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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a65816c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50826 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50826) diff --git a/old/50826-h.zip b/old/50826-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b650e9c..0000000 --- a/old/50826-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50826-h/50826-h.htm b/old/50826-h/50826-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a490393..0000000 --- a/old/50826-h/50826-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1373 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Moons of Mars, by Dean Evans. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Moons of Mars, by Dean Evans - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Moons of Mars - -Author: Dean Evans - -Release Date: January 2, 2016 [EBook #50826] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONS OF MARS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="362" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>THE MOONS OF MARS</h1> - -<p>By DEAN EVANS</p> - -<p>Illustrated by WILLER</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction September 1952.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3"><i>Every boy should be able to whistle, except,<br /> -of course, Martians. But this one did!</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He seemed a very little boy to be carrying so large a butterfly net. He -swung it in his chubby right fist as he walked, and at first glance you -couldn't be sure if he were carrying it, or it carrying <i>him</i>.</p> - -<p>He came whistling. All little boys whistle. To little boys, whistling -is as natural as breathing. However, there was something peculiar about -this particular little boy's whistling. Or, rather, there were two -things peculiar, but each was related to the other.</p> - -<p>The first was that he was a Martian little boy. You could be very sure -of that, for Earth little boys have earlobes while Martian little boys -do not—and he most certainly didn't.</p> - -<p>The second was the tune he whistled—a somehow familiar tune, but one -which I should have thought not very appealing to a little boy.</p> - -<p>"Hi, there," I said when he came near enough. "What's that you're -whistling?"</p> - -<p>He stopped whistling and he stopped walking, both at the same time, as -though he had pulled a switch or turned a tap that shut them off. Then -he lifted his little head and stared up into my eyes.</p> - -<p>"'The Calm'," he said in a sober, little-boy voice.</p> - -<p>"The <i>what</i>?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"From the William Tell Overture," he explained, still looking up at me. -He said it deadpan, and his wide brown eyes never once batted.</p> - -<p>"Oh," I said. "And where did you learn that?"</p> - -<p>"My mother taught me."</p> - -<p>I blinked at him. He didn't blink back. His round little face still -held no expression, but if it had, I knew it would have matched the -title of the tune he whistled.</p> - -<p>"You whistle very well," I told him.</p> - -<p>That pleased him. His eyes lit up and an almost-smile flirted with the -corners of his small mouth.</p> - -<p>He nodded grave agreement.</p> - -<p>"Been after butterflies, I see. I'll bet you didn't get any. This is -the wrong season."</p> - -<p>The light in his eyes snapped off. "Well, good-by," he said abruptly -and very relevantly.</p> - -<p>"Good-by," I said.</p> - -<p>His whistling and his walking started up again in the same spot where -they had left off. I mean the note he resumed on was the note which -followed the one interrupted; and the step he took was with the left -foot, which was the one he would have used if I hadn't stopped him. -I followed him with my eyes. An unusual little boy. A most precisely -<i>mechanical</i> little boy.</p> - -<p>When he was almost out of sight, I took off after him, wondering.</p> - -<p>The house he went into was over in that crumbling section which forms -a curving boundary line, marking the limits of those frantic and ugly -original mine-workings made many years ago by the early colonists. It -seems that someone had told someone who had told someone else that -here, a mere twenty feet beneath the surface, was a vein as wide as -a house and as long as a fisherman's alibi, of pure—<i>pure</i>, mind -you—gold.</p> - -<p>Back in those days, to be a colonist meant to be a rugged individual. -And to be a rugged individual meant to not give a damn one way or -another. And to not give a damn one way or another meant to make one -hell of a mess on the placid face of Mars.</p> - -<p>There had not been any gold found, of course, and now, for the most -part, the mining shacks so hastily thrown up were only fever scars -of a sickness long gone and little remembered. A few of the houses -were still occupied, like the one into which the Martian boy had just -disappeared.</p> - -<p>So his <i>mother</i> had taught him the William Tell Overture, had she? -That tickling thought made me chuckle as I stood before the ramshackle -building. And then, suddenly, I stopped chuckling and began to think, -instead, of something quite astonishing:</p> - -<p>How had it been possible for her to teach, and for him to whistle?</p> - -<p><i>All Martians are as tone-deaf as a bucket of lead.</i></p> - -<p>I went up three slab steps and rapped loudly on the weather-beaten door.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The woman who faced me may have been as young as twenty-two, but -she didn't look it. That shocked look, which comes with the first -realization that youth has slipped quietly away downstream in the -middle of the night, and left nothing but frightening rocks of middle -age to show cold and gray in the hard light of dawn, was like the -validation stamp of Time itself in her wide, wise eyes. And her voice -wasn't young any more, either.</p> - -<p>"Well? And what did I do now?"</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon?" I said.</p> - -<p>"You're Mobile Security, aren't you? Or is that badge you're wearing -just something to cover a hole in your shirt?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'm Security, but does it have to mean something?" I asked. "All -I did was knock on your door."</p> - -<p>"I heard it." Her lips were curled slightly at one corner.</p> - -<p>I worked up a smile for her and let her see it for a few seconds before -I answered: "As a matter of fact, I don't want to see <i>you</i> at all. I -didn't know you lived here and I don't know who you are. I'm not even -interested in who you are. It's the little boy who just went in here -that I was interested in. The little Martian boy, I mean."