Stowaway to Mars

by John Wyndham

  There was a rush for the lockers, and a babble of talk as they pulled on the stiff overalls.

  ‘Thank God we’ve not got to use the space suits,’ said Froud. ‘Not only do they smell abominably, but it’s quite impossible for a bloke to show the dignity proper to Earth’s ambassadors when he’s dressed up like a cross between a deep sea diver and an Eskimo. Not, of course, that we’ll look any too handsome in oxygen masks, but we’ll be able to give them a suggestion of the true human shape.’

  Joan was wrestling with one of the spare overall suits which was several times too large for her.

  ‘Well, none of your machines has come to look us up yet,’ Dale said, as he adjusted the oxygen pack over his shoulder blades.

  ‘You wait a bit.’ She attempted a light tone. ‘They’ll turn up. It’s not likely that a thing like the Gloria Mundi can have come roaring into Martian skies quite unnoticed.’

  ‘If there’s anything beyond a lot of mangy looking bushes to notice her,’ he answered sceptically.

  ‘Give them time,’ she said.

  ‘Quite,’ the doctor agreed. ‘You can’t expect them to just pop up from the ground. If they exist at all, we don’t know how far they may have to come. This doesn’t look like a residential district even for machines. By the way, where are we?’

  ‘Bit north of the equator. That’s as much as I can tell you.’ Dale crossed to a locker. As he opened it, he said: ‘Everyone is to take a rifle and a belt of ammunition. I know it may seem a ridiculous thing to do, but remember that we know nothing at all about this place. Appearances may be quite deceptive.’

  ‘What? Me, too?’ Froud expostulated. ‘But, look here, what with movie cameras and still cameras and whatnot, I’m going to look like a bazaar and exchange column already. Have a heart.’

  ‘They don’t weigh as much here as they do at home,’ was Dale’s only consolation. ‘We can’t afford to take any risks. Where life is possible for bushes, it’s quite likely to be possible for other things.’

  ‘Ah, the Wellsian crabs again.’

  ‘We’ll see. In any case, nobody is to split off from the rest until we know a bit more. That clear? We keep together.’

  He dealt out the light rifles and bandoliers and waited while they were slung. There was a further delay while Froud attached to himself camera cases, stand holders, light meters, extra lens carriers, etc. At last:

  ‘Behold! The human Christmas Tree,’ he said.

  Dale saw to the adjustments of the masks and tubes which fed oxygen through the nose, leaving the mouth free. When he was assured that they were all working properly, he crossed to the entrance port and for the first time in the seventy four days since they had left Earth, swung it open. One by one he passed his crew through the airlock.

  Joan, the last to emerge, save for Dale himself, crossed the coarse, reddish sand to Froud’s side. He was taking a series of snapshots of the uninspiring view.

  ‘Martian idea of a landscape pretty inferior,’ he said, conversationally. ‘I must say this place is something of a flop. We’ve got deserts every bit as good at home, and no need to dress up for them. Now I suppose I had better take a shot or two of the old G.M., to be entitled: “Earth’s Adventurers at Their Goal”, or “The Triumph of”….’

  ‘Shush!’ said Joan.

  ‘What do you mean: “shush”?’

  She nudged him, and nodded towards the entrance port. Dale had just left the airlock; in one hand he carried a trowel, and in the other, a rod with a flag attached to it. The rest watched while he dug a small hole, planted his pole, and stamped the red sand back about its base. He stood back. The Union Jack unfolded gently in the light Martian breeze. Dale saluted.

  ‘In the name of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second of England, I proclaim this land a part of the British Commonwealth of Nations. In her name, and in the name of all the peoples of the Commonwealth, I honour the brave men who gave their lives that this thing might be done. To their memory let it be dedicated, to their glory let it thrive. They gave us this land, not in bloodshed, but with their life’s blood. May we prove worthy of their trust.’

  In the silence which followed an air of constraint fell over the party. The doctor looked a little quizzically at Dale and then let his gaze wander to the journalist. But Froud did not catch his eye. True to his training, he was apparently interested only in providing a record of the occasion, and all his attention was engaged by the manipulation of a small movie camera.

