The panel was alive with light and color. Nelson went over, stared at it. There was a picture there, a painting perhaps, if you could imagine a painting made of light and pure color and incredible full-dimensional realism. It showed a scene on some strange fantasy world. Two suns glowed down from a purple sky and a figure in weird armor was battling with a dragonlike being. Nelson stared at it, awed by the scope. It might have been a true color, true depth photo—but it was fantasy.
Or was it fantasy? Perhaps—perhaps it was an actual photo of some place in the universe.
Nelson now perceived that another panel presumed to hide the original closet fixture of the Martian room was gently bright with color, though not picturing anything. He went over to it, touched it, and the panel drew silently aside.
There was a closet there, and in it hung clothing of strange designs and weaves, the clothing of the lost Martians.
Nelson opened the door of his room, went out. He heard nothing, saw nobody. Swiftly he went through the house. Everywhere it was the same. Where there had been mysterious and unresponsive panels, fixtures that wouldn't operate, now there were life and energy. The rooms glowed with a source of light plainly different from the crude string of Earth-made atomic bulbs. The kitchen apparatus, oddly designed, was responsive to the touch. The closets would open and there were all manner of Martian wonders in them.
In the main room, Nelson touched a panel that had been dark as long as he could remember and music came into the room. Music that followed no rules of symphonic construction, yet pleased and charmed. And with the music, lights and colors played over the room in harmony with it.
Nelson now did what so far he had not dared to do. He looked out of a window. It was apparently early morning, for the sun was rising low in the dark sky. Already the Iollipoplike plants that grew everywhere in the city were unfolding their cores, to reach out hungrily for the light that meant life to them. And Nelson realized that there were at least twice as many of these plants as there had been before.
There was a roadway passing the house and he saw something come along it. There was a flash and he got a glimpse of an oddly shaped vehicle bulleting past him ... a Martian “car,” one of those glimpsed on radar photos in the hidden vaults but never actually gotten at by Earth's explorers.
He left the window, suddenly hungry, returned to the kitchen. A panel revealed rows and rows of what were probably Martian canned edibles, but Nelson decided not to chance them. There was still his mothers portable storage space and there were still plenty of good old Earth foods left behind. So he made himself a breakfast and as he sat there, he tried to figure things out.
There wasn’t much he could work on. He had been caught by the Marauders, overcome. Obviously he had then been taken back to Mars by them, installed here, while they systematically plundered the old planet of its hidden treasures. Evidently they’d had no trouble cracking the secrets of its vaults. Probably to as accomplished a race of superscientific bandits, this would be simple.
Nelson was wondering how long it would take them to loot Mars before they set off to feast on Earth, and what they intended to do with him, when he heard footsteps come up to the door of the house. They were hard, firm steps, and Nelson gulped down the food in his mouth, stood up and went into the living room just as the door opened and two men came in.
They were short and chunkily built, both with the same kind of darkly tanned space-burned complexions, both with sharp pale blue eyes, both with short shocks of red hair, both smiling with reckless confidence. They were the faces of Marauders that Nelson had last seen through the eye slits of black space armor.
Now the two men, wearing brilliantly colored jackets, short leathery pants, and knee boots, stared at Nelson. One laughed, advanced toward the boy. “Ah,” he said in jovial-sounding though somewhat sharply clipped words, “here’s our bantam rooster now, up and doing!’
And before Nelson could get over his surprise, the Marauder grabbed him by an arm and slapped him comradely on the back. The young man jerked his arm away, turned angrily.
“Oh, now, Taktor,” called the other man, “watch out! He’s liable to give you a dose of his strong right arm too!’’
The first man hastily disengaged himself, backed away, holding up his hands, while laughing. “Take it easy,” he said quickly. “Whoa, boy, we don’t mean any harm!”
The other man nodded, also smiling broadly. “Indeed not. Why, we think you put up a real good battle. I know at least one commander that's not going to live down the wallop your Malakarji bolt handed his ship. He’s going to be a mighty foolish-looking officer every time your story comes up!”
Nelson blazed up. “You don’t mean any harm! Why did you follow me? Why do you come tearing up and down the universe on mischief? I don’t know what you call yourselves, but the rest of the universe calls you a gang of murdering Marauders!”
The first man held up his hands again, shaking his head softly, but still smiling. “Uh—uh, now don’t get mad,” he said. “We know just what it is that some people have called us. I guess to them we might be the Marauders. But you got us wrong, boy. Were just after a little adventure and fun and exploration. And maybe right a few wrongs while getting them.”
“Oh,” said Nelson sarcastically, “you call looting and plundering this old planet fun and adventure, do you? And I suppose when you start in to burn and murder on Earth, that’ll be called exploration?”
The two men's faces suddenly sobered. The first one shook his head. “Now wait a minute, young fellow, before you go on like that. Better sit down and talk a bit. You’ve got a lot of strange ideas.” He set am example by drawing up a cushion and sitting down.
His comrade switched off the wall music and sat down himself. Nelson, suspicious, settled himself on a chair.