</p> - -<p>Her eyes spread as though somebody had put fingers on her lids at the -outside corners and then cruelly jerked them apart.</p> - -<p>"Come in," she almost gasped.</p> - -<p>I followed her. When I leaned back against the plain door, it closed -protestingly. I looked around. It wasn't much of a room, but then you -couldn't expect much of a room in a little ghost of a place like this. -A few knickknacks of the locality stood about on two tables and a -shelf, bits of rock with streak-veins of fused corundum; not bad if you -like the appearance of squeezed blood.</p> - -<p>There were two chairs and a large table intended to match the chairs, -and a rough divan kind of thing made of discarded cratings which had -probably been hauled here from the International Spaceport, ten miles -to the West. In the back wall of the room was a doorway that led dimly -to somewhere else in the house. Nowhere did I see the little boy. I -looked once again at the woman.</p> - -<p>"What about him?" she whispered.</p> - -<p>Her eyes were still startled.</p> - -<p>I smiled reassuringly. "Nothing, lady, nothing. I'm sorry I upset you. -I was just being nosy is all, and that's the truth of it. You see, the -little boy went by me a while ago and he was whistling. He whistles -remarkably well. I asked him what the name of the tune was and he told -me it was the 'Calm' from William Tell. He also told me his mother had -taught him."</p> - -<p>Her eyes hadn't budged from mine, hadn't flickered. They might have -been bright, moist marbles glued above her cheeks.</p> - -<p>She said one word only: "Well?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," I answered. "Except that Martians are supposed to be -tone-deaf, aren't they? It's something lacking in their sense of -hearing. So when I heard this little boy, and saw he was a Martian, and -when he told me his <i>mother</i> had taught him—" I shrugged and laughed a -little. "Like I said before, I guess I got just plain nosy."</p> - -<p>She nodded. "We agree on that last part."</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was her eyes. Or perhaps it was the tone of her voice. Or -perhaps, and more simply, it was her attitude in general. But whatever -it was, I suddenly felt that, nosy or not, I was being treated shabbily.</p> - -<p>"I would like to speak to the Martian lady," I said.</p> - -<p>"There isn't any Martian lady."</p> - -<p>"There <i>has</i> to be, doesn't there?" I said it with little sharp -prickers on the words.</p> - -<p>But she did, too: "<i>Does there?</i>"</p> - -<p>I gawked at her and she stared back. And the stare she gave me was hard -and at the same time curiously defiant—as though she would dare me to -go on with it. As though she figured I hadn't the guts.</p> - -<p>For a moment, I just blinked stupidly at her, as I had blinked stupidly -at the little boy when he told me his mother had taught him how to -whistle. And then—after what seemed to me a very long while—I slowly -tumbled to what she meant.</p> - -<p>Her eyes were telling me that the little Martian boy wasn't a little -Martian boy at all, that he was cross-breed, a little chap who had a -Martian father and a human, Earthwoman mother.</p> - -<p>It was a startling thought, for there just aren't any such mixed -marriages. Or at least I had thought there weren't. Physically, -spiritually, mentally, or by any other standard you can think of, -compared to a human male the Martian isn't anything you'd want around -the house.</p> - -<p>I finally said: "So that is why he is able to whistle."</p> - -<p>She didn't answer. Even before I spoke, her eyes had seen the correct -guess which had probably flashed naked and astounded in my own eyes. -And then she swallowed with a labored breath that went trembling down -inside her.</p> - -<p>"There isn't anything to be ashamed of," I said gently. "Back on Earth -there's a lot of mixtures, you know. Some people even claim there's no -such thing as a pure race. I don't know, but I guess we all started -somewhere and intermarried plenty since."</p> - -<p>She nodded. Somehow her eyes didn't look defiant any more.</p> - -<p>"Where's his father?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"H-he's dead."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry. Are you all right? I mean do you get along okay and -everything, now that...?"</p> - -<p>I stopped. I wanted to ask her if she was starving by slow degrees and -needed help. Lord knows the careworn look about her didn't show it was -luxurious living she was doing—at least not lately.</p> - -<p>"Look," I said suddenly. "Would you like to go home to Earth? I could -fix—"</p> - -<p>But that was the wrong approach. Her eyes snapped and her shoulders -stiffened angrily and the words that ripped out of her mouth were not -coated with honey.</p> - -<p>"Get the hell out of here, you fool!"</p> - -<p>I blinked again. When the flame in her eyes suddenly seemed to grow -even hotter, I turned on my heel and went to the door. I opened it, -went out on the top slab step. I turned back to close the door—and -looked straight into her eyes.</p> - -<p>She was crying, but that didn't mean exactly what it looked like it -might mean. Her right hand had the door edge gripped tightly and she -was swinging it with all the strength she possessed. And while I still -stared, the door slammed savagely into the casing with a shock that -jarred the slab under my feet, and flying splinters from the rotten -woodwork stung my flinching cheeks.</p> - -<p>I shrugged and turned around and went down the steps. "And that is the -way it goes," I muttered disgustedly to myself. Thinking to be helpful -with the firewood problem, you give a woman a nice sharp axe and she -immediately puts it to use—on you.</p> - -<p>I looked up just in time to avoid running into a spread-legged man who -was standing motionless directly in the middle of the sand-path in -front of the door. His hands were on his hips and there was something -in his eyes which might have been a leer.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Pulled a howler in there, eh, mate?" he said. He chuckled hoarsely -in his throat. "Not being exactly deaf, I heard the tail end of it." -His chuckle was a lewd thing, a thing usually reserved—if it ever -was reserved at all—for the mens' rooms of some of the lower class -dives. And then he stopped chuckling and frowned instead and said -complainingly:</p> - -<p>"Regular little spitfire, ain't she? I ask you now, wouldn't you think -a gal which had got herself in a little jam, so to speak, would be more -reasonable—"</p> - -<p>His words chopped short and he almost choked on the final unuttered -syllable. His glance had dropped to my badge and the look on his face -was one of startled surprise.