The 38th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK

by Chester S. Geier

  My senses sharpened suddenly; I looked about me, with a growing realization of something amiss. A group of men stood at one side of the room, near a line of broad windows. I recognized several as important personages and officials. It was from looking at them that awareness came to me that things were somehow wrong.

  They were very quiet, those men. They were huddled together as though it were cold and they sought mutual warmth. They stood near those windows as though the sunlight which shone through were the most needed and necessary thing in the world. Their very attitudes were stiff and unnatural.

  Directly across the room, before a table covered with dishes that seemed hardly to have been touched, sat four men. I forgot everything else as I looked at them.

  A shock went through me. It was a chilling sensation, compounded at once of utter surprise, dismay, and not a little of fear. I stared at them, mouth open, eyes bulging, for all the world as though the room were a zoo and those four men were weird beasts from some remote corner of the earth hitherto unexplored.

  They rose as I stared. I smothered a gasp, caught myself in the act of stepping back. I believe I actually forgot in that moment that they were men—more, men whom I had once known intimately.

  They were dressed in loose, severely-plain tunics which gleamed silkenly in changing tones of brown and gold. Over this they wore a sort of metal harness from which hung a number of objects or instruments that winked and glittered with their breathing. Hair as long as a woman’s flowed down to their shoulders, and beards covered their jaws. The visible parts of their faces were burned almost black, and out of gaunt hollows their eyes burned luminously, strangely grave and somber.

  I noticed these details first. Then I became aware of another, perhaps the strangest of all.

  Fixed somehow in the center of the forehead of each was a large jewel—or at least what seemed to be a jewel. These glowed as though from some mysterious inner life of their own, and as they glowed, they pulsed. There would be a rainbow-hued darkening, followed by an interval of milky phosphorescence, repeated over and over in rhythmic beats. Even if it had not been for the alien quality which radiated from their faces and eyes, the bizarreness of their garments, the jewels alone would have made them disturbingly unearthly.

  Except for having risen at the entrance of Rowe and myself, the four men made no other move. They merely gazed back at us with a grave, impersonal calm. A feeling of acute discomfort grew within me, something of that unease felt between new acquaintances, or old friends meeting again after long years, when conversation lags. But my sensations that that moment were greatly magnified by the strangeness of the four and the fact that nothing at all had been said. I felt an aching need for speech, for movement of some kind, but it seemed to me that anything I did now would be an anti-climax.

  The situation was grotesque, unreal. There was nothing I wanted so much as to be able to crawl away and hide.

  I glanced at Rowe, partly to note his reaction and partly to ease the strain. His face was stricken, hurt. He looked like a man who has been made the victim of a ghastly joke. He had expected, more or less consciously, to see men reasonably like the men, in manner and dress, of seven years before. But this change was one of such overwhelming proportions as almost to be an assault upon the mind.

  As I watched him, Rowe’s lips began to work. His eyes moved uncertainly over the four, standing with such solemn patience at the table. “Jimmy?” he whispered. “Jimmy?” His voice was hesitant, questioning.

  I glanced back at the four explorers in sudden wonder. Up to now, I had not been aware of them as individuals, but merely as a single, fantastic group. Rowe’s words threw the matter of identity sharply into my mind; I peered at the grave faces, searching for familiar details.

  “Jimmy?” Rowe whispered again. His voice had grown pleading.

  Out of the original six, four had returned. Abruptly, I wondered if Jimmy Rowe were one of the two who had not returned.

  Hardly had the thought passed through my mind when one of the four moved, bending at the waist in a slow and solemn bow. And then he spoke, his voice accented and strange.

  “Greetings, father.”

  This, then, was Jimmy. I felt cold and almost a little sick.

  Rowe was staring. The hurt in his face grew until I thought he would cry. But he gathered himself with what must have been a terrific effort. He spoke.

  “Hello, son,” he said. His voice was very low. Never have I seen him look so old as he did at that moment.

  There was a touch on my arm; I turned, startled, to see that I had been approached by a man from the group across the room. I recognized him as Phillip Barringer, executive manager of the Field.

  “What…what do you intend to do?” he queried, in a nervous whisper. “There’ll be crowds…reporters—”

  In spite of his fumbling attempt, I knew the idea Barringer was trying to get across. By their return, the explorers had created a tremendous sensation. People would want a look at these first men to make a successful space-flight to Mars. They’d want to make a fuss over the explorers, as people have made fusses over conquering heroes since time immemorial. And reporters—’casters and scanner men—would want the epic story which lay behind that seven-year absence.

  But by asking me what I intended to do, Barringer was hinting that to bring the explorers before the public was not the obvious thing to do in this case. He was right, if such actually was his purpose; from the consensus of reactions to the explorers so far, the effect of their present appearances upon an unsuspecting world would be too much of a shock.

  Time was needed—a little time during which preparations could be made for bringing the explorers before the public, and most particularly, their families and friends. In this way the impact of their change would be lessened greatly.

