"Skip it," the radio man said gruffly. "I'm not asking for any sympathy." He looked up. Captain Frome, his face looking as if it had been chiseled from granite, stood beside him.
"Transmit this," Frome said. He laid his hand on the radio operator's shoulder, his fingers dug into the flesh.
Sparks didn't feel them. He read the message. "O. K.," he said, "that's what I wanted to know."
Frome's voice was suspiciously husky. "Lad, I'm sorry."
"You can skip that, too," Sparks answered. Frome walked away. The operator's voice droned into the microphone, repeating the message Frome had given him.
"October 16, 2347.—When the radio signals of the first expedition to Torms ceased coming through, we were sent to ascertain if the expedition was in trouble. This is a report of what we found.
"We sighted the ship from the air. It was resting in one of the squares peculiar to Martian cities. We landed as near to it as we could, in a nearby square, and immediately Orsatti, Sutter and myself walked to the ship, leaving Avery, our radio operator, Mcllrath, our engineer, and Adams, our cook, to guard our own vessel.
"I regret to inform you that we found the three members of the first expedition dead.
"We were unable to determine the cause of death. There were no wounds on their bodies, but the expression on their faces indicated that they had died in agony. Commander Richard Avery was in his bunk. His legs and arms, stiffened in death, were drawn up in a position that hinted he had been aroused from slumber and had tried to defend himself. However this is merely an impression. No evidence substantiates it. Samuel Funk, the archaeologist, was at the radio transmitter. The impression I received was that he died trying to call for help. The radio set was dead because of power failure, which is utterly incredible, for the power that fed the set was drawn directly from the uranium fission driving engines, which had ceased to operate. In my personal experience this is the first and only time an uranium fission engine has failed to function. I can suggest no reason for this failure. However the engines are dead. We tested them.
"John Orms, language expert who was attempting to decipher the Martian language, was found at some distance from the ship. His tracks in the sand indicated he had fled from the vessel. The same agony was on his face.
"In an effort to determine if the ship had been attacked, we examined the sand near it. No footprints, other than
those made by the three men, were found.
"We buried them in the sand of the square in which their ship had landed.
"We will make a complete investigation. It is essential that we know not only what caused their deaths, but what stopped the engines of their ship. Also we will attempt to solve the mystery of this city, as indicated by James Sutter, our archaeologist. Signed—Martin Frome, captain of the rescue ship Kepler."
Sparks' steady voice faltered. He swallowed. Then he spoke again. "This is the end of the transmission at this time." He snapped off the transmitter.
There was silence in the ship. Sparks looked at the radio equipment, saying nothing. He raised his head when a voice spoke.
"Ye're a haard man, Martin Frome." It was Angus McIIrath. In moments of stress the burr of his far-distant homeland appeared in his voice.
"You need not remind me of that fact, Angus," Frome answered.
"Skip it, Angus," said Sparks bluntly.
"But 'twas yer own faither, lad, that they buried there. The least they could have done was to tell ye as soon as they returned—what they had found—instead of making ye wait and learn it from the messages." He turned to Frome. "I say it again, Ye're a haard man."
"This is a hard planet, Angus, and it is a hard trail we travel getting here. It is no place for weakness of any kind—"
"Aye, but—"
"I said to forget it, Angus," Sparks interrupted. "My father was a hard man, too. If he had not been, he would not have been what he was—the first human to set foot on Mars. I know verv well what he was called. 'Old find-a-wav-or-make-one Avery.' 'Old damn the risk; we're going through.' Whenever anything went wrong—and everything must have gone wrong on that first trip—he had a saying, 'For every evil, nature provides a cure. But she doesn't hand you that cure on a silver platter. You've got to find it yourself, or die.' He hated any show of sentiment, any weakness of any kind. Captain Frome told me my father was dead in exactly the way he would have wished the news to reach me. As to his death, he died as he would have wished, fighting the unknown. He is buried where he would have wished to be-in the sand of Mars."
