Red Planet

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Jim started to answer, thought better of it. “Kid, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

  “I don't doubt that. But what have you been doing? You've sure got folks in a stew.”

  “Never mind. Say, what day is it?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Saturday the what?”

  “Saturday the fourteenth of Ceres, of course.”

  Jim was startled. Four days? Only four days since he had left Syrtis Minor? Then as he reviewed it in his mind, he accepted it. Granting Frank's assertion that the time he had spent down under Cynia was only three hours or so, the rest added up. “Gee! I guess I'm in time then.”

  “What do you mean,'in time’?”

  “Huh? Oh, you wouldn't understand it. Wait a few years.”

  “Smarty!”

  Mrs. Marlowe came away from the phone. “Your father will be right home, Jim.”

  “So I heard. Good.”

  She looked at him. “Are you hungry? Is there anything you would like?”

  “Sure, fatted calf and champagne. I'm not really hungry but I could stand something. How about some cocoa? I've been living on cold stuff out of cans for days.”

  “Cocoa there shall be.”

  “Better eat what you can now,” put in Phyllis. “Maybe you won't get what you want to eat when—”

  “Phyllis!”

  “But, Mother, I was just going to say that—”

  “Phyllis—keep quiet or leave the room.”

  Jim's sister subsided with muttering. Shortly the cocoa was ready and while Jim was drinking it his father came in. His father shook hands with him soberly as if he were a grown man. “It's good to see you home, Son.”

  “It feels mighty good to be home, Dad.” Jim gulped the rest of the cocoa. “But look, Dad, I've got a lot to tell you and there isn't any time to waste. Where's Willis?” He looked around. “Anybody see where he went?”

  “Never mind Willis. I want to know—”

  “But Willis is essential to this, Dad. Oh, Willis! Come here!” Willis came waddling out of the passageway; Jim picked him up.

  “All right; you've got Willis,” Mr. Marlowe said. “Now pay attention. What is this mess you are in, Son?”

  Jim frowned. “It's a little hard to know where to start.”

  “There's a warrant out for you and Frank!” blurted out Phyllis.

  Mr. Marlowe said, “Jane, will you please try to keep your daughter quiet?”

  “Phyllis, you heard what I said before!”

  “Aw, Mother, everybody knows it!”

  “Possibly Jim did not know it.”

  Jim said, “Oh, I guess I did. They had cops chasing us all the way home.”

  “Frank came with you?” asked his father.

  “Oh, sure! But we gave ‘em the slip. Those Company cops are stupid.”

  Mr. Marlowe frowned. “See here, Jim—I'm going to call up the Resident and tell him you are here. But I'm not going to let you surrender until something a lot more definite is shown to me than I have seen so far, and certainly not until we've had your side of the matter. When you do surrender, Dad will go along with you and stick by you.”

  Jim sat up straight. “Surrender? What are you talking about, Dad?”

  His father suddenly looked very old and tired. “Marlowes don't run away from the law, Son. You know I'll stick by you no matter what you've done. But you've got to face up to it.”

  Jim looked at his father defiantly. “Dad, if you think Frank and I have beaten our way across better than two thousand miles of Mars just to give up when we get here—well, you've just got another think coming. And anybody that tries to arrest me is going to find it a hard job.” His right hand, almost instinctively, was hovering around the place where his holster ordinarily hung. Phyllis was listening round-eyed; his mother was quietly dripping tears.

  His father said, “Son, you can't take that attitude.”

  Jim said,”Can't I? Well, I do. Why don't you find out what the score is before you talk about giving me up?” His voice was a bit shrill.

  His father bit his lip. His mother said, “Please, James—why don't you wait and hear what he has to say?”

  “Of course I want to hear what he has to say,” Mr. Marlowe answered irritably. “Didn't I say that? But I can't let my own son sit there and declare himself an outlaw.”

  “Please, James!”

  “Speak your piece, Son.”

  Jim looked around. “I don't know as I'm so anxious to, now,” he said bitterly. “This is a fine homecoming. You all act like I was a criminal or something.”

  “I'm sorry, Jim,” his father said slowly. “Let's keep first things first. Tell us what happened.”

