Red Planet

by Robert Heinlein

  “Willis? Oh, yes, the Martian roundhead.” Howe smiled with his lips. “An interesting scientific specimen.”

  Howe added nothing more. The silence kept up so long that Jim began to realize that the Headmaster intended to force him to make any moves. Jim had already resigned himself to the idea that it would be impossible to keep Willis at the school any longer. He said, “I've come to get him. I'm going to take him out in town and arrange to send him home.”

  Howe smiled more broadly. “Oh, you are? And pray tell me how you are going to do that when you are restricted to the school for the next thirty days?”

  Frank was still warning him; Jim could almost hear him. He answered, “All right, sir, I'll get somebody to do it for me—today. Now, please, can I have Willis?”

  Howe leaned back and crossed his fingers over his stomach. “You bring up a most interesting point, Marlowe. You said last night that this creature is not a pet.”

  Jim was puzzled. “Yes?”

  “You were quite emphatic about it. You said that he wasn't your property, but your friend. That's right, isn't it?”

  Jim hesitated. He could feel that a trap was being built for him, but he was not sure what sort. “What if I did?”

  “Did you say that, or didn't you? Answer me!”

  “Well—yes.”

  Howe leaned forward. “In that case, what are you doing in here demanding that I turn this creature over to you? You have no claim on him.”

  “But—but—” Jim stopped, at a loss for words. He had been tricked with words, slippery words; he did not know how to answer them. “You can't do that!” he blurted out. “You don't own him, either! You have no right to keep him locked up.”

  Howe carefully fitted his finger tips together. “That is a matter still to be determined. Although you have waived all claim to him, it may be that the creature is property nevertheless—in which case he was found on the school grounds and I may take title to him on behalf of the school, as a scientific specimen.”

  “But—You can't do that; that's not fair! If he belongs to anybody, he belongs to me! You've got no right to—”

  “Silence!” Jim shut up; Howe went on more quietly, “Don't tell me what I can or cannot do. You forget that I am in loco par-entis to you. Any rights that you may have are vested in me, just as if I were your own father. As to the disposition of this creature, I am looking into it; I expect to see the Agent General this afternoon. In due course you will be informed of the outcome.”

  The Latin phrase confused Jim, as it was intended to; but he did catch one point in Howe's statement and snatched at it. “I'm going to tell my father about this. You can't get away with it.”

  “Threats, eh?” Howe smiled sourly. “Don't bother to ask for the key to the communications booth; I don't propose to have students phoning their parents every time I tell them to wipe their noses. Send your father a letter—but let me hear it before you send it.” He stood up. “That is all. You may go. No—wait.” He went again to his outer office, to return almost immediately. He seemed quite angry.

  “Where did you hide that gun?” he demanded.

  Jim had had time to regain some portion of calm. He said nothing. “Answer me!” insisted the Headmaster.

  Jim answered slowly, “You've already called me a liar once on that subject; I won't say anything.”

  Howe looked at him. “Get to your room!” Jim got out.

  Frank was waiting. “I don't see any blood,” he announced, looking Jim over. “How did it go?”

  “Oh, that so-and-so! That filthy filthy so-and-so!”

  “Bad, eh?”

  “Frank, he won't let me have Willis.”

  “He's going to make you send him home? But you expected that.”

  “No, not that. He won't let me have him at all. He used a lot of double-talk but all it meant was that he had him and meant to keep him.” Jim seemed about to break down and blubber. “Poor little Willis—you know how timid he is. Frank, what’111 do?”

  “I don't get it,” Frank answered slowly. “He can't keep Willis, not for keeps. Willis belongs to you.”

  “I told you he used a lot of double-talk—but that's what he means to do just the same. How am I going to get him back? Frank, Fve just got to get him back.”

  Frank did not answer; Jim looked around disconsolately and noticed the room for the first time. “What happened here?” he asked. “The place looks like you had tried to wreck it.”

  “Oh, that. I started to tell you. While you were gone, a couple of Howie's stooges searched the joint.”

