First to arrive were Sorelle’s wife and daughter, his wife’s parents, and his father, a white-haired, old man whose wrinkled features radiated a pathetic eagerness. Sorelle’s daughter was about nine; she had been a mere baby when he left for Mars. We based a lot of our hopes on that child.
Rowe, Trane, and I were waiting with the four explorers in the living room. Pearce ushered in Sorelle’s family with all the smiles and patter of a master of ceremonies. He had obviously given them a warning beforehand of what to expect, since it seemed to me that they looked the faintest bit apprehensive.
The eyes of the group settled upon the explorers immediately upon entering the room. For a moment they stood hesitant, uncertain, their glances darting from face to face. Then Sorelle’s wife uttered a cry: “Vic!” She ran toward him, her arms went around him, and she sobbed out her happiness against his chest.
Sorelle stood there, his arms at his sides. Upon his mask-like features, I thought I saw a slight frown.
The woman disengaged herself, and raised her tear-streaked eyes to his face. Slowly the happiness drained from it. Incredulity came, and a sudden welling of hurt.
“Vic…don’t you remember me?”
“Yes. Greetings, Ada.”
Pearce leaped into the breach. He rounded up the others, half pushed, half urged them forward. His smile was a bit strained, but his patter was coming fast.
“…been on Mars for a long time. Living on a strange world does things to you, of course…”
Pearce stooped beside Sorelle’s little girl, and his voice was genial without being condescending. “Aren’t you going to say hello to Daddy? You were just a baby when he went away, you know.”
The child stared at Sorelle, disappointment showing naked in her eyes. Without a word, she turned and buried her face against her mother’s coat.
The elder Sorelle seemed dazed by what he had witnessed. As though held back by a fear of his own reception, he stood motionless. His shoulders were bent a little more than when he had entered.
Then came a welcome diversion in the form of new arrivals. They were my own family. Vera was dressed as though for a presentation to royalty, and Beth and Andrea, as might have been expected, had taken along their current beaux. And Doris—Her cheeks were flushed, and excitement shook her slender body like a wind.
Doris singled out Jimmy almost at once. She approached him slowly, whispering his name. I understood, then, why young men had held no interest for her, why she’d buried herself in books. My anxiety suddenly increased as I was hit by the knowledge that I was no longer an onlooker to this strange reunion; the coming of Doris had made the explorers’ change a personal thing.
And abruptly, I was hoping—hoping desperately—that this time it would be different. The explorers couldn’t all be the same in their reactions to the people they had once known and loved. Some of them ought to have a few human feelings left. If Jimmy would only smile, if he would only do something than gaze back aloofly at this girl who had waited seven years…
I’d always been closer to Doris than to Beth and Andrea. In a way, Doris had taken the place of the son I’d never had. Her welfare had always particularly concerned me, and it had been with no little concern that I’d watched her devoting the best years of her life to studies which it had seemed strange should interest a pretty girl. And now, understanding, I prayed that she wouldn’t be hurt, that those seven years wouldn’t be wasted.
Doris had stopped. Her eyes were wide upon Jimmy. Bewilderment showed within them, a growing alarm.
He gazed back at her, his lips parted, and it seemed to me that an inner struggle of emotions showed dimly on his face as though he sought to remember things which he had forgotten, and remembering tried to find the old feelings that went with them—and failed. A shadow slid over his features, a shadow out of an alien world.
Gravely, Jimmy bowed. “Greetings, Doris,” he said.
Doris took her lip between her teeth, and her figure seemed to wilt. She seemed too stunned for tears. After a moment she straightened—and she smiled.
“Hello, Jimmy. It’s nice to see you back.” She came over to me, then, and I put my arm around her. And the pain she must have felt could have been no less than my own.
Then came Wheaton’s wife and his two children, a boy and a girl in their late teens. It was the same. And it was the same with Lauder’s mother, father, and brother when they arrived with several friends a short time later.
Pearce did his utmost to create distractions. He introduced one group to the other, had refreshments sent in, and he darted here and there, trying to get conversations started. Trane and I joined in, more out of sympathy for Pearce than any real desire to be sociable. Even Rowe seemed to understand the purpose that motivated us, for he roused from his brooding and began to help.
Pearce tried to draw the explorers into things, but with little success. They either missed or ignored his leads entirely, responding only to direct questions, and then with a grave bow and a few brief words.
On the whole, however, the affair didn’t go off too badly. The people had been warned, and they had known more or less what to expect. And while disappointed, certainly, they didn’t feel that the situation was entirely hopeless, for when time for departure came, the families of Sorelle, Wheaton, and Lauder approached me and asked when their respective men could be taken home. They felt, obviously that, once home, the explorers would return to normal.
I couldn’t make any definite promises, since I didn’t wish to pass responsibility for the explorers into inexperienced hands until such time as the interest of the world had faded. I didn’t know when that would be, though probably within a month at the least. And I hoped, during that time, that the explorers would be well started on the road back to recovery.