  “Well … all right. But wait a minute— Phyllis said there was a warrant out for me. For what?”

  “Well … truancy—but that's not important. Actions to the prejudice of good order and discipline at the school and I myself don't know what they mean by that. It doesn't worry me. But the real charges are burglary and theft—and another one they tacked on a day later, escaping arrest.”

  “Escaping arrest? That's silly! They never caught us.”

  “So? How about the others?”

  “Theft is silly, too. I didn't steal anything from him—Howe, I mean, Headmaster Howe—he stole Willis from me. And then he laughed at me when I tried to get him back! I'll ‘theft’ him! If he ever shows up around me, I'll burn him down!”

  “Jim!”

  “Well, I will!”

  “Go on with your story.”

  “The burglary business has got something to it. I busted into his office, or tried to. But he can't prove anything. I'd like to see him show how I could crawl through a ten-inch round hole. And we didn't leave any fingerprints.” He added, “Anyhow, I had a right to. He had Willis locked up inside. Say, Dad, can't we swear out a warrant against Howe for stealing Willis? Why should he have it all his own way?”

  “Wait a minute, now You've got me confused. If you have a cause for action against the headmaster, I'll certainly back you up in it. But I want to get things straight. What hole? Did you cut a hole in the headmaster's door?”

  “No, Willis did.”

  “Willis! How can he cut anything?”

  “Darned if I know. He just grew an arm with a sort of a claw on the end and cut his way out. I called to him and out he came.”

  Mr. Marlowe rubbed his forehead. “This gets more confusing all the time. How did you boys get here?”

  “By subway. You see—”

  “By subway!”

  Jim looked thwarted. His mother put in, “James dear, I think perhaps he could tell his story better if we just let him tell it straight through, without interrupting.”

  “I think you are right,” Mr. Marlowe agreed. “I'll reserve my questions. Phyllis, get me a pad and pencil.”

  Thus facilitated, Jim started over and told a reasonably consecutive and complete story, from Howe's announcement of military-school inspections to their translation via Martian “subway” from Cynia to Charax. When Jim was done, Mr. Marlowe pulled his chin. “Jim, if you didn't have a life-time reputation for stubborn honesty, I'd think you were romancing. As it is, I have to believe it, but it is the most fantastic thing I ever heard.”

  “You still think I ought to surrender?”

  “Eh? No, no—this puts it in a different light. You leave it up to Dad. I'll call the Resident and—”

  “Just a second, Dad.”

  “Eh?”

  “I didn't tell you all of it.”

  “What? You must, Son, if I am to—”

  “I didn't want to get my story fouled up with another issue entirely I'll tell you, but I want to know something. Isn't the colony supposed to be on its way by now?”

  “It was supposed to have been,” agreed his father. “Migration would have started yesterday by the original schedule. But there has been a two-week postponement.”

  “That's not a postponement, Dad; that's a frame-up. Th
e Company isn't going to allow the colony to migrate this year. They mean to make us stay here all through the winter.”

  “What? Why, that's ridiculous, Son; a polar winter is no place for terrestrials. But you are mistaken, it's just a postponement; the Company is revamping the power system at North Colony and is taking advantage of an unusually late winter to finish it before we get there.”

  “I'm telling you, Dad, that's just a stall. The plan is to keep the colony here until it's too late and force you to stay here through the winter. I can prove it.”

  “How?”

  “Where's Willis?” The bouncer had wandered off again, checking up on his domain.

  “Never mind Willis. You've made an unbelievable charge. What makes you think such a thing?”

  “But I've got to have Willis to prove it. Here, boy! Come to Jim.” Jim gave a rapid summary of what he had learned through Willis's phonographic hearing, following which he tried to get Willis to perform.

  Willis was glad to perform. He ran over almost all of the boys’ conversation of the past few days, repeated a great amount of Martian speech that was incomprehensible out of context, and sang iQuien Es La Senorita? But he could not, or would not, recall Beecher's conversation.

  Jim was still coaxing him when the phone sounded. Mr. Marlowe said, “Phyllis, answer that.”

  She trotted back in a moment. “It's for you, Daddy.”