  “Huh?”

  “Trying to find our guns. I just played dumb.”

  “They did, did they?” Jim appeared to make up his mind. “Fve got to find Smythe.” He headed for the door.

  “Hey, wait—what d'you want to find Smitty for?”

  Jim looked back and his face was very old. “I'm going to get my gun and go back there and get Willis.”

  “Jim! You're crazy!”

  Jim did not answer but continued toward the door.

  Frank stuck out a foot, tripped him and landed on his back as he went down. He grabbed Jim's right arm and twisted it behind his back. “Now you just rest there,” he told Jim, “until you quiet down.”

  “Let me up.”

  “You got some sense in your head?”

  No answer. “Okay,” Frank went on, “I can sit here just as long as you want to. Let me know when you've quieted down.” Jim started to struggle; Frank twisted his arm until he yelped and relaxed.

  “That's better,” said Frank. “Now listen to me: you're a nice guy, Jim, but you go off half-cocked. Suppose you do get your gun and suppose you manage to scare old Howie into coughing up Willis. How long are you going to keep him? You know how long? Just long enough for him to call in some Company police. Then they lock you up and take Willis away from you again. And you'll never see Willis again, not to mention the trouble and grief you'll cause your folks.”

  There followed a considerable silence. Finally Jim said, “Okay, let me up.”

  “You've given up the idea of waving your gun around?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On your honor? Solemn promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  Frank let him up and brushed him off. Jim rubbed his arm and said, “You needn't have twisted it so hard.”

  “You're a fine one to complain; you ought to thank me. Now grab your notebook; we're going to be late to chemistry lab.”

  “I'm not going.”

  “Don't be silly Jim. No use to pile up a bunch of cuts and maybe flunk just because you're sore at the Head.”

  “That's not the idea. I'm quitting, Frank. I won't stay in this school.”

  “What? Don't be hasty Jim. I know how you feel, but it's here or nowhere. Your folks can't afford to send you back to Earth for school.”

  “Then it's nowhere. I won't stay here. I'm going to hang around just long enough to find some way to get my hands on Willis, then I'm going home.”

  “Well … ” Frank stopped to scratch his head. “It's your problem. But see here—you might as well come on to chem lab. It won't hurt you any and you don't intend to leave this minute anyhow.”

  “No.”

  Frank looked worried. “Will you promise me to stay right here and not do anything rash till I get back?”

  “Why should you worry?”

  “Promise me, Jim, or I cut lab, too.”

  “Oh, all right, all right! Go ahead.”

  “Bight!” Frank dashed away.

  When Frank got back he found Jim sprawled on his bunk.

  “Asleep?”

  “No.”

  “Figured out what you are going to do?”

  “No.”

  “Anything you want?”

  “No.”

  “Your conversation is brilliant,” Frank commented and sat down at the study desk.

  “Sorry.” Nothing was heard from Howe the rest of that day. Frank managed to p
ersuade Jim to attend classes the next day by pointing out that he did not want to invite attention to himself while he was waiting for an opportunity to grab Willis.

  Tuesday also passed without word from Howe. Tuesday night, perhaps two hours after lights-out, Frank suddenly woke up. Someone was stirring in the room. “Jim!” he called out softly.

  Dead silence. Keeping quiet himself Frank reached out and switched on the light. Jim was standing near the door. “Jim,” complained Frank, “why didn't you answer me? You trying to scare me to death?”

  “Sorry.”

  “What's up? What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Never mind. You go on back to sleep.”

  Frank climbed out of bed. “Oh, no! Not while you've got that wild look in your eye. Now tell papa.”

  Jim waved him away. “I don't want to mix you up in this. Go on back to bed.”

  “Think you're big enough to make me? Now cut out the foolishness and give. What are your plans?”

  Reluctantly Jim explained. It seemed likely to him that Headmaster Howe had Willis locked up somewhere in his office. Jim planned to break in and attempt a rescue. “Now you go back to bed,” he finished.”If they question you, you don't know anything; you slept all night.”