“First,” said one, “I’d better introduce myself. I’m Taktor: Word-learner, and this is Bodril: Space-leader. We’ve been given the job of talking this over with you. As you can tell by my name, it’s my profession to learn languages and I took the liberty of learning yours when you were unconscious the last few days. We have means of reading brain patterns and transposing them to other brains that can give us the exact hang of a language almost overnight.”
Nelson nodded slowly. Then that would account also for their knowledge of where he had lived when on Mars. They’d picked that up in the course of their probing.
“Second,” said the man called Bodril, “we’re not doing the looting and plundering around here; you and your friends were doing that. This house now. You think of it as yours and you’ve moved your stuff in here and tried to break open the private closets and belongings of its real owners. This happens to be the home of Kaktal: Valve-maker and his family, and he’s had to put off claiming it and coming home until we get things cleared with you.
"To top it off, we hoped to find things as spick and span as we left them and instead we find all sorts of monkeying around. You people tried to blow up our vaults, even tried an atomic blast in one place. You marked up our cities, dumped your furniture all over the place, tried to fool around with our plantations, ran all kinds of crazy wiring all over the place, and so on. It’s us that should be angry, not you.”
Nelson jumped to his feet. "What are you trying to put over! Already you re trying to steal this planet as your very own, handing out the houses, and taking great airs just because you know how to work the lost Martian vaults and locks. You come from some forgotten hole in the galaxy, tearing about, breaking up honest people’s civilizations, and leaving a trail of wreckage. If this world belongs to anybody, it would be the old Martians. And since they’re all gone and buried, it’s the rightful inheritance of their neighbors in space, and that’s us people of Earth!”
The two stared at him for a moment, speechless. Then, as one, they turned, their eyes wrinkled, and burst into fits of laughter. They slapped each other on the back and howled.
Finally Taktor caught his breath, wiped his brow, and choked ou
t to the indignant Nelson, "Why—don’t you know yet what we’re talking about? The ‘forgotten hole in the galaxy’ we came from is here, right here! We’re the ‘lost’ Martians, fellow! This is our world! We’re from Mars and we’ve come home!”
"You! You are the real Martians!” Nelson exclaimed in amazement. “But how can that be? Where have you been? We found no sign of you.” He stopped, then suddenly narrowed his eyes and added suspiciously, “Or is this just a trick on your part? Are you making a claim just to throw a false track?”
Taktor and Bodril stopped smiling, looked at each other briefly. “Well,” said Bodril, “that’s a good point. How can we prove were the rightful owners of this world?”
Taktor waved a hand. “Oh, I think we can prove it all right. Now that our vaults are open, the Martian files available, our young friend will have no trouble seeing the truth. For one thing he’ll find the clothing we left in our houses fits our build. He’ll find pictures, screen records, life studies, color statues, and so on in our various halls and museums and he’ll recognize our people from them. He can study our history for himself.
“Here,” he turned to Nelson, “watch this.” He turned to the wall panel which had been serving as a music channel, flicked his hand over it. Immediately it cleared, presented a scene looking in upon a room. There were several people there, dressed in odd costumes and evidently they were engaged in bitter controversy. Nelson recognized that this was undoubtedly part of a play, probably being run off on some entertainment channel.
The costumes were fantastic, definitely of a premachine culture, and the play probably represented something from the works of some Martian Shakespeare or an Aristophanes. The locale was undoubtedly Mars, and the characters were clearly of the same race as his two Marauders. All were red-haired, all pale-blue eyed.
Taktor waved his hand again and the picture was replaced by one recognizable as a classroom platform, whereon an instructor was obviously explaining something about history and pointing to a chart on the wall. This chart, actually a wonderfully alive relief map, was recognizable to Nelson as part of the familiar Martian landscape. Despite his suspicion, he leaned forward with interest, studying what seemed to be the outlines of ancient Martian states, as they must have been in some early pre-canal-building period.
Taktor waved his hand again and again, and more and more scenes of all sorts appeared. Discussions, dances, musicmakers, more plays. Clearly there was a widely varied culture alive on Mars at that moment, a culture whose people were always the race of the Marauders, and which was so deep, so widespread, and so clearly geared to the red planet as to leave the matter no longer disputable.
Nelson nodded to Bodril’s arched eyebrows. "You’ve made your point, I admit it. But that doesn’t account for where you’ve been or how you got your bad reputation as Marauders.”
Bodril smiled. "I guess that calls for some history, eh, Taktor?”
The Word-learner nodded soberly. “That’s one of the things I’m supposed to go into now, before we can bring this young Earthling before the Command Board. Make yourself comfortable then, and I’ll try to clear things up a little.”
Chapter 18 The Star Wanderers
Nelson drew his chair up closer, while Taktor: Word-learner flickered through the central wall screen until he had a scene he was seeking. It was a relief globe of Mars, a planet whose green areas were vastly greater and showed small lakes and even a sea-size mass of blue in their midst. The desert regions were present but lesser in area.
“This is Mars as it was at about the dawn of our recorded history. This was perhaps—a half million or so of your years ago. As you see, even at that time the planet was drying up and the deserts were growing. Our people inhabited one particular fertile area in the Southern Hemisphere, where we lived amid the forests and were pretty much of a farmer folk.