  Jim shut Willis up; they could hear both ends of the conversation. “Marlowe? This is the Resident Agent. I hear that boy of yours has turned up.”

  Jim's father glanced over his shoulder, hesitated. “Yes. He's here.”

  “Well, keep him there. I'm sending a man over to pick him up.”

  Mr. Marlowe hesitated again. “That's not necessary, Mr. Kru-ger. I'm not through talking with him. He won't go away.”

  “Come, come, Marlowe—you can't interfere with orderly legal processes. I'm executing that warrant at once.”

  “You are? You just think you are.” Mr. Marlowe started to add something, thought better of it, and switched off. The phone sounded again almost at once. “If that's the Resident,” he said, “I won't speak to him. If I do, I'll say something I'll regret.”

  But it was not; it was Frank's father. “Marlowe? Jamie, this is Pat Sutton.” The conversation showed that each father had gotten about to the same point with his son.

  “We were just about to try to get something out of Jim's bouncer,” Mr. Marlowe added. “It seems he overheard a pretty damning conversation.”

  “Yes, I know,” agreed Mr. Sutton. “I want to hear it, too. Hold it till we get there.”

  “Fine. Oh, by the way—friend Kruger is out to arrest the kids right away. Watch out.”

  “How well I know it; he just called me. And I put a flea in his ear. ‘Bye now!”

  Mr. Marlowe switched off, then went to the front door and locked it. He did the same to the door of the tunnels. He was none too soon; the signal showing that someone had entered the pressure lock came on shortly. “Who is it?” called out Jim's father.

  “Company business!”

  “What sort of Company business and who is it?”

  “This is the Resident's proctor. I've come for James Marlowe, Junior.”

  “You might as well go away again. You won't get him.” There was a whispered exchange outside the door, then the lock was rattled.

  “Open up that door,” came another voice.”We have a warrant.”

  “Go away. I'm switching off the speaker.” Mr. Marlowe did so.

  The pressure lock indicator showed presently that the visitors had left, but shortly it indicated occupancy again. Mr. Marlowe switched the speaker back on. “If you've come back, you might as well leave,” he said.

  “What sort of a welcome is this, Jamie my boy?” came Mr. Sutton's voice.

  “Oh, Pat! Are you alone?”

  “Only my boy Francis and that's all.”

  They were let in. “Did you see anything of proctors?” Mr. Marlowe inquired.

  “Yep, I ran into ‘em.”

  “Pop told them that if they touched me he'd burn their legs off,” Frank said proudly, “and he would, too.”

  Jim caught his father's eye. Mr. Marlowe looked away. Mr. Sut-ton went on, “Now what's this about Jim's pet having evidence for us? Let's crank him up and hear him talk.”

  “We've been trying to,” Jim said. “I'll try again. Here, Willis—”Jim took him in his lap. “Now, look, Willis, do you remember Headmaster Howe?”

  Willis promptly became a featureless ball.

  “That's not the way to do it,” objected Frank. “You remember what set him off before. Hey Willis.” Willis extended his eyes. “Listen to me, chum. ‘Good afternoon. Good afternoon, Mark,’ Frank continued in a fair imitation of the Agent General's rich, affected tones. “ ‘Sit down, my boy’ “

  “ ‘Always happy to see you,’ “ Willis continued in exact imitation of Beecher's voice. He went on from there, reciting perfectly the two conversations he had overheard between the headmaster and the Resident Agent General, and including the meaningless interlude between them.

  When he had finished and seemed disposed to continue with all that had followed up to the present moment, Jim shut him off.

  “Well,” said Jim's father, “what do you think of it, Pat?”

  “I think it's terrible,” put in Jim's mother.

  Mr. Sutton screwed up his face.”Tomorrow I am taking myself down to Syrtis Minor and there I shall take the place apart with my two hands.”

  “An admirable sentiment,” agreed Mr. Marlowe, “but this is a matter for the whole colony. I think our first step should be to call a town meeting and let everyone know what we are up against.”

  “Humph! No doubt you are right but you'll be taking all the fun out of it.”

  Mr. Marlowe smiled. “I imagine there will be excitement enough to suit you before this is over. Kruger isn't going to like it—and neither is the Honorable Mr. Gaines Beecher.”