  “Let you tackle it alone? Not likely! Anyhow you need somebody to jigger for you.” Frank started fumbling around in their locker.

  “I don't want any help. What are you looking for?”

  “Laboratory gloves,” answered Frank. “You're going to get help whether you want it or not, you thumb-fingered idiot. I don't want you caught.”

  “What do you want gloves for?”

  “Ever hear of fingerprints?”

  “Sure, but he'll know who did it—and I don't care; I'll be gone.”

  “Sure, he'll know, but he may not be able to prove it. Here, put these on.” Jim accepted the gloves and with them he tacitly accepted Frank's help in the adventure.

  Burglary is not common on Mars and locks are unusual items. As for night watchmen, manpower is not transported through millions of miles of space simply to be used to watch the silent corridors of a boys’ school. The principal hazard that Jim and Frank faced in getting to the school's offices was the chance of running into some restless student going to the washroom after hours.

  They moved as silently as possible and scouted each stretch of corridor before entering it. In a few minutes they were at the outer door of the offices without—they hoped—having been seen. Jim tried the door, it was locked. “Why do they bother to lock this?” he whispered.

  “On account of guys like you and me,” Frank told him. “Go back to the corner and keep your eyes peeled.” He attacked the latch with his knife.

  “Okay.” Jim went to the passageway intersection and kept lookout. Five minutes later Frank hissed at him; he went back: “What's the matter?”

  “Nothing's the matter. Come on.” Frank had the outer door open.

  They tiptoed through the outer office, past recording desks and high stacked spool files to an inner door marked: Marquis Howe—HEADMASTER—Private.

  The lettering on the door was new—and so was the lock. The lock was no mere gesture, capable of being picked or sprung with a knife; it was a combination type, of titanium steel, and would have looked more at home on a safe.

  “Think you can open it?” Jim asked anxiously.

  Frank whistled softly. “Don't be silly. The party is over, Jim. Let's see if we can get back to bed without getting caught.”

  “Maybe we can get the door off its hinges.”

  “It swings the wrong way. I'd rather try to cut a hole through the partition.” He moved aside, knelt down, and tried the point of his knife on the wall.

  Jim looked things over. There was an air-conditioning duct running from the corridor through the room they were in and to the wall of the headmaster's office. The hole for the duct was almost as wide as his shoulders; if he could unscrew the holding flanges and let the duct sag out of the way—

  No, he could not even get up to it; there was nothing to use as a ladder. The file cabinets were fastened to the floor, he found.

  There was a small grille set in the bottom of the door, to permit the exhaust air to escape from the inner office. It could not be removed, nor would the hole left be large enough to be of use, but he lay down and tried to peer through it. He could see nothing; the room beyond was dark.

  He cupped his hands over it and called out,”Willis! Oh, Willis! Willis boy—”

  Frank came over and said urgently, “Cut that out. Are you trying to get us caught?”

  “Sh!” Jim put his ear to the grille.

  They both heard a muffled reply: “Jim boy! Jim!”

  Jim replied, “Willis! Come here, Willis!” and listened. “He's in there,” he said to Frank. “Shut up in something.”

  “Obviously,” agreed Frank. “Now will you quiet down before somebody comes?”

  “We've got to get him out. How are you making out with the wall?”

  “No good. There's heavy wire mesh set in the plastic.”

  “Well, we've got to get him out. What do we do?”

  “We don't do a darn thing,” asserted Frank. “We're stymied. We go back to bed.”

  “You can go back to bed if you want to. Fm going to stay here and get him out.”

  “The trouble with you, Jim, is that you don't know when you are licked. Come on!”

  “No. Sh!” He added, “Hear anything?”

  Frank listened, “I hear something. What is it?”

  It was a scraping noise from inside the inner office. “It's Willis, trying to get out,” Jim stated.

  “Well, he can't. Fet's go.”