  Dale finished his ceremony.

  ‘What now?’ Dugan asked, breaking the silence self consciously.

  ‘That seems to be the only way worth looking,’ Froud said. He pointed towards the bushes. The doctor. agreed:

  ‘I must have some specimens of those; the sooner the better.’

  ‘All right.’ Dale produced a small compass. ‘Heaven knows where the magnetic centre of this place is, but it’s got one somewhere, luckily. If we assume that it is in the north it will give us something to go by. That means that the bushes are due west. Don’t forget what I said about keeping together.’

  The thicker vegetation, when they reached it, proved to be much the same as the stunted bushes in all except size. Before long, it became clear that the party, with the exception of the doctor, was unspokenly endorsing Froud’s opinion of the red planet. The twisted stems of the bushes were hollow and so brittle as to prove no obstacle. Their advance was accompanied by a sharp crackling of broken branches mingled with the papery rustling of the subsiding foliage, but the view of brown thickets continuously before them was as monotonous as the desert behind them.

  After half an hour’s progress, the only member of the band who did not feel that attainment can be the most potent source of dissatisfaction was the doctor. With what seemed to be a singularly slight supply of fuel he managed t o keep his botanical fervour at high pressure, continually causing delays by his determination to secure a specimen which, to the inexpert eye, showed no difference from the many shoots, leaves, branches and roots he had already put in his boxes.

  The vegetation belts bordering the Martian canals vary in width according to the nature of the soil. In satisfactorily porous regions they may extend as far as twenty miles to either side, but in others they dwindle into desert at no more than a mile or two from the bank. It was owing to the chance which had landed the Gloria Mundi beside one of the narrower fertile strips that her crew was able to notice a change in the condition of the plants when they had covered a little more than a mile. The bushes, though at first unchanged in type, were healthier and better nourished. It became a little less easy for them to force their way through. Moister stems bent more and broke less easily. Moreover, to the doctor’s delight, a few new variations were to be seen farther on. He pounced with enthusiasm upon a number of bulbous, olive brown plants not unlike spineless cacti, and held forth with an excitement which left the rest cold.

  ‘Look like old leather bags to me,’ Froud told him. ‘How much farther into this not so virgin forest do you propose to lead us?’ he added disconsolately to Dale.

  ‘A bit farther yet,’ Dale told him. ‘Doe’s got to get all the odds and ends he can, and it looks as if there might be more variety ahead.’

  As they continued, now with little enthusiasm, an uphill slope of the ground became increasingly perceptible. Almost another mile must have been covered when Dale stopped suddenly and held up his hand. They stopped wonderingly in a silence broken only by the rubbing together of the harsh stems and a flutter of leaves.

  ‘What is it?’ Joan asked.

  Dale relaxed his listening attitude.

  ‘I thought I heard something ahead a sort of clanking noise. Didn’t anyone else?’

  They shook their heads, and he owned that he might have been mistaken. But, in spite of his words, his manner was more cautious as they went on and the rest caught from it a sense of expectation. A little later it was Joan who stopped them with a sudden command:

  ‘Listen!’
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br />   But again the silence remained unbroken save by natural stirrings.

  ‘What’s the idea?’ Froud inquired. ‘Are you trying to make it more exciting by putting the wind up us….?’

  ‘Shut up’ snapped Dale.

  Faintly, but quite unplaceably, the whole party distinguished a sound of crackling somewhere not far away. Without a word, Dale unslung his rifle and released the safety catch. He moved ahead, holding it ready. But whatever had been responsible for the sound was not in his path, nor did it betray its presence again. Nevertheless

  ‘This place doesn’t seem to be quite empty, after all,’ Dugan said. ‘It must have been something pretty big.’

  As the bushes became stronger and higher and the going more difficult, Dale took the lead, and they fell without prearrangement into single file. The ground changed its character, becoming softer and less desiccated. Before long, Dale was calling back that it was lighter ahead, and a few minutes later, they emerged into the open. In the astonished silence Dugan said:

  ‘I suppose this is a canal, and not a sea?’