  MR. SUTTON WANTED DOCTOR MACRAE TO EXAMINE FRANK'S throat and Jim's father decided, over Jim's protest, that it would be a good idea to have him examine Jim as well. The two men escorted the boys to the doctor's house. There Mr. Marlowe instructed them, “Stay here until we get back, kids. I don't want Kruger's proctors picking you up.”

  “I'd like to see them try!”

  “Me, too.”

  “I don't want them to try; I want to settle the matter first. We're going over to the Resident's office and offer to pay for the food you kids appropriated and, Jim, I'll offer to pay for the damage Willis did to Headmaster Howe's precious door. Then—”

  “But, Dad, we oughtn't to pay for that. Howe shouldn't have locked him up.”

  “I agree with the kid,” said Mr. Sutton. “The food, now, that's another matter. The boys took it; we pay for it.”

  “You're both right,” agreed Mr. Marlowe, “but it's worth it to knock the props out of these ridiculous charges. Then I'm going to swear out a warrant against Howe for attempting to steal, or enslave, Willis. What would you say it was, Pat? Steal, or enslave?”

  “Call it ‘steal’; you'll not be raising side issues, then.”

  “All right. Then I shall insist that he consult the planet office before taking any action. I think that will stop his clock for the time being.”

  “Dad,” put in Jim, “you aren't going to tell the Resident that we've found out about the migration frame-up, are you? He would just turn around and call Beecher.”

  “Not just yet, though he's bound to know at the town meeting. He won't be able to call Beecher then; Deimos sets in two hours.” Mr. Marlowe glanced at his watch. “See you later, boys. We've got things to do.”

  Doctor MacRae looked up as they came in. “Maggie, bar the door!” he called out.”We've got two dangerous criminals.”

  “Howdy, Doc.”

  “Come in and rest yourselves. Tell me all about it.”

  It was fully an hour later that MacRae said,
“Well, Frank, I suppose I had better look you over. Then I'll have a look at you, Jim.”

  “There's nothing wrong with me, Doc.”

  “How would you like a clout in the head? Start some more coffee while I take care of Frank.” The room was well stocked with the latest diagnostic equipment, but MacRae did not bother with it. He tilted Frank's head back, told him to say aaaahl, thumped his chest, and listened to his heart. “You'll live,” he decided. “Any kid who can hitchhike from Syrtis to Charax will live a long time.”

  “ ‘Hitchhike’?” asked Frank.

  “Beat your way. It's an expression that was used way back when women wore skirts. Your turn, Jim.” He took even less time to dispose of Jim. Then the three friends settled back to visit.

  “I want to know more about this night you spent in the cabbage head,” Doc announced. “Willis I can understand, since any Martian creature can tuck his tail in and live indefinitely without air. But by rights you two laddie bucks should have smothered. The plant closed up entirely?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jim assured him, then related the event in more detail. When he got to the point about the flashlight MacRae stopped him.

  “That's it, that's it. You didn't mention that before. The flashlight saved your lives, son.”

  “Huh? How?”

  “Photosynthesis. You shine light on green leaf and it can no more help taking in carbon dioxide and giving off oxygen than you can help breathing.” The doctor stared at the ceiling, his lips moving while he figured. “Must have been pretty stuffy, just the same; you were short on green leaf surface. What kind of a torch was it?”

  “A G.E. ‘Midnight Sun.’ It was stuffy, terribly.”

  “A ‘Midnight Sun’ has enough candle power to do the trick. Hereafter I'll carry one if I'm going farther than twenty feet from my front stoop. It's a good dodge.”

  “Something that still puzzles me,” said Jim, “is how I could see a movie that covered every bit of the time I've had Willis, minute by minute, without missing anything, and have it turn out to be only three or four hours.”

  “That,” Doc said slowly, “is not nearly so mysterious as the other matter, the matter ofwhy you were shown this.”

  “Huh?”

  “I've wondered about that, too,” put in Frank. “After all, Willis is a pretty insignificant creature—take it easy, Jim! What was the point in running over his biography for Jim? What do you think, Doc?”