</p> - -<p>"I—" he said.</p> - -<p>I cocked a frown of my own at him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="600" height="244" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Well, so long, mate," he grunted, and spun around and dug his toes -in the sand and was away. I stood there staring at his rapidly -disappearing form for a few moments and then looked back once more at -the house. A tattered cotton curtain was just swinging to in the dirty, -sand-blown window. That seemed to mean the woman had been watching. I -sighed, shrugged again and went away myself.</p> - -<p>When I got back to Security Headquarters, I went to the file and began -to rifle through pictures. I didn't find the woman, but I did find the -man.</p> - -<p>He was a killer named Harry Smythe.</p> - -<p>I took the picture into the Chief's office and laid it on his desk, -waited for him to look down at it and study it for an instant, and then -to look back up to me. Which he did.</p> - -<p>"So?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Wanted, isn't he?"</p> - -<p>He nodded. "But a lot of good that'll do. He's holed up somewhere back -on Earth."</p> - -<p>"No," I said. "He's right here. I just saw him."</p> - -<p>"<i>What?</i>" He nearly leaped out of his chair.</p> - -<p>"I didn't know who he was at first," I said. "It wasn't until I looked -in the files—"</p> - -<p>He cut me off. His hand darted into his desk drawer and pulled out an -Authority Card. He shoved the card at me. He growled: "Kill or capture, -I'm not especially fussy which. Just <i>get</i> him!"</p> - -<p>I nodded and took the card. As I left the office, I was thinking of -something which struck me as somewhat more than odd.</p> - -<p>I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part -of the William Tell Overture, and it had led me to a wanted killer -named Harry Smythe.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Understandably, Mr. Smythe did not produce himself on a silver platter. -I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to get a lead on him and -got nowhere. If he was hiding in any of the places I went to, then he -was doing it with mirrors, for on Mars an Authority Card is the big -stick than which there is no bigger. Not solely is it a warrant, it is -a commandeer of help from anyone to whom it is presented; and wherever -I showed it I got respect.</p> - -<p>I got instant attention. I got even more: those wraithlike tremblings -in the darker corners of saloons, those corners where light never seems -quite to penetrate. You don't look into those. Not if you're anything -more than a ghoul, you don't.</p> - -<p>Not finding him wasn't especially alarming. What was alarming, though, -was not finding the Earthwoman and her little half-breed Martian son -when I went back to the tumbledown shack where they lived. It was -empty. She had moved fast. She hadn't even left me a note saying -good-by.</p> - -<p>That night I went into the Great Northern desert to the Haremheb -Reservation, where the Martians still try to act like Martians.</p> - -<p>It was Festival night, and when I got there they were doing the dance -to the two moons. At times like this you want to leave the Martians -alone. With that thought in mind, I pinned my Authority Card to my -lapel directly above my badge, and went through the gates.</p> - -<p>The huge circle fire was burning and the dance was in progress. -Briefly, this can be described as something like the ceremonial dances -put on centuries ago by the ancient aborigines of North America. There -was one important exception, however. Instead of a central fire, the -Martians dig a huge circular trench and fill it with dried roots of the -<i>belu</i> tree and set fire to it. Being pitch-like, the gnarled fragments -burn for hours. Inside this ring sit the spectators, and in the exact -center are the dancers. For music, they use the drums.</p> - -<p>The dancers were both men and women and they were as naked as Martians -can get, but their dance was a thing of grace and loveliness. For an -instant—before anyone observed me—I stood motionless and watched -the sinuously undulating movements, and I thought, as I have often -thought before, that this is the one thing the Martians can still do -beautifully. Which, in a sad sort of way, is a commentary on the way -things have gone since the first rocket-blasting ship set down on these -purple sands.</p> - -<p>I felt the knife dig my spine. Carefully I turned around and pointed my -index finger to my badge and card. Bared teeth glittered at me in the -flickering light, and then the knife disappeared as quickly as it had -come.</p> - -<p>"Wahanhk," I said. "The Chief. Take me to him."</p> - -<p>The Martian turned, went away from the half-light of the circle. He led -me some yards off to the north to a swooping-tent. Then he stopped, -pointed.</p> - -<p>"Wahanhk," he said.</p> - -<p>I watched him slip away.</p> - -<p>Wahanhk is an old Martian. I don't think any Martian before him has -ever lived so long—and doubtless none after him will, either. His -leathery, almost purple-black skin was rough and had a charred look -about it, and up around the eyes were little plaits and folds that had -the appearance of being done deliberately by a Martian sand-artist.</p> - -<p>"Good evening," I said, and sat down before him and crossed my legs.</p> - -<p>He nodded slowly. His old eyes went to my badge.</p> - -<p>From there they went to the Authority Card.</p> - -<p>"Power sign of the Earthmen," he muttered.</p> - -<p>"Not necessarily," I said. "I'm not here for trouble. I know as well as -you do that, before tonight is finished, more than half of your men -and women will be drunk on illegal whiskey."</p> - -<p>He didn't reply to that.</p> - -<p>"And I don't give a damn about it," I added distinctly.</p> - -<p>His eyes came deliberately up to mine and stopped there. He said -nothing. He waited. Outside, the drums throbbed, slowly at first, then -moderated in tempo. It was like the throbbing—or sobbing, if you -prefer—of the old, old pumps whose shafts go so tirelessly down into -the planet for such pitifully thin streams of water.</p> - -<p>"I'm looking for an Earthwoman," I said. "This particular Earthwoman -took a Martian for a husband."</p> - -<p>"That is impossible," he grunted bitterly.</p> - -<p>"I would have said so, too," I agreed. "Until this afternoon, that is."</p> - -<p>His old, dried lips began to purse and wrinkle.</p> - -<p>"I met her little son," I went on. "A little semi-human boy with -Martian features. Or, if you want to turn it around and look at the -other side, a little Martian boy who whistles."