers into a glass of orange juice.

  “No human will ever be able to really speak a Martian language,” she said, “without mechanical help. Ten or twelve of the phonemes, you’d have to be a cricket or a garbage disposal to make.” Phonemes are the elementary sounds that make up a language.

  “And they have lots of them? Phonemes?”

  “Around seventy. As opposed to forty-some for English. Some human languages have more than a hundred, though.”

  “But you can pronounce them all without a chain saw.” He somehow made a noise in his throat like a champagne cork coming out of a bottle, beginning the sentence, “Xhosa can be a challenge.”

  “There’s remarkably little repetition,” Josie continued. “Human languages have words like ‘the’ and ‘and’ that keep cropping up. If Martian has them, they’re pretty well hidden.”

  “It’s worse than that,” Oz said. “You know about those Poles on the Earth side?” I didn’t. “They’re just analyzing sounds, taking every recording of Martian speech we have, and pushing it through a computer routine that counts phonemes. Or at least sounds that repeat.

  “There are eight related sounds, like throat-clearing, that occur more often than others. The other seventy-some kinds of sounds seem to be evenly distributed—one sound is as frequent as any other.”

  “If you edit out the throat-clearings,” Josie said, “it sounds weirdly like Hawaiian.”

  “Wannalottanookie,” Oz growled.

  “Tell me about it. And you’ve been following the dictionary saga?”

  “Last I heard, they were still on square one.”

  “Yeah, square zero. Like they never say a given phrase the same way twice. But they understand each other. And they can’t explain why because they never have to learn their own languages.”

  “Except for Red.”

  “Who presents his own set of problems,” Oz said. “He was born knowing all the other languages, but then had to learn his own, which nobody else is allowed to learn—including us.”

  “I wonder why,” I said. “It’s been a deep dark secret from the beginning.”

  “We do have that small sample, in the last message from Triton. The Polish guys analyzed it, and maybe it is significantly different. Too small a sample to say for sure?” He looked at Josie.

  “Seven hundred thirty-eight syllables, forty-some of them the throat-clearings, which I think are some kind of punctuation. The same phoneme-type sounds as the other languages, but it’s nothing like an even distribution.

  “The Poles did a breakdown, which I can send you. Some of those sounds only occur two or three times. About fifteen of them make up ninety percent of the message.”

  “So Red’s language is more like a human one?” I said.

  “It’s also the only one that has a written form. If you asked him nice, do you think he’d give you a sample?”

  “If you twisted his arm—or all four of them?”

  “When I asked him back on Mars, he said it wasn’t possible—not like ‘it’s not done’ or ‘it’s illegal,’ but just not possible, like walking on the ceiling.”

  “Not possible for you to read,” Josie said, “or not possible for him to show to you?”

  “Both. They weren’t ‘his’ to show—even the records he himself wrote belong to his family, not himself—and if I did look at them, I wouldn’t see anything that looked like writing.” I took a long sip of ersatz wine. “He just laughed when I tried to press him on it. I couldn’t even get him to write a sample down, though he writes human languages well enough. You can’t write it with a pencil or pen or brush, he said. And then laughed some more and changed the subject.”

  Paul came scrambling down the ladder. “Thought I might find you here.” I’d left my phone in the room. “You were talking about Red?”

  “Red and languages,” Oz said.

  “There’s some news.” He plopped into a chair. “Five or six minutes ago. The Martians are mating! Joan has a cube of all but the first few minutes.”

  I had to laugh. “Martian porn?”

  “Whatever works for you. But what’s interesting is the buds aren’t being grown to replace dead Martians, but rather the ones that are here in Little Mars.”

  “Wait. Not Red.”

  “Even Red.” He shrugged. “In fact, it was apparently Red’s idea. Can’t wait to hear his side of it.”

  I checked my wrist. “I have an appointment with him in less than an hour. Come on along. You, too,” I lamely added to Oz and Josie.

  “Too crowded,” Oz said.“You can catch us up later.” He stretched. “Think I’ll take a little nap and sleep off all that booze.”

  “Me, too,” she said, and slid her half-full glass over to Paul. “If you don’t mind my germs.”

  “Love your germs,” he said.

  9

  BETRAYED

  I knew that Red was going to be busy with some Chinese xenobiologists up until our meeting at 1800, so I didn’t check in early. I called on the hour, from outside his door, and said that Paul was with me; he said he was welcome.