“Our earliest records show small isolated city-states quite often warring among each other for the dwindling lakes and water rights—for even then the problem of water was an overwhelming one. I learn from your mind and language that gold apparently occupied the major role in your development of an exchange medium. On Mars it was water rights from the very first, and our original and oldest currency consisted of pledges and permits for water.
“We had a number of wars among each other as time went on,” said Taktor, and his flickering fingers in the air over the wall panel called forth various changes of scenery. There were shots of walled cities, snug amid green cactus jungles, shots of men in bronze and iron armor bashing away at each other with swords and axes. “This sort of thing lasted thousands of years, our states growing in size, our race moving out, discovering other fertile belts, spreading over all the habitable areas always in search of water.
“In the course of this time we improved our civilization—and our ways of warfare. We learned to make self-moving vessels for the land and even for the air. By and by only three big combinations of cities existed as self-ruling states, and there was the grave danger of a new and final war with the newly developed atomic power weapons.”
Taktor again displayed a hemisphere of Mars and this time Nelson could note that the deserts had spread, the green areas contracted, the lakes and seas vanished.
“About this time also we ourselves realized that our world had changed even in the course of our own history. We also were noting that our atmosphere was slowly thinning, that our world was growing colder. A great conference was called and our best brains thrashed the whole thing out. We had never become many different races—all Martians are the same color and build, all had the same language, so really there was nothing dividing us save matters of pride and points of government. All these were not important as soon as we realized that no one could win a war wherein the planet itself was dying. We discussed this thing for an entire generation, with every man and woman joining in by means of radio communication, and eventually we emerged with one state federation and with a long and difficult program for saving the planet. We pooled our resources, went without, but in another generation we had laid out the main canal system, set up the system of water supply from our polar reserves, organized our agriculture on a world conservation basis.”
Nelson’s fascinated eyes saw the familiar network of canals sprout across the face of the hemisphere. He saw thousands of men toiling with atomic and hand diggers to lay down tens of thousands of miles of unbreakable and uncorrosive pipelines. He saw men going through the growing fields and forests destroying the unproductive plants and cultivating only those which produced the most food value at the least water usage.
“Because we saw that air too was thinning, we next set out to build airtight cities, to put our factories and main structures underground,” went on Taktor, and scenes illustrating this flashed before Nelson’s eyes.
“All this work took time and several thousands of your years went by before we had completed it. By then our world was much as it is today, our agriculture tightly controlled and almost entirely automatic. We had evolved atomic sciences to points which enabled us to make immense caverns, unbreakable walls, to travel where we willed.”
“Did you build spaceships then?” asked Nelson.
“You could have gone to Earth then, conquered it for yourself.”
“We didn't pay much attention to spaceships in those days, but after our work was completed we did. We visited Earth . . .” On the screen flashed a scene taken from a ship approaching Earth. Nelson watched and noticed that it was different from the world he’d known. Great white ice sheets covered much of its Northern Hemisphere and swirling clouds obscured the rest of the planet. Obviously it was a period during one of the great ice ages.
“We found Earth an uninviting world, stormy and cold, filled with jungles such as we had never imagined, wild beasts of terrible temper—for there were never any big animals on Mars, there were no other mammals besides ourselves—and wild savage men.” Here Nelson got a glimpse—an actual 3-D color photo taken from life—of cavemen, hai
ry, painted, bent-shouldered men, whose sharp eyes peered from shaggy eyebrows, and whose hands clutched crude spears of chipped stone.
“Although Earth had the water and air we needed, we didn’t like it, preferred the quiet and order of Mars. We went to all the other worlds of this system, but you must know yourself what we found. None could ever be home, none were inviting.”
Taktor flashed a few quick scenes of the planets Nelson himself had studied. “So we settled down on our own world and studied and thought and debated. By and by our various arguments over matters of the most obscure and often silly points of philosophy, of game making, became more and more violent. Fights between debaters became frequent, and struggles between audiences at games and lectures became commonplace. More and more we found ourselves returning to the ways of violence and combat. Instead of the fight for food and water which had marked our early days of savagery, we had fights over athletic contests or differences of opinion as to whether the universe was expanding or contracting. People began to go armed and men wore insignia to demonstrate their particular enthusiasms.
“Finally it reached such a point of bloodshed that we were all a little surprised and frightened/’ Here there was a scene in an underground arena, obviously one of the caverns beneath a city. A mass of Martians were milling about, and Nelson caught glimpses of knives rising and falling, splashed with red, and finally the incredible blast of a small atomic bomb blotted out the arena.
“We called a planetwide conference and again our whole world took counsel. It became clear to us that we were stagnating, that having no further frontiers to discover, no more great building projects to make, we were turning upon ourselves. Our frustration was breaking us down. We discussed then the problem of finding a way to fly to the stars.”
Taktor stopped a moment. Bodril: Space-leader leaned forward, said, “You see the stars are infinite in number. Once we could go to the stars, there could never be an end to exploration, to adventure. And maybe we could find other civilized beings to debate with, to exhaust our energies on, to trade knowledge with.”
The Secret of the Martian Moons Page 14