</p> - -<p>His teeth went together with a snap.</p> - -<p>I nodded and smiled. "You know who I'm talking about."</p> - -<p>For a long long while he didn't answer. His eyes remained unblinking on -mine and if, earlier in the day, I had thought the little boy's face -was expressionless, then I didn't completely appreciate the meaning of -that word. Wahanhk's face was more than expressionless; it was simply -blank.</p> - -<p>"They disappeared from the shack they were living in," I said. "They -went in a hurry—a very great hurry."</p> - -<p>That one he didn't answer, either.</p> - -<p>"I would like to know where she is."</p> - -<p>"Why?" His whisper was brittle.</p> - -<p>"She's not in trouble," I told him quickly. "She's not wanted. Nor her -child, either. It's just that I have to talk to her."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>I pulled out the file photo of Harry Smythe and handed it across to -him. His wrinkled hand took it, pinched it, held it up close to a lamp -hanging from one of the ridge poles. His eyes squinted at it for a long -moment before he handed it back.</p> - -<p>"I have never seen this Earthman," he said.</p> - -<p>"All right," I answered. "There wasn't anything that made me think you -had. The point is that he knows the woman. It follows, naturally, that -she might know him."</p> - -<p>"This one is <i>wanted</i>?" His old, broken tones went up slightly on the -last word.</p> - -<p>I nodded. "For murder."</p> - -<p>"Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? -Martians are not that important any more." His old eyes hated me with -an intensity I didn't relish.</p> - -<p>"You said that, old man, not I."</p> - -<p>A little time went by. The drums began to beat faster. They were -rolling out a lively tempo now, a tempo you could put music to.</p> - -<p>He said at last: "I do not know where the woman is. Nor the child."</p> - -<p>He looked me straight in the eyes when he said it—and almost before -the words were out of his mouth, they were whipped in again on a -drawn-back, great, sucking breath. For, somewhere outside, somewhere -near that dancing circle, in perfect time with the lively beat of the -drums, somebody was whistling.</p> - -<p>It was a clear, clean sound, a merry, bright, happy sound, as sharp -and as precise as the thrust of a razor through a piece of soft yellow -cheese.</p> - -<p>"In your teeth, Wahanhk! Right in your teeth!"</p> - -<p>He only looked at me for another dull instant and then his eyes slowly -closed and his hands folded together in his lap. Being caught in a lie -only bores a Martian.</p> - -<p>I got up and went out of the tent.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The woman never heard me approach. Her eyes were toward the flaming -circle and the dancers within, and, too, I suppose, to her small son -who was somewhere in that circle with them, whistling. She leaned -against the bole of a <i>belu</i> tree with her arms down and slightly -curled backward around it.</p> - -<p>"That's considered bad luck," I said.</p> - -<p>Her head jerked around with my words, reflected flames from the circle -fire still flickering in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"That's a <i>belu</i> tree," I said. "Embracing it like that is like looking -for a ladder to walk under. Or didn't you know?"</p> - -<p>"Would it make any difference?" She spoke softly, but the words came to -me above the drums and the shouts of the dancers. "How much bad luck -can you have in one lifetime, anyway?"</p> - -<p>I ignored that. "Why did you pull out of that shack? I told you you had -nothing to fear from me."</p> - -<p>She didn't answer.</p> - -<p>"I'm looking for the man you saw me talking with this morning," I went -on. "Lady, he's wanted. And this thing, on my lapel is an Authority -Card. Assuming you know what it means, I'm asking you where he is."</p> - -<p>"What man?" Her words were flat.</p> - -<p>"His name is Harry Smythe."</p> - -<p>If that meant anything to her, I couldn't tell. In the flickering light -from the fires, subtle changes in expression weren't easily detected.</p> - -<p>"Why should I care about an Earthman? My husband was a Martian. And -he's dead, see? Dead. Just a Martian. Not fit for anything, like all -Martians. Just a bum who fell in love with an Earthwoman and had the -guts to marry her. Do you understand? So somebody murdered him for it. -Ain't that pretty? Ain't that something to make you throw back your -head and be proud about? Well, ain't it? And let me tell you, Mister, -whoever it was, I'll get him. <i>I'll get him!</i>"</p> - -<p>I could see her face now, all right. It was a twisted, tortured thing -that writhed at me in its agony. It was small yellow teeth that bared -at me in viciousness. It was eyes that brimmed with boiling, bubbling -hate like a ladle of molten steel splashing down on bare, white flesh. -Or, simply, it was the face of a woman who wanted to kill the killer of -her man.</p> - -<p>And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Even though the noise of the dance and -the dancers was loud enough to command the attention and the senses. I -could still hear her quiet sobbing, and I could see the heaving of the -small, thin shoulders.</p> - -<p>And I knew then the reason for old Wahanhk's bitterness when he had -said to me, "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not -that important any more."</p> - -<p>What I said then probably sounded as weak as it really was: "I'm sorry, -kid. But look, just staking out in that old shack of yours and trying -to pry information out of the type of men who drifted your way—well, I -mean there wasn't much sense in that, now was there?"</p> - -<p>I put an arm around her shoulders. "He must have been a pretty nice -guy," I said. "I don't think you'd have married him if he wasn't."</p> - -<p>I stopped. Even in my own ears, my words sounded comfortless. I looked -up, over at the flaming circle and at the sweat-laved dancers within -it. The sound of the drums was a wild cacophonous tattoo now, a rattle -of speed and savagery combined; and those who moved to its frenetic -jabberings were not dancers any more, but only frenzied, jerking -figurines on the strings of a puppeteer gone mad.</p> - -<p>I looked down again at the woman. "Your little boy and his butterfly -net," I said softly. "In a season when no butterflies can be found. -What was that for? Was he part of the plan, too, and the net just the -alibi that gave him a passport to wander where he chose? So that he -could listen, pick up a little information here, a little there?"</p> - -<p>She didn't answer. She didn't have to answer. My guesses can be as good -as anybody's.