  We’d
dressed warmly, of course. Over his Corporation uniform, Paul wore a threadbare wool cardigan, souvenir of New Zealand, and a knitted wool cap with incongruous snowmen that he’d won in a poker game on Mars. I just had an extra shirt and wore jeans over my exercise shorts, and had made a cap out of a bandana, the way Dad had taught me when I did Halloween as a pirate in the fourth grade.

  The temperature dropped more than twenty degrees when we slipped into Red’s quarters, closing the door quickly behind us.

  It took a few moments to become accustomed to the low light.

  Red had the Martian equivalent of an indoor garden, trays of mushroomy things growing under dim bluish gray light. The wall cube that he’d been using with the Chinese still had a slight glow.

  There were cushions of various shapes and sizes, all a neutral gray, scattered in front of the cube, for human visitors. He gestured in that direction. “Carmen, Paul, it is good to see you. Please have a seat.”

  I wondered whether he’d ever considered the psychological advantage he had, always standing over his guests. Of course he had.

  “We just heard about the blessed event,” I said, as we sat down, “on Mars.”

  “An interesting euphemism. So often otherwise, on Earth.”

  “You’re requesting a replacement for yourself,” Paul said. “Do you expect to die soon?”

  He shrugged slowly. “Like you, I could die anytime. But the reason for me to rush my replacement is less philosophical than economic.

  “I’ve come to realize that I will never go back to Mars, and nor will any of the other Martians here. It’s expensive, in terms of redundant life support, and there is no way my leaving would profit the Corporation. On the contrary. No one else can deal with the Other as efficiently as I can.

  “And it’s inconvenient for Mars, to have their leader so far away. Simple yes-or-no decisions can be delayed by more than a half hour.”

  “Used to be half a day,” Paul said.

  “Yes, I’m grateful for the repeater satellites. Still, the families should have a leader who is not absentee.”

  “What will your status be,” I asked, “after he’s matured?”

  “ ‘She,’ in this case. I suppose I’ll play an advisory role for a while. But I’ll probably be more involved with the Other than with Mars.”

  “This will be the first time there have been two Reds alive at the same time.”

  “Ha-ha. It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

  “What I mean is, in all of your history, you’ve only had one leader at a time.”

  “And that will be she, once she learns what she needs to know. Which might be twelve ares, like me, or a couple of ares less or more. And then I will just be the old guy who went to Earth.”

  “Who incidentally knows the secret language and speaks to creepy aliens and such.”

  “True enough. I won’t forget the language. I don’t know whether it’s possible for us to forget a language.”

  A chime rang, and Red made a kissing sound at the cube. A small square appeared in the middle with Dargo Solingen’s face. The background showed that she was standing outside the door.

  “What may I do for you, Dargo?”

  “I just heard about the… creation of your replacement, and wondered if I could talk to you.”

  “Carmen Dula and Paul Collins are here.”

  “I know that. I have no objection.”

  Red inclined his head toward me, and I shrugged.

  She came in dressed in regular short-sleeved coveralls. At least she wouldn’t be staying long.

  She dove right in. “This may seem trivial, but some people have expressed concern about protocol. Does this… budding mean you are no longer the leader of the Martian people?”

  “That was always a simplification, as you know. And we aren’t exactly people. But it’s true that the formation of another individual with my characteristics makes it less simple. If a parallel were to be drawn with human history, I suppose I am a regent now, ha-ha, as much as a leader. The new Red will take over when she knows enough and is strong enough.”

  “Physically strong?” she asked.

  “She will be, but no. You would say, ‘She has leadership qualities, ’ though I think it’s more definite with us. The things that she reads while learning her language, mine.”

  Dargo stared intently at him, perhaps deciding what to say. “I don’t know whether Dula has told you. I was able to decipher the secret conversation you had with her.”

  “I hadn’t gotten around to telling him yet.”

  Red was louder than usual. “You are allowed to do that?”

  “No rules cover it. As no rules cover what kind of music you have in the background when you—”

  “That’s bullshit,” Paul said. “Space law is an extension of international law. If we had a jail, we could put you in it.”

  “I don’t think you could, but it’s moot.” She looked at Red. “Your claims about what the Other could do to us… I don’t understand why you would entrust that knowledge to these two but not to the authorities.”