Silence followed the radio operator's outburst, the awkward silence of men who want to show their sympathy and can't find the words.
"I was on that first trip with him," said McIIrath. "I learned to know him. Ye're his own true son."
"Sorry," Sparks answered. "I didn't mean to blow off steam that way. He wouldn't have liked it. But he was always sort of a god to me, and"—his lips tightened—"something killed him."
The central door opened. The cook stood there. "Come and get it," he said, "or I'll throw it away."
"Come on," said Sparks bitterly. "Let's go eat."
When they left the room the jewel was lying on the table where Orsatti had been examining it.
When they returned it was gone.
They searched the ship for it. They didn't find it. They didn't even find a tiny opening in the inner hull down near the floor, a hole that looked as if a rivet might have dropped out of it. The hole was no larger than a lead pencil, which was probably why they missed it. There was another tiny' opening in the outer shell of the ship.
The jewel was gone.
"Gentlemen," said Captain Frome "tonight we will take turns standing guard."
II
But nothing happened that night. No intruder tried to gain entrance to the ship. The wind of Mars, blowing the dry dust of the red planet, whimpered sofdy around the vessel. There was no other sound.
But what happened the next day made them forget, temporarily at least, all about the jewel that had disappeared so mysteriously.
Early in the morning Sutter and Orsatti went out to continue their investigation of the city. Frome remained in the ship, writing up a complete report. Mcllrath, under orders from Frome, had gone to the vessel of the first expedition, to examine the engines. He had returned dourly shaking his head. The engines were dead. He had reported to Frome that he was unable to determine the cause of the failure, and muttering had gone back to his own engine room.
Sparks, on lookout duty at the port, saw the man coming. It was Sutter. He was running.
"We've found them!" Sutter gasped as he came through the inner door of the lock. "The inhabitants of Mars. In a cavern under the city. You remember that door where all the jewels were piled? We shoveled them out of the way and opened it. The Martians are down below. Frozen sleep," he gasped in explanation.
"Then they're alive?" Frome snapped.
"No. Not yet. But they can be awakened, I think. Orsatti says they can and he ought to know. He's down there now." The archaeologist was so excited he could not speak coherently.
Sparks knew what this find meant to Sutter. It meant a lot to all of them. One of the big reasons why men had been so anxious to blaze a trailacross space to Mars had been to meet
the inhabitants of the planet. Photographs taken in 1939 had showed conclusively that the canals of Mars were artificial. Therefore there was life on the sister world across the void.
But when they reached the planet, they hadn't found the men of Mars. Instead they had found desolation and dust and sand. And death. Deserted cities.
If Sutter was right, this was the big moment in the history of the exploration of Mars. Even the arrival of the first spaceship from Earth was not as important as this discovery. His heart leaped at the thought. The long lost inhabitants of Mars had been found!
Frome began jerking on heavy clothing. "Get into your clothes, lad," he barked, "and call Angus. He came here with the first ship and he deserves to be present when
we awaken one of these Martians."
Sparks, diving toward the engine room, realized that Frome had given no reason for taking him along. He had said that Angus deserved to be present. The old engineer did. He had suffered all the privations of the pioneer explorers of this planet. He had earned a chance to be present at the historic moment when one of the men of Mars was awakened.
But Sparks knew why Frome was taking him. He hadn't earned his chance. Someone else, who couldn't be present, had earned it for him.
He was only a youth, barely past twenty. Only his superb knowledge of radio equipment had got him a place with the Martian explorers. His father had not opposed his coming. Nor had he helped his son secure the appointment. He had said, "The fact that I am commander of the men exploring Mars, will made no difference so far as you are concerned. You will suffer every hardship that anyone else suffers, you will take every risk. You will eat the same food, sleep in the same hard bunks, drink the same synthesized water, and stand strictly on your own feet. You will ask no favors and you will obey orders implicitly, no matter what they are."