With such vague assurances as I was able to give, the people left. Rowe, Trane, and I drew our first real breaths of the entire day.
But that was only the beginning. In the weeks which followed, there were press interviews and ’vision interviews, these latter complete with ’casters and scanner men who spread their apparatus all over the house. There were scientists from points all over the globe, consumed with an avid eagerness for all data regarding Mars and its inhabitants. And Pearce and I turned down scores of invitations to banquets and requests for lectures.
It wasn’t long before people finally became aware of the true state of affairs regarding the explorers and ceased in their efforts to be eulogizing. Pearce and I had nothing to do with this. Those who had come into contact with the explorers—newsmen, scientists, and various other groups—had carried away with them certain impressions which they had not hesitated to make public. The world now knew the explorers had been radically changed by their stay on Mars. And in fact, a few individuals harped on the explorers’ queerness in such a way as actually to make them seem dangerous.
Notable among these were Nick Griffin and Simon Hough, who seemed to vie with each other in their attempts to cast the explorers in as suspicious and menacing a light as possible. Griffin was a newscaster who specialized in the sensation or expose type of reporting, and an indication of his abilities in this line is the fact that he had constantly to be accompanied by a bodyguard. He was probably the most unpleasant, unscrupulous, and yet the most successful man in his profession.
Hough wrote a daily popular psychology series for the papers, which at various times had been denounced by authorities of the subject as being erroneous, misleading, and filled with actual falsehoods. Yet the popularity of Hough’s articles with the common man had never declined, and he continued with his entertaining distortions as blithely as ever.
In the explorers, Hough and Griffin had found a fertile field for the exercise of their particular talents, and their exploitation had reached a point where each tried to outdo the other in their efforts to be sensational. Griffin actually hinted, in one of his newscast
s, that the reason for the strangeness of the explorers was because their bodies had been taken over by Martian intelligences.
I didn’t know whether to be amused or alarmed at flights of fancy such as this. Certainly, they could have had anything but an encouraging effect upon a public generally susceptible to hoaxes, scares, and rumors of all kinds.
I discussed the matter with Trane one evening. He seemed to regard it very seriously.
“I tell you, Farnam, I don’t like this a single bit,” he said earnestly. “Hough and Griffin are playing up the subject of the explorers merely for publicity. They’re most probably not serious about even one-fourth of what they say. But the effect upon the public is another story. There’s always a great mass of people ready and willing to believe anything that comes over the ’vision set or is printed in papers. And it is just this kind of people who can unintentionally be incited to mob action.”
I stared at Trane. “Isn’t that a bit too strong? You surely couldn’t expect anything like that to happen in the present case.”
Trane shrugged. “Perhaps not. But with people you can never tell, Farnam. Man is gregarious only insofar as others like himself are involved. Those who do not conform to his standards of behavior or thinking are rigidly excluded or avoided. Fashions and fads are an expression of this instinct. You and I wear our present style of clothing because all other men do so. If we were to wear Roman togas or Medieval armor, we’d instantly be objects of the deepest suspicion.
“You must remember cases in which animals have been known to turn against one of their own kind because of some difference. A tame monkey released among its wild fellows is destroyed or driven away. A crow either accidently or intentionally dusted with flour is pecked to death by others of its kind if it doesn’t manage to escape first. And what is man beneath all his veneer of civilization but an animal? To be sure, man will tolerate a great many differences in his fellows—provided that he is able to understand them and rationalize about them on the basis of this understanding. But where these differences reach so far into the unknown as to verge upon the supernatural—
“Above all things, men fear the unknown, Farnam. They’ll do the crudest, most vicious things imaginable to protect themselves from it. Witness the witch-hunts and witch-burnings throughout all history.
“The explorers have been to Mars. They have returned greatly changed. Mars, now that it is known to be inhabited by beings like ourselves, is something to be regarded with deep distrust. Especially, Farnam, since its inhabitants apparently are possessed of mysterious powers capable of bringing about such a great change in the explorers.
“What, actually, do we know about the Martians? What does the common man know, fed as he is upon exaggerations and distortions by such men as Griffin and Hough? Mars is still very much an unknown quantity—and, Farnam, would it be too far from the truth to say that, to minds not adjusted to scientific methods of thinking, excess speculation upon this unknown quantity might push it so much further into the unknown that almost it begins to border upon the supernatural?”
I felt chilled. If Trane were right, Griffin and Hough were unknowingly stirring up forces which would have highly unpleasant results where the explorers were concerned.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how the change in the explorers was most likely brought about,” Trane said, after a long moment of silence. “From what I’ve learned from the explorers themselves, and from what I’ve been able to deduce, I think I have the answer.
“As you know, the Spaceward was rather badly damaged in the landing on Mars. Before a return journey to Earth could be contemplated, certain extensive repairs had to be made. The Martians, however, possessed neither the necessary metals nor the required technology which would have made quick repairs possible. It isn’t that the Martians were a backward or degenerate race; it’s just that their culture was not one which embraced the machine. Or you might say that their culture had become as far removed from the machine as ours at present is from that of the ancient Romans. In fact, I have good reason to believe that their culture was one of mind alone. I’m not certain of just in what ways, but you might say that power of mind accomplished for them what machines accomplish for us.