  But how was it to be accomplished? I was not a little dismayed at the responsibility which had so unceremoniously been thrust upon me. I knew some of the obvious things that could be done, but I didn’t know how to begin doing them. There would be mobs of curious people to turn away, hordes of sensation-hungry reporters to satisfy. How was I to deal with them? I was essentially a businessman, not a public relations expert like—

  “Sam Pearce!” I burst out.

  Barringer was startled. “Why…what—”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Take me to a visiphone.”

  “There’s one in the next room,” Barringer said. He eyed me uncertainly a moment, then turned and led the way.

  Thought of Sam Pearce had come to me with an immense feeling of relief. Pearce would know just what to do about the situation; he was public relations expert at the plant, a shrewd, sharp young man, capable of anything from hushing up a scandal to creating one.

  He was at his office when I dialed. Sight of his angular, thin face on the visiphone screen was additionally reassuring.

  “Sam, I’ve got a job for you to do,” I began abruptly. “This is the biggest thing you’ve ever handled.”

  “The explorers?” he asked, blue eyes brightening with interest. “I’ve heard about the return of the Spaceward. I suppose you want me to handle the publicity on it.”

  “In a way, Sam. But get this—I don’t want the thing played up. Instead, I want it quieted down as much as possible.”

  Pearce looked at me as though he thought I’d gone crazy. He ran a hand through his shock of bristling, red hair and burst out, “Chief, I don’t get it! This is the biggest thing that’s happened in years. With the publicity from it, the firm could make millions. But you want me to hush it up. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s the explorers, Sam. They aren’t the same men who went away.” I explained quickly.

  Pearce’s eyes were narrowed with a dawn of understanding. “I think I see, now,” he said slowly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “First, think of some way we can g
et the explorers away from Grant Field without a mob trailing after us. I need a little time to make them presentable, so that their appearances won’t be so frightening. Once we’re gone, your job will be to handle the crowds and reporters. Some way or another, you’ve got to satisfy them.”

  Pearce frowned thoughtfully, his hand running repeatedly through his red mane until it literally stood on end. I watched him with growing anxiety. Pearce had never failed me before. And if now, when I needed him most—

  “Got it, Chief!” he exclaimed abruptly. “The explorers have made a long, hard trip, see? They’re worn out, exhausted. They need a rest. I’ll get the answers to some of the routine questions that will be asked, and this will temporarily satisfy the curious. As for getting the explorers away from Grant Field, I’ll send the firm’s ambulance to pick them up. An ambulance is the one thing most likely to be admitted to and from the Field without trouble. Hold everything until I get there.”

  I made arrangements for Sam Pearce’s arrival, and while waiting for him, I had a short talk with Barringer and the others. I explained what I was trying to do, and asked them not to discuss the situation with reporters, as this would most likely result in conflictingly unpleasant publicity. They agreed readily enough. I don’t know whether it was due to my success at persuasion or to the prestige of the firm I represented.

  Most of them left. I suspected they’d been present mainly because of the publicity they’d hoped to obtain in connection with the explorers. Since nothing like that was to be forthcoming, there was little reason for them to remain. And it seemed to me they were glad to get out of the room.

  Rowe and the explorers had been seated. There had obviously been no attempts at conversation. Rowe was staring dully at the floor. His grief couldn’t have been any worse if Jimmy had not returned at all.

  Noise from outside penetrated dimly. The crowds about the field were growing; there were shouts and the muted roar of many flitterjets. But here it was quiet—a quiet that grew with the weight of oppression. It was the strain of just sitting around with men you’ve known for years and not one word being said. Or at least I felt that way. Rowe seemed too far gone to feel anything. The four explorers were impassive. Their postures had a relaxed quality which seemed to indicate they did not consider the situation in the least embarrassing. They were as cold as fish asleep in a deep, icy pool, unresponsive to any bait.

  The growing murmur from outside added nothing to my peace of mind. When Sam Pearce finally arrived, I’d developed a serious case of nerves.

  Pearce was halfway across the room toward me when he noticed the explorers. He stopped in his tracks, as though an invisible hand had reached out to halt him. His blue eyes widened, and he stared and stared. Then he turned to face me; he looked stunned.

  “Lord!” he whispered. “Lord! I expected a surprise, but this…”

  “You understand now?” I asked softly.

  Pearce nodded dumbly. Then he stiffened with a return of purpose. “I’ve got the ambulance at a loading platform at the back where they can leave the building without being seen. But I’ve got to ask a few questions first. Can they…?”

  “I think so,” I said. I took Pearce over to the explorers and introduced him. They rose and bowed solemnly.

  Pearce swallowed once, glanced at me uncertainly, and began, “We’re going to take you away from here. It’s going to disappoint a lot of people, and so I’d like answers to a few questions they’ll want to know as a sort of substitute. First”—Pearce hesitated—“your names.”

  It was Jimmy who volunteered. “Paul Wheaton, Victor Sorelle, John Lauder, and myself, James Rowe.”

  “I see,” Pearce acknowledged uncomfortably. He hesitated again. “There were six of you originally. What happened to the other two?”

  “Kolb and Sellers? They stayed.”