  To both right and left the bank stretched away in an unbroken line. In front, the water reached to the horizon, ruffled lightly by the breeze, and sparkling in the sunlight. Dale tasted the water and spat it out again; it was brackish.

  ‘All the same, it’s one of the canals. They’re a good many miles wide, remember, even the smallest of them.’

  ‘And the horizon’s closer than it is at home,’ the doctor put in. ‘It’s almost incredible that they should have been made artificially and we don’t seem to be much closer to knowing who or what made them. The slope we’ve been climbing must have been the stuff which they….’

  ‘Look! What’s that?’ Dugan cried in sudden excitement.

  He was pointing away to the left. A dark object, difficult to make out at such a distance, was pushing its way through the water. A fleck of white at the nearer end suggested a low bow wave. Dale pulled out his field glasses.

  ‘What is it?’ Froud asked, striving to erect a tripod and change the lens of his camera simultaneously. ‘Coming this way?’

  ‘Can’t see. There’s not much of it above the waterline. Shaped something like a whale. Seems to be going due south.’

  ‘Here, let me look.’ The doctor almost snatched the glasses and hurriedly refocused. But he could make out no more. It was even impossible for him to decide whether he was looking at a living creature or a form of vessel. He swore fluently.

  ‘How about letting off a few shots to attract its attention,’ Dugan suggested. But Dale disapproved.

  ‘No, there’s no telling what that might let us in for and we’re a good distance from the Gloria Mundi. It’ll be better to go a bit cautiously till we know more.’

  Froud had set up his small camera behind an enormous lens, and was hopefully taking a series of pictures, with Dale, Dugan and the doctor standing beside him, straining their eyes to catch more details. An exclamation behind them caused all four to turn at once.

  Burns was facing them. His left arm was around Joan’s waist, holding her with her back pressed against his chest. In his right hand he held a pistol.

  Dale frowned and his eyes narrowed; he opened his lips to speak, but changed his mind. The look on the engineer’s face warned him to be cautious. With an effort he cleared his frown; his voice sounded almost casual as he asked:

  ‘Hullo, what’s the trouble, Burns?’

  At the same time he kept his eyes on the girl’s face, trying to convey by his attitude that she could behave calmly. It seemed that she understood, for he noticed that she relaxed a trifle, but he had reckoned without his companions.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Take your hands off her, damn you,’ Dugan shouted. He stepped forward with his fists clenched.

  ‘Get back,’ snapped the engineer. ‘Get back, or I’ll drill you.’ There could be no doubt that he meant it. Dugan hesitated and then sullenly retreated. Froud yawned.

  ‘What’s all this about? It seems very dramatic,’ he remarked. Burns turned his attention from Dugan and glared at the journalist. ‘And don’t you be too free with your words. I owe you something, don’t forget.

  You know what it’s about, all right; you all know, damn well. Do you think I didn’t know what was going on all the way here? Do you think I don’t know why I wasn’t wanted? You’ve all had your fun, damn you, now I’m going to have mine.’

  Froud assumed an expression of puzzlement. ‘Do you mean?’

  ‘Shut up, you.’

  ‘But, look here, Burns, you’re making a mistake, you know,’ Dale began in reasonable tones.

  ‘Oh, I am, am I? I’d be making a big one if I believed you. You! I suppose you think I didn’t see the way you changed to her after you’d had her?’

  ‘Damn you. I didn’t….’

  ‘Oh, so you didn’t? and I suppose the rest of you didn’t either? What do you think I am blind? To hell with the ruddy lot of you. I saw you all sneaking off to the storeroom different times. Having her as you wanted and leaving me out as if I wasn’t human. And thinking I’d stand for it. Well, I did but I’m not doing it any longer. It’s my turn now. And there’s not going to be any sharing.’

  ‘But, man, you’ve got it all wrong,’ the doctor put in. ‘We didn’t….’

  ‘That’s right. Back one another up, but you’re not going to fool me. I’ve been waiting for this. Thinking of it for weeks. I admit that you did fool me at first seeing that you’re old enough to be her father but not for long. And now it’s my turn.’

