Strange Ports of Call
Page 47
“Government Bonds, Political Maps, Religious Quarrels, Beliefs, Sciences, Prejudices of the Pan-American Unity, Stock Report for July 23, 2044, The War Digest
Dad had insisted on bringing these papers, for this purpose. He sat there and fed them into the fire, one by one, with satisfaction, and told them what it all meant.
“I’m burning a way of life, just like that way of life is being burned clean of Earth right now. Forgive me if I talk like a politician. I am, after all, a former governor of a state, and I was honest and they hated me for it. Life on earth never oriented itself! It never seemed to have time to settle down or get anywhere good. Science got too far ahead of them too quickly, and the people got lost in a scientific wilderness, like children making over pretty things, gadgets, helicopters and rockets; putting emphasis on wrong things; on machines instead of the thought of how to run the machines. Wars got worse and killed them. That’s what the silent radio means. That’s what we ran away from.
“Mars is ripe for colonization. Scientists have worked for half a century to prepare rockets. I was state-governor. I had pull. I arranged it so your mother and I could bring you kids here as the first colonial family. I knew the war was coming, that the scientists would be called back from Mars to help. We were supposed to go back, too. We didn’t. We took a fishing trip. Well, I hoped it wouldn’t be this bad. I didn’t want to tell you kids unless I had to. But Earth is gone. Interplanetary travel won’t be back for another two hundred years, maybe longer, maybe never. But that way of life proved itself wrong, and it strangled itself with its own hands. You’re young. I’ll tell you this again every day until it sinks in.”
Dad paused to feed more papers into the fire.
“Now, we are alone. We and a handful of others who are to meet us in a few days. If they lived. A few of them, I’m sure, will come up the canal. Enough to start over. Enough to begin. Enough to turn their backs on chaos and strike out on a new line
The fire leaped up to emphasize his talking. He was full of that fire. And then all the papers were gone, except one. That was a symbol, too. All the laws and beliefs of Earth were burnt into small hot ashes which soon would be carried off in a wind.
Timothy looked at the last thing that Dad tossed in the fire. It was a map of the United States, and it wrinkled and distorted itself hotly and went—flimpf—and was gone like a warm, black butterfly. Timothy had to turn his head away and swallow, hard.
“Now, I’m going to show you the Martians,” said Dad. He got up. “Come along, all of you. Here, Alice.” He took her hand.
Michael was crying loudly, and Dad picked him up and carried him, and they walked down through the ruins toward the canal.
The canal. Where tomorrow or the next day their future wives would come up in a boat—small laughing girls now, with their father and mother.
The night came down around them, and there were stars. But Timothy couldn’t find Earth. It had already set. That was something to think about. It was already set.
A cool night wind blew around them, and as they walked, Dad said, “Your mother and I will try to teach you. Perhaps we’ll fail. I think not. We’ve had experience. We’ve seen. We planned this trip years ago, even before you were born. Even if there hadn’t been a war, we would have come to Mars to live and form our own standard of living. It would have been another hundred years before Mars would have been even faintly poisoned by Earth civilization. Now, of course—”
They reached the canal. It was long and straight and cool and wet and reflective in the night.
“I’ve always wanted to see a Martian,” said Michael, stiltedly. “Where are they, Dad? You promised.”
“There they are, Mike,” said Dad, and he shifted Michael on his shoulder and pointed straight down.
The Martians were there, all right. It sent a thrill chasing through Timothy.
The Martians were there—in the canal—reflected in the water. Timothy and Michael and Robert and Mom and Dad.
The Martians stared back up at them for a long, long silent time from the rippling water.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Cunning of the Beast, by Nelson Bond: copyright 1942, by McCall Corporation, • for Blue Book Magazine. By permission of Nelson Bond.
The Worm, by David H. Keller: copyright 1927, by E. P. Company, Inc., for Amazing Stories, March 1929. By permission of David H. Keller.
The Crystal Bullet, by Donald Wandrei: copyright 1940, by Weird Tales for Weird Tales, March 1941; copyright 1944, by Donald Wandrei for The Eye and the Finger. By permission of Arkham House.
The Thing from Outside, by George Allan England: copyright by E. P. Company, Inc., for Science and Invention, April 1923. By permission of Ziff-Davis Company.
At the Mountains of Madness, by H. P. Lovecraft: copyright 1936, by Street & Smith Publishing Company, for Astounding Stories; copyright 1939, by August Derleth and Donald Wandrei, for The Outsider and Others. By permission of Arkham House.
Mars on the Ether, by Lord Dunsany: copyright 1937, by Esquire-Coronet, Inc., for Coronet, September 1937. By permission of Lord Dunsany.
The God-Box, by Howard Wandrei: copyright 1934, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., for Astounding Stories, April 1934. By permission of Howard Wandrei.
Mn. Bauer and the Atoms, by Fritz Leiber, Jr.: copyright 1945, by Weird Tales for Weird Tales, January 1946. By permission of Fritz Leiber, Jr.
The Crystal Egg, by H. G. Wells: copyright 1911, by Charles Scribner’s Sons, for Tales of Space and Time; copyright 1929, by Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc., for The Short Stories of H. G. Wells. By permission of the estate of H. G. Wells.
John Jones’ Dollar, by Harry Stephen Keeler: copyright 1927, Experimenter Publishing Company, Inc., for Amazing Stories, April 1927. By permission of Harry Stephen Keeler.
Call Him Demon, by Henry Kuttner: copyright 1946, by Standard Magazines, Inc., for Thrilling Wonder Stories, Fall 1946. By permission of Henry Kuttner.
Master of the Asteroid, by Clark Ashton Smith: copyright 1932, by Gernsback Publications, Inc., for Wonder Stories, October 1932. By permission of Clark Ashton Smith.
A Guest in the House, by Frank Belknap Long: copyright 1946, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., for Astounding Science Fiction, March 1946. By permission of Frank Belknap Long.
The Lost Street, by Carl Jacobi and Clifford Simak: copyright 1941, by H-K Publications, Inc., for Comet, July 1941. By permission of Carl Jacobi and Clifford Simak.
Forgotten, by P. Schuyler Miller: copyright 1933, by Stellar Publication Corporation; copyright 1946, by Better Publications, Inc. By permission of P. Schuyler Miller.
Far Centaurus, by A. E. Van Vogt: copyright 1943, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., for Astounding Science Fiction. By permission of A. E. Van Vogt.
Thunder and Roses, by Theodore Sturgeon: copyright 1947, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., for Astounding Science Fiction. By permission of Theodore Sturgeon.
The Green Hills of Earth, by Robert A. Heinlein: copyright 1947, by The Curtis Publishing Company, for The Saturday Evening Post, February 8, 1947. By permission of Robert A. Heinlein.
Blunder, by Philip Wylie: copyright 1945, by The Crowell-Collier Publishing Company, for Colliers, January 12, 1946. By permission of Philip Wylie.
The Million Year Picnic, by Ray Bradbury: copyright 1946, by Love Romances Publishing Company, Inc., for Planet Stories, Summer 1946. By permission of Ray Bradbury.