</p> - -<p>After a long while she looked up into my eyes. "His name was Tahily," -she said. "He had the secret. He knew where the gold vein was. And -soon, in a couple of years maybe, when all the prospectors were gone -and he knew it would be safe, he was going to stake a claim and go -after it. For us. For the three of us."</p> - -<p>I sighed. There wasn't, isn't, never will be any gold on this planet. -But who in the name of God could have the heart to ruin a dream like -that?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Next day I followed the little boy. He left the reservation in a cheery -frame of mind, his whistle sounding loud and clear on the thin morning -air. He didn't go in the direction of town, but the other way—toward -the ruins of the ancient Temple City of the Moons. I watched his chubby -arm and the swinging of the big butterfly net on the end of that arm. -Then I followed along in his sandy tracks.</p> - -<p>It was desert country, of course. There wasn't any chance of tailing -him without his knowledge and I knew it. I also knew that before long -he'd know it, too. And he did—but he didn't let me know he did until -we came to the rag-cliffs, those filigree walls of stone that hide the -entrance to the valley of the two moons.</p> - -<p>Once there, he paused and placed his butterfly net on a rock ledge and -then calmly sat down and took off his shoes to dump the sand while he -waited for me.</p> - -<p>"Well," I said. "Good morning."</p> - -<p>He looked up at me. He nodded politely. Then he put on his shoes again -and got to his feet.</p> - -<p>"You've been following me," he said, and his brown eyes stared -accusingly into mine.</p> - -<p>"I have?"</p> - -<p>"That isn't an honorable thing to do," he said very gravely. "A -gentleman doesn't do that to another gentleman."</p> - -<p>I didn't smile. "And what would you have me do about it?"</p> - -<p>"Stop following me, of course, sir."</p> - -<p>"Very well," I said. "I won't follow you any more. Will that be -satisfactory?"</p> - -<p>"Quite, sir."</p> - -<p>Without another word, he picked up his butterfly net and disappeared -along a path that led through a rock crevice. Only then did I allow -myself to grin. It was a sad and pitying and affectionate kind of grin.</p> - -<p>I sat down and did with my shoes as he had done. There wasn't any -hurry; I knew where he was going. There could only be one place, of -course—the city of Deimos and Phobos. Other than that he had no -choice. And I thought I knew the reason for his going.</p> - -<p>Several times in the past, there have been men who, bitten with the -fever of an idea that somewhere on this red planet there must be gold, -have done prospecting among the ruins of the old temples. He had -probably heard that there were men there now, and he was carrying out -with the thoroughness of his precise little mind the job he had set -himself of finding the killer of his daddy.</p> - -<p>I took a short-cut over the rag-cliffs and went down a winding, -sand-worn path. The temple stones stood out barren and dry-looking, -like breast bones from the desiccated carcass of an animal. For a -moment I stopped and stared down at the ruins. I didn't see the boy. He -was somewhere down there, though, still swinging his butterfly net and, -probably, still whistling.</p> - -<p>I started up once more.</p> - -<p>And then I heard it—a shrill blast of sound in an octave of urgency; a -whistle, sure, but a warning one.</p> - -<p>I stopped in my tracks from the shock of it. Yes, I knew from whom it -had come, all right. But I didn't know why.</p> - -<p>And then the whistle broke off short. One instant it was in the air, -shrieking with a message. The next it was gone. But it left tailings, -like the echo of a death cry slowly floating back over the dead body of -the creature that uttered it.</p> - -<p>I dropped behind a fragment of the rag-cliff. A shot barked out -angrily. Splinters of the rock crazed the morning air.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="457" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The little boy screamed. Just once.</p> - -<p>I waited. There was a long silence after that. Then, finally, I took -off my hat and threw it out into the valley. The gun roared once more. -This time I placed it a little to the left below me. I took careful -sighting on the hand that held that gun—and I didn't miss it.</p> - -<p>It was Harry Smythe, of course. When I reached him, he had the injured -hand tucked tightly in the pit of his other arm. There was a grim look -in his eyes and he nodded as I approached him.</p> - -<p>"Good shooting, mate. Should be a promotion in it for you. Shooting -like that, I mean."</p> - -<p>"That's nice to think about," I said. "Where's the boy? I owe him a -little something. If he hadn't whistled a warning, you could have -picked me off neat."</p> - -<p>"I would." He nodded calmly.</p> - -<p>"Where is he?"</p> - -<p>"Behind the rock there. In that little alcove, sort of." He indicated -with his chin.</p> - -<p>I started forward. I watched him, but I went toward the rock.</p> - -<p>"Just a minute, mate."</p> - -<p>I stopped. I didn't lower my gun.</p> - -<p>"That bloody wench we spoke about yesterday. You know, out in front of -that shack? Well, just a thought, of course, but if you pull me in and -if I get <i>it</i>, what'll become of her, do you suppose? Mean to say, I -couldn't support her when I was dead, could I?"</p> - -<p>"Support her?" Surprise jumped into my voice.</p> - -<p>"What I said. She's my wife, you know. Back on Earth, I mean. I skipped -out on her a few years back, but yesterday I was on my way to looking -her up when you—"</p> - -<p>"She didn't recognize the name Harry Smythe," I said coldly. "I'm -afraid you'll have to think a little faster."</p> - -<p>"Of course she didn't! How could she? That ain't my name. What made you -think it was?"</p> - -<p>Bright beads of sweat sparkled on his forehead, and his lips had that -frantic looseness of lips not entirely under control.</p> - -<p>"You left her," I grunted. "But you followed her across space anyway. -Just to tell her you were sorry and you wanted to come back. Is that -it?"</p> - -<p>"Well—" His eyes were calculating. "Not the God's honest, mate, no. -I didn't know she was here. Not at first. But there was this Spider, -see? This Martian. His name was Tahily and he used to hang around the -saloons and he talked a lot, see? Then's when I knew...."</p> - -<p>"So it was you who killed him," I said. "One murder wasn't enough -back on Earth; you had to pile them up on the planets." I could feel -something begin to churn inside of me.