“The Martians were willing to help, to the extent of learning things which they did not know or most likely had forgotten. But while there was willingness to co-operate—one side to teach, the other to learn—there was a complete lack of understanding. The difficulty was something like this: Suppose you had volunteered to aid a man of the Stone Age in the repair of certain tools or weapons. He has somehow wandered into your age, and before he can get back to his, these repairs must be made. He could not understand you, nor could you understand him. Yet the situation would not seem entirely hopeless; you could either obey instructions in sign language or simply emulate his actions.
“But would you know where flint beds were located, so that arrowheads and hatchet heads could be made? And would you know where to find the deer, to supply the thongs for binding and the horn for chipping? And would you know where to find the proper woods for haft and bow and arrow shaft?
“How much would sign language and emulation help you when it came to flaying the hide and shaping the bow? Even if you had watched very closely, would you know how to hold the piece of deer horn and exert the proper pressure in just the right places so as to chip the flint into the correct shape?
These things are not the result of mere emulation. They are skills—and can sign language make you understand all the little tricks and techniques that go into the mastering of any skill?
“Now apply these difficulties to a space ship. How could you explain to a Martian the various metals and their proportions which go into the making of a certain alloy? Would he understand, even if you did get your meaning across, having progressed as far beyond the use of metal as you have beyond that of flint and wood and hide? What about plastic, glass, and rubber? And what of temperatures that have to be exact to a degree, of measurements that have to be correct down to ten-thousandths of an inch?
“The difficulties of understanding would be practically insurmountable. For you to teach the Martians your language would not be enough. There would still be technical terms, abstract ideas, precise shades of meaning which simply could not be gotten across. Before the Martians could aid the explorers with the repairs on the Spaceward, the difficulties of understanding had to be solved. Language was out, as were signs and diagrams. What, then, was left?”
It was not a rhetorical question this time, for Trane paused as though expecting me to answer. But I could think of nothing at once, and he went on:
“Telepathy, of course. But first some means of reception and transmission, and perhaps even translation, of thought had to be devised. And the Martians accomplished this with exquisite cleverness.”
“The jewels in the foreheads of the explorers!” I burst out, in sudden realization.
Trane nodded. “Exactly, Farnam. It is for this reason that I believe Martian culture to be one of mind. Only a people with an immense knowledge of the mind and its workings could have accomplished what was done. Just what the jewels are, I don’t know. They may be pseudo-living crystalline entities, or just enormously compact devices on the order of a radio set. But whatever they are, the jewels made possible complete understanding between the Martians and the explorers. The Martians learned things from the explorers, and the explorers learned things from the Martians.”
Trane leaned toward me. His eyes narrowed upon mine, and he spoke very softly. “Farnam, let’s suppose you and I had direct contact of mind to mind. Isn’t it likely that we would become very similar in our patterns of thinking, assuming that the period of contact extended over something like five years? Remember, Farnam, this relationship, would be even more intimate than that between husband and wife, both of whom, in many cases, tend to become very similar in speech and mannerisms after ma
ny years of married life.
“Since you and I are of the same race and almost at the same level of mental development, there would be little or no difference in the amount to which the one of us would affect the other. But suppose I were a Martian, one of a different race, one whom because of my mental culture, was possessed of an infinitely higher level of mind. Wouldn’t that mental relationship change you more than it would myself? To the extent where you formed entirely new patterns of thinking, new values, new viewpoints? To the extent where almost you became a Martian mentally yourself?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “My Lord, yes!”
“That’s what happened to the explorers,” Trane said. “They remained on Mars for five years simply because they had become so engrossed in learning that, even with the Spaceward completely repaired, returning to Earth no longer mattered. You might almost say they went away to school. Now, having graduated, they’re back—and, Farnam, I’m afraid to guess why…”
“Why, what do you mean?” I demanded. There seemed to be something more than slightly ominous about Trane’s last words.
Trane spread his hands wide in a sudden gesture. “I wish I knew, Farnam. I’m only certain that their reasons for returning have nothing to do with us. You’ve seen their reactions to meeting their parents, wives, friends, children. They clearly have no human feelings of love or friendship left. No—it was something else that finally drew them back to Earth.”
How true this was, I found out within a short time. The wives of Wheaton and Sorelle, and Lauder’s parents, had constantly requested to know when their respective men could be taken home. Direct interest in the explorers, except for that kept alive by the sensation-mongering of Griffin and Hough, had faded. I felt that the time had more or less arrived. But when I broached the subject of returning home to the explorers, they refused.
“To return to our homes would not be wise,” Sorelle stated gravely. “We could not resume our former lives. We have caused sufficient pain and trouble. Returning to our homes would only cause more.”
The 38th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK Page 27