  “Trust,” Red said. “Your word. I should have trusted you?”

  “Yes. If you had trusted me… nothing would have happened.”

  The cold air got heavier. “So what happened?” I was almost whispering.

  “To extract your actual conversation from my recording, I had access to tools that drew the attention of security authorities. They asked me to cooperate, and presented a World Court subpoena for all the material on which I’d used those tools.”

  “We’re not on the World, Dargo,” I said.

  “My God,” Paul said. “What if it gets out? You may have killed us all.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” she snapped.

  Red shook his head. “He may be right. I suppose it was only a matter of time, but I’d hoped it would be after my time.

  “Did you stress the need for secrecy—I mean the possible consequences if the Other learned of this breach of confidence?”

  “They have heard exactly what you said, including the fantastic threats.”

  “Here is a fantastic threat,” he said, with a gesture I’d never seen: all four arms extended straight out and trembling. “Would you like to be the first human being to be killed by a Martian?”

  He took one step toward her, and she made for the door with unsurprising speed.

  She left the door open. I closed it softly. “What should we do, Red?”

  He hugged himself in thought. “I wish I knew more about the Other. We have ancient traditions about their nature. But about this particular individual, you know about as much as I do… Well, there is one thing. It’s not reassuring.”

  “What?”

  “You know the Others on their home planet are technically immortal. That is, actually, they spend most of their ‘lives’ as dead as a rock. But they are revived every now and then. Do something and then return to the dormant state.

  “This one is not that way, because it has to stay on the job until the job is done. The ten-to-the-seventh seconds figure, that’s how long it has lived. Continuously, for twenty-seven thousand years.

  “And it envies its relatives for their periodic rest.”

  In the dark cold, I broke into a sudden sweat. “It wants to die?”

  “To die, or to return to where it can have its long rest. I’m not sure quite which state it was referring to. Or whether it feels there is much difference.”

  Maybe that was why Martians had such a curious attitude toward death. It might reflect the attitude of their makers.

  “Should you prepare it for the possibility of exposure?” Paul asked.

  “As I say, I’m not sure. That might just make it push the button— or it might have been lying about that.”

  “Let’s not take the chance,” I said. “Let’s hope her ‘authorities’ are more cautious than she was.”

  Paul nodded, but his expression told how little hope he held out for tha
t.

  10

  TROJAN HORSE

  It took less than half a day. Unable to sleep, I got up around four and occupied myself answering mail that had piled up from family and friends. I was writing a note to Card when the screen chimed, and a red exclamation point started to strobe in the upper right-hand corner.

  I asked for news but then toggled Life Today rather than the Times. Inch-high letters as red as the strobe: TRITON MONSTER THREATENS EARTH DOOM!! Martian Go-Between Reveals All!

  I started to read the story, but it kept blurring. How could they do this?

  The phone pinged, and it was Paul. “Sorry to wake—”

  “I’m awake. I saw.”

  “Jesus. What do we do now?”

  “I think the question is what is it going to do now.”

  “Yeah. Damn. Meet me down at the coffee?”

  “There’ll be a run on it.” I dressed in a hurry and pinned my hair out of the way.

  He was waiting for me with a cup. I got one sip, and both our phones went off simultaneously.

  It was Ishan Jhangiani, the Earth side science coordinator. “This is a general announcement. I want everybody, human and Martian, to be at Earth A, on the Mars side, or Assembly A, on this side, in forty-five minutes, at 5:30. I’m afraid this may be a matter of life and death.”

  The combination of tepid coffee on an empty stomach and bad news sent me rushing to the head. After I’d emptied that out I felt better, but my skin was cold and greasy, and my hands were trembling.

  Paul came out of the other head, and he didn’t look much better than I felt.

  I looked into my cup. “I’d like to have one cup of coffee that was actually hot before I die.”

  “Better do it now.” He sat down heavily. “Sorry.”

  “Gallows humor’s better than no humor at all.” I looked at my wrist. “We’ve got forty minutes.” I nodded at the ladder, toward my room.

  “No, I couldn’t. Thanks, but I couldn’t.

  “Me, neither, actually.” I rubbed tears away. “I could kill that bitch!”

  “We should’ve grabbed her and thrown her to Red.”