  ‘You damn swine. That girl…!’

  Burns swung his pistol. ‘That’ll be enough from you, Dugan. Keep your mouth shut.’ Dale looked at the engineer steadily. He was wondering whether he could risk a shot. His rifle was loaded and ready in his hands, but he knew that it would be tricky work to avoid hitting Joan. Burns, with his handier weapon, would most likely fire before he himself could aim. He exchanged a helpless glance with the doctor.

  Burns turned his pistol so that its muzzle was pressed into the girl’s side. ‘If I don’t have her, nobody has her,’ he said. ‘Now you put your rifles down over there’ – he nodded at a spot half way between himself and them –’One by one, or something very nasty is going to happen.’ They hesitated, but the look in Burns’ eyes was dangerous; he was not out to bluff. ‘Come on,’ he snapped.

  Froud shrugged his shoulders, walked slowly forward, laid his rifle down at the place indicated, and stepped back. The doctor followed, then Dale, and, finally, Dugan. Burns nodded. ‘Now get back, all of you. Right back to the water.’ They did as he ordered, and he walked to the rifles, still holding the girl. ‘Pick them up,’ he ordered her.

  Joan obeyed. The pistol pressed into her side gave her no option. She did not for a moment doubt that he would use it if necessary; she appreciated no less than the rest that in his present crazed, inflamed condition he was capable of anything. The pistol which Froud had given her was in her pocket, but the pocket was hopelessly out of reach beneath the stiff overalls. Even had it been handy, she doubted her ability to seize it and get in the first shot. One by one she handed the rifles to Burns and he, transferring the pistol from one hand to the other, slung them over his shoulders.

  ‘And your own,’ he said cuttingly. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  She slipped it off her own shoulder and handed it across. He looked at the four men thoughtfully and then dropped his eyes to his own pistol. It was an unpleasant moment..

  ‘No,’ he decided, ‘no sense in wasting good bullets. But if any of you are thinking of following us just think again, that’s my advice.’

  His large hand closed on the girl’s arm. He grinned unattractively.

  ‘Say good bye to your lovers,’ he told her.

  ‘You ‘ Dugan began.

  Burns jerked his pistol round. There was a sharp crack and a spurt of dirt at Dugan’s feet,

  ‘Next time it’ll be higher,: he said.

/>   He left them without another word. Casting frequent glances over his shoulder, he led the girl back by the way they had come.

  Chapter 15. And is Trumped

  The four who remained watched Burns and Joan disappear into the bushes. It was some time before anyone spoke. Froud sat down on the ground, dismantling his camera and folding up its stand. The rest stood watching him. At the moment there seemed to be nothing to be said. It was Dugan who asked the question which the rest had thought not worth putting into words.

  ‘Well,’ he said harshly, ‘aren’t we going to do something?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Dale told him briefly.

  Dugan stared. ‘What’s wrong with you? If you’re not going to help that girl, I, am.’ He turned and ran towards the bushes.

  ‘Come back, you fool!’ Dale called; but Dugan took no notice. He disappeared at a trot in Burns’ track. A moment later came the sharp crack of a shot. The three men looked at one another, but Dugan reappeared. He returned looking shaken and not a little sheepish.

  ‘Felt the wind of it,’ he said.

  ‘You were lucky,’ Dale told him. ‘Now sit down and behave as though you were grown up.’

  ‘This,’ said Froud, digging one hand beneath his overalls, ‘is a mess.’ His fumbling ceased and he produced a yellow packet. ‘Have a cigarette.’

  Each of them took one. He lit one, and pulled a wry face. ‘My God, how beastly! That’s what three months’ abstinence does for you.’

  ‘What,’ Dugan asked again, but less heatedly than before, ‘are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Dale told him.

  ‘Nothing? You mean….’

  The doctor laid his hand on Dugan’s arm. ‘Quietly, lad. You don’t see what the trouble is. What you’re wanting now is a good stand up fight with a man whom you consider a swine.’