  “No.” Jim continued to listen at the grille. Frank waited impatiently, his spirit of adventure by now more than satisfied. He was stretched between a reluctance to run out on Jim and an anxiety to get back to his room before they were caught. The scraping noise continued.

  After a while it stopped. There was a soft plop! as if something soft but moderately heavy had fallen a foot or so, then there was a slight scurrying sound, almost beyond hearing.

  “Jim? Jim boy?”

  “Willis!” yelped Jim. The bouncer's voice had come to him from just beyond the grille.

  “Jim boy take Willis home.”

  “Yes, yes! Stay there, Willis; Jim has to find a way to get Willis out.”

  “Willis get out.” The bouncer stated it positively.

  “Frank,” Jim said urgently, “if we could just find something to use as a crowbar, I could bust that grille out of its frame. I think maybe Willis could squeeze through.”

  “We've got nothing like that. We've got nothing but our knives.”

  “Think, fellow, think! Is there anything in our room, anything at all?”

  “Not that I know of.” The scraping noise had resumed; Frank added, “What's Willis up to?”

  “I guess he's trying to get the door open. We've got to find some way to open it for him. Look, I'll boost you up on my shoulders and you try to take the collar off that air duct.”

  Frank looked the situation over. “No good. Even if we get the duct down, there'll be a grille set in the other side of the wall.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There always is.”

  Jim shut up. Frank was certainly correct and he knew it. The scraping sound had continued, still continued. Frank dropped on one knee and put his head close to the grille. He listened.

  “Take it easy,” he advised Jim after a moment. “I think maybe Willis is making out all right by himself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That's a cutting sound if I ever heard one.”

  “Huh? Willis can't get through a door. Many's the time I've locked him up, back home.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he just didn't want to get out bad enough.” The scraping sound was more distinct now.

  A few minutes later a fine circular line began to show around the grille
, then the portion of the door enclosed by the line fell toward them. For an instant Willis could be seen through the hole. Sticking out from his tubby body was a clawed pseudolimb eight inches long and an inch thick. “What's that?” demanded Frank.

  “Darned if I know. He never did anything like that before.”

  The strange limb withdrew, disappeared inside his body, and the fur closed over the spot, leaving no sign that it had ever existed. Willis proceeded to change his shape, until he was more nearly watermelon-shaped than globular. He oozed through the hole. “Willis out,” he announced proudly.

  Jim snatched him up and cradled him in his arms. “Willis! Willis, old fellow.”

  The bouncer cuddled in his arms. “Jim boy lost,” he said accusingly. “Jim went away.”

  “Yes, but not ever again. Willis stay with Jim.”

  “Willis stay. Good.”

  Jim rubbed his cheek against the little fellow's fur. Frank cleared his throat. “If you two love birds are through necking, it might be a good idea to pop back into our hole.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The trip back to their room was made quickly and, so far as they could detect, without arousing attention. Jim dumped Willis on his bed and looked around. “I wonder just what I should try to take? I'll have to get hold of Smitty and get my gun.”

  “Hold on,” said Frank. “Don't get ahead of yourself. You don't really have to go, you know.”

  “Huh?”

  “I didn't hurt the outer lock; we never touched Stinky's private lock. All there is to show for Willis's escape is a hole that we obviously couldn't get through—and another one like it, probably, in Stinky's desk. He can't prove a thing. You can arrange to ship Willis back and we can just sit tight.”

  Jim shook his head. “I'm leaving. Willis is just part of it. I wouldn't stay in a school run by Howe if you paid me to.”

  “Why be hasty Jim?”

  “I'm not being hasty. I don't blame you for staying; in another year you can take the rocket pilot candidate exams and get out. But if you should happen to bust the exams, I'll bet you don't stick here until graduation.”

  “No, I probably won't. Have you figured out how you are going to get away without Howe stopping you? You don't dare leave until daylight; it is too cold until then.”

  “I'll wait until daylight and just walk out. If Howe tries to stop me, so help me, I'll blast him.”