Richard Avery had been a hard man. But he had been a man.
Only Shorty Adams was left to guard the ship. Frome gave him strict orders to be on the lookout.
Sutter led them at a dog trot across the silent, deserted city to a low building that had only one door. Ruby crystals were scattered all around the door where he and Orsatti had shoved them out of the way. Sutter dived into the dark opening and as the others followed, Sparks saw how heavy that door was. It was at least a foot thick and the other surface was heavily pitted by rust.
Orsatti waited for them down below. "They're here all right," he said. "Each of these cells has a Martian in it. They're in frozen sleep, too. No doubt about it."
The chamber was not large. It had been carved out of solid rock and it had perhaps five hundred coffinlike cells in it. Each receptacle was fitted with a glass top.
"I waited for your permission to open one of these receptacles, Captain Frome," Orsatti continued. "Pending your arrival, I took the liberty of removing the seals from one of the caskets. It's ready to open. Shall I go ahead?"
Frome hesitated. He peered through the glass top, studied the creature that lay within.
"Are you certain these people are really in frozen sleep?" he asked.
"Positive of it. Feel the temperature down here. It's perfect for frozen sleep. That's why this city was in perfect order, the tools put away in grease, the houses closed and locked. These people expected to return to their city when they awakened."
"Well," said Frome slowly, "you may— What's that, Angus?"
Mcllrath had stood apart from the others. He had taken a flashlight and poked carefully around the cavern, nosing down the aisles between the receptacles like a wary old hound scenting the presence of danger. Now he spoke.
"I'm thinking that these people had a reason for putting themselves into suspended animation. They didn't come down here and hide away in this gloomy hole for no cause. I don't know what their reason was, but it could have been the last desperate expedient of a race fleeing from some deadly and implacable enemy. If this is true, we had best consider well our action in awakening them."
A little stir of uneasiness ran through the group. Orsatti blinked owlishly. Sutter protested inarticulately.
"Have you seen anything that you might consider an enemy strong enough to force the Martians to resort to frozen sleep to escape it?" Frome questioned.
"I have not that."
"But perhaps their food supply gave out," Sutter protested. "The water supply has been dwindling on this planet for ages. Perhaps a protracted period of drought left them with no choice except frozen sleep or starvation. They chose suspended animation hoping that when they awakened, climatic conditions would be better. Perhaps they had alternate cycles of drought and meager rainfall. This was the way they escaped the drought."
The old Scot shook his head. "Ye may be right. Perhaps these Martians fled from drought. But I remember we came here to rescue three men. We found them dead. One of them had fled from their ship. What he fled from we do not know. But we do know that this race was also fleeing from something."
Again the little stir of uneasiness came. Was the old Scot sensing something that he could not put into words?
Sutter was an archaeologist. He had spent years digging into the ruins of Mars. He would not be balked now. "This is superstitious nonsense!"
"It may be that," Mcllrath answered. "I think I knew the three men who died here fairly well. There was little superstition in them. And. I know very well indeed that uranium fission engines are not superstitious. But both the men and the engines are dead. You cannot account for that by superstition/'
Sutter and Orsatti turned to Frome and began to plead with him to permit the opening of one of the receptacles.
Frome considered his decision. "The whole purpose of our exploration of this planet has been to discover the Martians. Having found them, if we fail to awaken them, our purpose is defeated. Therefore you may open one of the receptacles."
Sutter and Orsatti wasted no time. Frome turned to Mc-Ilrath. "I'm sorry, Angus. If you had had a definite reason, we would have waited."
"Aye, captain," Mcllrath answered.
Sparks Avery watched. He had taken no part in the conversation. Now, in spite of the dry, frigid air, globules of sweat began to form on his forehead. He brushed them away. Now and again his eyes strayed to the heavy pistol that hung at Frome's hip. Frome had opened the flap and loosened the pistol in its holster.