</p> - -<p>"Wait! Sure, I knocked off the Martian. But a fair fight, see? That -Spider jumped my claim. A fair fight it was, and anybody'd done the -same. But even without that, he had it coming anyway, wouldn't you -say? Bigamist and all that, you know? I mean marrying a woman already -married."</p> - -<p>His lips were beginning to slobber. I watched them with revulsion in my -stomach.</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't you say, mate? Just a lousy, stinking Martian, I mean!"</p> - -<p>I swallowed. I turned away and went around the rock and looked down. -One look was enough. Blood was running down the cheek of the prone -little Martian boy, and it was coming from his mouth. Then I turned -back to the shaking man.</p> - -<p>"Like I say, mate! I mean, what would you've done in my place? -Whistling always did drive me crazy. I can't stand it. A phobia, you -know. People <i>suffer</i> from phobias!"</p> - -<p>"What did you do?" I took three steps toward him. I felt my lips -straining back from my teeth.</p> - -<p>"Wait now, mate! Like I say, it's a phobia. I can't stand whistling. It -makes me suffer—"</p> - -<p>"So you cut out his tongue?"</p> - -<p>I didn't wait for his answer. I couldn't wait. While I was still calm, -I raised my gun on his trembling figure. I didn't put the gun up again -until his body stopped twitching and his fingers stopped clawing in the -sands.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>From the desk to the outside door, the hospital corridor runs just a -few feet. But I'd have known her at any distance. I sighed, got to my -feet and met her halfway.</p> - -<p>She stopped before me and stared up into my eyes. She must have run all -the way when she got my message, for although she was standing as rigid -as a pole in concrete, something of her exhaustion showed in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Tell me," she said in a panting whisper.</p> - -<p>"Your boy is going to be okay." I put my arm around her. "Everything's -under control. The doctors say he's going to live and pull through -and...."</p> - -<p>I stopped. I wondered what words I was going to use when no words that -I had ever heard in my life would be the right ones.</p> - -<p>"Tell me." She pulled from my grasp and tilted her head so that she -could look up into my eyes and read them like a printed page. "<i>Tell -me!</i>"</p> - -<p>"He cut out the boy's—he said he couldn't stand whistling. It was a -phobia, he claimed. Eight bullets cured his phobia, if any."</p> - -<p>"He cut out what?"</p> - -<p>"Your son's tongue."</p> - -<p>I put my arm around her again, but it wasn't necessary. She didn't cry -out, she didn't slump. Her head did go down and her eyes did blink once -or twice, but that was all.</p> - -<p>"He was the only little boy on Mars who could whistle," she said.</p> - -<p>All of the emotion within her was somehow squeezed into those few words.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I couldn't get it out of my mind for a long while. I used to lie in bed -and think of it somewhat like this:</p> - -<p>There was this man, with his feet planted in the purple sands, and -he looked up into the night sky when the moon called Deimos was in -perigee, and he studied it. And he said to himself, "Well, I shall -write a book and I shall say in this book that the moon of Mars is thus -and so. And I will be accurately describing it, for in truth the moon -<i>is</i> thus and so."</p> - -<p>And on the other side of the planet there was another man. And he, too, -looked up into the night sky. And he began to study the moon called -<i>Phobos</i>. And he, too, decided to write a book. And he knew he could -accurately describe the moon of Mars, for his own eyes had told him it -looked like thus and so. And his own eyes did not lie.</p> - -<p>I thought of it in a manner somewhat like that. I could tell the woman -that Harry Smythe, her first husband, was the man who had killed -Tahily, the Martian she loved. I could tell her Smythe had killed him -in a fair fight because the Martian had tried to jump a claim. And her -heart would be set to rest, for she would know that the whole thing was -erased and done with, at last.</p> - -<p>Or, on the other hand, I could do what I eventually did do. I could -tell her absolutely nothing, in the knowledge that that way she would -at least have the strength of hate with which to sustain herself -through the years of her life. The strength of her hate against this -man, whoever he might be, plus the chill joy of anticipating the -day—maybe not tomorrow, but some day—when, like the dream of finding -gold on Mars, she'd finally track him down and kill him.</p> - -<p>I couldn't leave her without a reason for living. Her man was dead and -her son would never whistle again. She had to have something to live -for, didn't she?</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Moons of Mars, by Dean Evans - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONS OF MARS *** - -***** This file should be named 50826-h.htm or 50826-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/8/2/50826/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Moons of Mars - -Author: Dean Evans - -Release Date: January 2, 2016 [EBook #50826] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONS OF MARS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - THE MOONS OF MARS - - By DEAN EVANS - - Illustrated by WILLER - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction September 1952. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - Every boy should be able to whistle, except, - of course, Martians. But this one did! - - -He seemed a very little boy to be carrying so large a butterfly net. He -swung it in his chubby right fist as he walked, and at first glance you -couldn't be sure if he were carrying it, or it carrying _him_. - -He came whistling. All little boys whistle. To little boys, whistling -is as natural as breathing. However, there was something peculiar about -this particular little boy's whistling. Or, rather, there were two -things peculiar, but each was related to the other. - -The first was that he was a Martian little boy. You could be very sure -of that, for Earth little boys have earlobes while Martian little boys -do not--and he most certainly didn't. - -The second was the tune he whistled--a somehow familiar tune, but one -which I should have thought not very appealing to a little boy. - -"Hi, there," I said when he came near enough. "What's that you're -whistling?" - -He stopped whistling and he stopped walking, both at the same time, as -though he had pulled a switch or turned a tap that shut them off. Then -he lifted his little head and stared up into my eyes. - -"'The Calm'," he said in a sober, little-boy voice. - -"The _what_?" I asked. - -"From the William Tell Overture," he explained, still looking up at me. -He said it deadpan, and his wide brown eyes never once batted. - -"Oh," I said. "And where did you learn that?" - -"My mother taught me." - -I blinked at him. He didn't blink back. His round little face still -held no expression, but if it had, I knew it would have matched the -title of the tune he whistled. - -"You whistle very well," I told him. - -That pleased him. His eyes lit up and an almost-smile flirted with the -corners of his small mouth. - -He nodded grave agreement. - -"Been after butterflies, I see. I'll bet you didn't get any. This is -the wrong season." - -The light in his eyes snapped off. "Well, good-by," he said abruptly -and very relevantly. - -"Good-by," I said. - -His whistling and his walking started up again in the same spot where -they had left off. I mean the note he resumed on was the note which -followed the one interrupted; and the step he took was with the left -foot, which was the one he would have used if I hadn't stopped him. -I followed him with my eyes. An unusual little boy. A most precisely -_mechanical_ little boy. - -When he was almost out of sight, I took off after him, wondering. - -The house he went into was over in that crumbling section which forms -a curving boundary line, marking the limits of those frantic and ugly -original mine-workings made many years ago by the early colonists. It -seems that someone had told someone who had told someone else that -here, a mere twenty feet beneath the surface, was a vein as wide as -a house and as long as a fisherman's alibi, of pure--_pure_, mind -you--gold. - -Back in those days, to be a colonist meant to be a rugged individual. -And to be a rugged individual meant to not give a damn one way or -another. And to not give a damn one way or another meant to make one -hell of a mess on the placid face of Mars. - -There had not been any gold found, of course, and now, for the most -part, the mining shacks so hastily thrown up were only fever scars -of a sickness long gone and little remembered. A few of the houses -were still occupied, like the one into which the Martian boy had just -disappeared. - -So his _mother_ had taught him the William Tell Overture, had she? -That tickling thought made me chuckle as I stood before the ramshackle -building. And then, suddenly, I stopped chuckling and began to think, -instead, of something quite astonishing: - -How had it been possible for her to teach, and for him to whistle? - -_All Martians are as tone-deaf as a bucket of lead._ - -I went up three slab steps and rapped loudly on the weather-beaten door. - - * * * * * - -The woman who faced me may have been as young as twenty-two, but -she didn't look it. That shocked look, which comes with the first -realization that youth has slipped quietly away downstream in the -middle of the night, and left nothing but frightening rocks of middle -age to show cold and gray in the hard light of dawn, was like the -validation stamp of Time itself in her wide, wise eyes. And her voice -wasn't young any more, either. - -"Well? And what did I do now?" - -"I beg your pardon?" I said. - -"You're Mobile Security, aren't you? Or is that badge you're wearing -just something to cover a hole in your shirt?" - -"Yes, I'm Security, but does it have to mean something?" I asked. "All -I did was knock on your door." - -"I heard it." Her lips were curled slightly at one corner. - -I worked up a smile for her and let her see it for a few seconds before -I answered: "As a matter of fact, I don't want to see _you_ at all. I -didn't know you lived here and I don't know who you are. I'm not even -interested in who you are. It's the little boy who just went in here -that I was interested in. The little Martian boy, I mean." - -Her eyes spread as though somebody had put fingers on her lids at the -outside corners and then cruelly jerked them apart. - -"Come in," she almost gasped. - -I followed her. When I leaned back against the plain door, it closed -protestingly. I looked around. It wasn't much of a room, but then you -couldn't expect much of a room in a little ghost of a place like this. -A few knickknacks of the locality stood about on two tables and a -shelf, bits of rock with streak-veins of fused corundum; not bad if you -like the appearance of squeezed blood. - -There were two chairs and a large table intended to match the chairs, -and a rough divan kind of thing made of discarded cratings which had -probably been hauled here from the International Spaceport, ten miles -to the West. In the back wall of the room was a doorway that led dimly -to somewhere else in the house. Nowhere did I see the little boy. I -looked once again at the woman. - -"What about him?" she whispered. - -Her eyes were still startled. - -I smiled reassuringly. "Nothing, lady, nothing. I'm sorry I upset you. -I was just being nosy is all, and that's the truth of it. You see, the -little boy went by me a while ago and he was whistling. He whistles -remarkably well. I asked him what the name of the tune was and he told -me it was the 'Calm' from William Tell. He also told me his mother had -taught him." - -Her eyes hadn't budged from mine, hadn't flickered. They might have -been bright, moist marbles glued above her cheeks. - -She said one word only: "Well?" - -"Nothing," I answered. "Except that Martians are supposed to be -tone-deaf, aren't they? It's something lacking in their sense of -hearing. So when I heard this little boy, and saw he was a Martian, and -when he told me his _mother_ had taught him--" I shrugged and laughed a -little. "Like I said before, I guess I got just plain nosy." - -She nodded. "We agree on that last part." - -Perhaps it was her eyes. Or perhaps it was the tone of her voice. Or -perhaps, and more simply, it was her attitude in general. But whatever -it was, I suddenly felt that, nosy or not, I was being treated shabbily. - -"I would like to speak to the Martian lady," I said. - -"There isn't any Martian lady." - -"There _has_ to be, doesn't there?" I said it with little sharp -prickers on the words. - -But she did, too: "_Does there?