  “Stayed?” Pearce stared. And so, for that matter, did I.

  “Yes. They did not wish to return.”

  “Oh.” Pearce glanced at me, a flabbergasted expression on his face. “Another thing, are there…well, are there men on Mars?”

  “Yes.”

  The answer was made simply and very matter-of-factly, but I felt an eerie thrill. Here at last was a definite answer to one of the oldest questions men had always made regarding Mars. Yet, considering the change which had taken place in the explorers by contact with these other beings, I could only feel alarmed instead of excited.

  Pearce went on. “The Martians…do they look like us?”

  “In some ways,” Jimmy replied noncommittally.

  “There are cities?”

  “There are the ruins of cities. But at present there are none, in our conception of the word. The Eanthii—the Martians—have outgrown them.”

  Pearce glanced at me again, and his blue eyes were dark. The Eanthii, who had outgrown cities… What, I wondered somberly, was it actually like on Mars? Jimmy was answering questions readily enough, but actually he was revealing very little. In what he did reveal lurked a suggestiveness that was—disturbing.

  “One more thing,” Pearce said. “Why were you gone for seven years?”

  “The Spaceward was badly damaged in landing. Part of the time—except for that spent in travel—was spent in repairs. The other part…the Eanthii knew many things. We stayed to learn.”

  Pearce took a deep breath and straightened. There was a look on his face like that of a man who has been given a glimpse into the unknown and does not know whether to be awed or frightened at things he sees but does not understand. “I guess that’s all. I’ll add padding wherever necessary.”

  We were ready to leave. I paused only long enough to make provision for the Spaceward with Barringer. The ship was to be moved to a hangar and kept under rigid quarantine for the time being. My own flitterjet, in which Rowe and I had arrived at the Field, was to be kept in storage until I had someone call for it.

  I felt guilty at the thought of leaving Pearce to face things alone, but from the way I had to support Rowe as we walked to where the ambulance waited, I realized there was nothing else I could do. Rowe needed my help in what lay ahead, and I couldn’t be in two places at once.

  The ambulance craft was a combination of ’gyro and jet. The whirling vanes took us up gently, and the jet shot us toward Rowe’s suburban home.

  * * * *

  Two days passed—days which I spent entirely at Rowe’s home, going to bed so utterly exhausted that I hardly had strength to undress.

  I’d had the explorers made presentable. They’d been dressed in civilized clothing, their hair cut and their beards trimmed. Shaving their beards off entirely, of course, would not only have been a painful process, but would have made the pallor of their cheeks and jaws stand out in sharp contrast to the dark portions of the exposed parts of their faces.

  The finished job, while a great improvement over their former appearances, still wasn’t as complete as I would have liked. There were two things about the explorers regarding which nothing could be done. The first was their air of utter detachment and disinterest, as though they lived and moved in worlds of their own. They answered readily enough when questioned or spoken to, but otherwise they would volunteer nothing. There was no animation about them, no real friendliness. They were polite and courteous, but other than that, they might have been life-sized puppets moved by strings.

  The second thing was the jewels—or whatever they were. These seemed to be permanent fixtures. Norris Trane, Rowe’s physician and a close friend of us both, had had occasion to examine the jewels, and he’d reported they were set directly in the flesh and bone of the explorer’s foreheads. It was a feat which could have been accomplished only by some miracle of surgery.

  I’d contacted the families and friends of the explorers that first day, and had made arrangements for a meeting. I’d much rather have preferred to wait a few weeks in the hope that a retur
n to earthly surroundings would bring the men back to normal, but knowing how impatient their families must be to see them again, I realized it would only lead to misunderstandings. Besides, there would have been too much pressure from other groups in the meantime. The only thing I could do was to have Pearce act as a sort of cushion between the explorers and all those with whom they came in contact.

  I was depending rather heavily on Pearce. He’d accomplished a miracle at Grant Field, having turned away the crowds and the newsmen with no resulting unpleasantness. Newscasts on the same day of the landing had reported merely that the explorers had been very much weakened physically by the long trip back to Earth and would have to be held incommunicado until they had made a full recovery. Other than this, they contented themselves with the information Pearce had given them.

  The respite was only a temporary one, however, for Pearce and I were aware the newsmen could not be held off long. But we had already made more or less definite plans for a press interview.

  The reunion between the explorers and their families and friends was to take place in the afternoon of the third day. Pearce had arranged everything with the care of a showman. The explorers had been dressed in bright, informal sport clothing, and the living room had been decorated with flowers. Pearce was especially pleased over the fact that it was a clear and sunny autumn day, for he claimed it would aid in the psychological effect he wished to produce to offset the weird effect the four returned spacemen made.

  Pearce and I had tried to keep the group of visitors as small as possible, but it had been difficult. My own family had insisted on being present, for one thing—Doris, in particular. And for another, many of the people we had invited heedlessly brought along friends of their own.

  I was tense and anxious when the people started arriving. More than anything else, I wanted things to go off well. Still too vivid in my mind was the picture of Rowe’s disappointment. I hoped desperately that my efforts to spare these others the same would not have been in vain.