There was a jewel on the floor near the end of the ramp that led downward. It glittered evilly in the sunlight that was beginning to shine into the cavern.
It seemed to the radio operator that only minutes passed before Orsatti had opened the receptacle. Very gently he and Sutter lifted out its occupant.
They laid him on the floor, this man of Mars. The men from Earth clustered about him. He was not quite five feet tall, had a huge chest, and long splindly arms. He was clad in a soft leather garment and around his waist was a metal belt from which a pouch and a short dagger hung.
"In minutes, he will awaken," Orsatti whispered.
The others were silent. Sparks caught the suppressed tension of that moment. He had been on Mars less than six months, but he had absorbed from his father the lure of the red planet, the vast mystery of it. Now the mystery would be solved. Now Mars would have a voice. Now the red deserts would give up their secrets, now the deserted cities would reveal what had happened in them.
The Martian stirred. A little finger moved, an arm twisted. His chest heaved. The soft sigh of air through long unused vocal chords echoed through the cavern.
"He's awakening," Sutter whispered. "Heavens! What will he say? What will he do? What will he think? How amazed he will be to see us, strangers from another world, bending over him!"
As they watched, the chest movement of the Martian became more regular. The panting heaves that had marked his first gasping efforts for air smoothed into an even rhythm. Spasmodic twitching fluttered his throat.
"Look!" the archaeologists tense voice rang out. "His eyes are opening."
They were brown, an agate-brown. They were filmed and out of focus.
"Easy, old fellow," Sutter whispered. "Here. I'll help you sit up." He slipped an arm under the Martian's shoulder.
The Martian glanced at Sutter, and looked away. The film was gone from his eyes. They were in focus now.
Sparks caught his breath. What he had seen was incredible.
The Martian had only glanced at Sutter. Then he looked away. His eyes went to the faces of the others. But he only glanced at them, too, glanced casually at them, as if they were of no importance.
Awakening from the sleep of ages, finding himself the captive of a race that obviously did not belong to Mars, he found them not worthy of a second glance.
What was wrong? Couldn't the Martian see yet? Was he blind?
Or,
no matter how important were these giants who were bending over, was there something that was more important?
The Martian had large, pointed ears, which he could move at will. He twitched them backward, like a cat listening for a sound behind him. He absolutely ignored the Earthmen. His ears flipped forward, toward the open doorway through which the sun was shining. He listened. There was no sound. He moved his head from side to side, his ears questing for some sound in the cold dry air, his eyes alert for movement.
Sparks found himself listening, too. He heard nothing. But the Martian seemed to hear something. His ears were flipped forward, with the intentness of a cat that has heard the growl of a dangerous dog. But he Was no longer listening. He was looking. He saw something. The agate-brown eyes were fixed with terrible intentness on an object near the doorway.
Fear crept over his face, a horror and a terror that was akin to madness. He jerked himself free from Sutter's arms. The archaeologist tried to hold him. He wrenched himself free. His hand darted to the dagger at his belt.
It rose evilly upward—and sank in the Martian's throat!
He screeched. The screech died in a gurgle. He fell forward on his face, and a cloud of dry dust puffed from under his dead body.
In the shocked, stunned silence Sutter hoarsely gasped. "We scared him. He saw us, and committed suicide."
"No!" Sparks jerked out. "He saw us all right, but we didn't scare him. He didn't pay any attention to us. There's the thing that scared him!"
He pointed toward the doorway where the ruby jewel glinted in the sunlight. "That's what he saw. That thing. It scared him so badly that he committed suicide." He started to approach the jewel.
"Drop it!" Mcllrath's voice rang out. "Don't touch that thing."
Sparks leaped away.
"The lad's right," Angus continued. "I was watching. The Martian paid us no heed. It was yon jewel that scared him."
"But that's preposterous!" Sutter protested. "That jewel is harmless. We'll open another receptacle, revive another Martian."
More Adventures On Other Planets Page 9