_" - -I gawked at her and she stared back. And the stare she gave me was hard -and at the same time curiously defiant--as though she would dare me to -go on with it. As though she figured I hadn't the guts. - -For a moment, I just blinked stupidly at her, as I had blinked stupidly -at the little boy when he told me his mother had taught him how to -whistle. And then--after what seemed to me a very long while--I slowly -tumbled to what she meant. - -Her eyes were telling me that the little Martian boy wasn't a little -Martian boy at all, that he was cross-breed, a little chap who had a -Martian father and a human, Earthwoman mother. - -It was a startling thought, for there just aren't any such mixed -marriages. Or at least I had thought there weren't. Physically, -spiritually, mentally, or by any other standard you can think of, -compared to a human male the Martian isn't anything you'd want around -the house. - -I finally said: "So that is why he is able to whistle." - -She didn't answer. Even before I spoke, her eyes had seen the correct -guess which had probably flashed naked and astounded in my own eyes. -And then she swallowed with a labored breath that went trembling down -inside her. - -"There isn't anything to be ashamed of," I said gently. "Back on Earth -there's a lot of mixtures, you know. Some people even claim there's no -such thing as a pure race. I don't know, but I guess we all started -somewhere and intermarried plenty since." - -She nodded. Somehow her eyes didn't look defiant any more. - -"Where's his father?" I asked. - -"H-he's dead." - -"I'm sorry. Are you all right? I mean do you get along okay and -everything, now that...?" - -I stopped. I wanted to ask her if she was starving by slow degrees and -needed help. Lord knows the careworn look about her didn't show it was -luxurious living she was doing--at least not lately. - -"Look," I said suddenly. "Would you like to go home to Earth? I could -fix--" - -But that was the wrong approach. Her eyes snapped and her shoulders -stiffened angrily and the words that ripped out of her mouth were not -coated with honey. - -"Get the hell out of here, you fool!" - -I blinked again. When the flame in her eyes suddenly seemed to grow -even hotter, I turned on my heel and went to the door. I opened it, -went out on the top slab step. I turned back to close the door--and -looked straight into her eyes. - -She was crying, but that didn't mean exactly what it looked like it -might mean. Her right hand had the door edge gripped tightly and she -was swinging it with all the strength she possessed. And while I still -stared, the door slammed savagely into the casing with a shock that -jarred the slab under my feet, and flying splinters from the rotten -woodwork stung my flinching cheeks. - -I shrugged and turned around and went down the steps. "And that is the -way it goes," I muttered disgustedly to myself. Thinking to be helpful -with the firewood problem, you give a woman a nice sharp axe and she -immediately puts it to use--on you. - -I looked up just in time to avoid running into a spread-legged man who -was standing motionless directly in the middle of the sand-path in -front of the door. His hands were on his hips and there was something -in his eyes which might have been a leer. - - * * * * * - -"Pulled a howler in there, eh, mate?" he said. He chuckled hoarsely -in his throat. "Not being exactly deaf, I heard the tail end of it." -His chuckle was a lewd thing, a thing usually reserved--if it ever -was reserved at all--for the mens' rooms of some of the lower class -dives. And then he stopped chuckling and frowned instead and said -complainingly: - -"Regular little spitfire, ain't she? I ask you now, wouldn't you think -a gal which had got herself in a little jam, so to speak, would be more -reasonable--" - -His words chopped short and he almost choked on the final unuttered -syllable. His glance had dropped to my badge and the look on his face -was one of startled surprise. - -"I--" he said. - -I cocked a frown of my own at him. - -"Well, so long, mate," he grunted, and spun around and dug his toes -in the sand and was away. I stood there staring at his rapidly -disappearing form for a few moments and then looked back once more at -the house. A tattered cotton curtain was just swinging to in the dirty, -sand-blown window. That seemed to mean the woman had been watching. I -sighed, shrugged again and went away myself. - -When I got back to Security Headquarters, I went to the file and began -to rifle through pictures. I didn't find the woman, but I did find the -man. - -He was a killer named Harry Smythe. - -I took the picture into the Chief's office and laid it on his desk, -waited for him to look down at it and study it for an instant, and then -to look back up to me. Which he did. - -"So?" he said. - -"Wanted, isn't he?" - -He nodded. "But a lot of good that'll do. He's holed up somewhere back -on Earth." - -"No," I said. "He's right here. I just saw him." - -"_What?_" He nearly leaped out of his chair. - -"I didn't know who he was at first," I said. "It wasn't until I looked -in the files--" - -He cut me off. His hand darted into his desk drawer and pulled out an -Authority Card. He shoved the card at me. He growled: "Kill or capture, -I'm not especially fussy which. Just _get_ him!" - -I nodded and took the card. As I left the office, I was thinking of -something which struck me as somewhat more than odd. - -I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part -of the William Tell Overture, and it had led me to a wanted killer -named Harry Smythe. - - * * * * * - -Understandably, Mr. Smythe did not produce himself on a silver platter. -I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to get a lead on him and -got nowhere. If he was hiding in any of the places I went to, then he -was doing it with mirrors, for on Mars an Authority Card is the big -stick than which there is no bigger. Not solely is it a warrant, it is -a commandeer of help from anyone to whom it is presented; and wherever -I showed it I got respect. - -I got instant attention. I got even more: those wraithlike tremblings -in the darker corners of saloons, those corners where light never seems -quite to penetrate. You don't look into those. Not if you're anything -more than a ghoul, you don't. - -Not finding him wasn't especially alarming. What was alarming, though, -was not finding the Earthwoman and her little half-breed Martian son -when I went back to the tumbledown shack where they lived. It was -empty. She had moved fast. She hadn't even left me a note saying -good-by. - -That night I went into the Great Northern desert to the Haremheb -Reservation, where the Martians still try to act like Martians. - -It was Festival night, and when I got there they were doing the dance -to the two moons. At times like this you want to leave the Martians -alone. With that thought in mind, I pinned my Authority Card to my -lapel directly above my badge, and went through the gates. - -The huge circle fire was burning and the dance was in progress. -Briefly, this can be described as something like the ceremonial dances -put on centuries ago by the ancient aborigines of North America. There -was one important exception, however. Instead of a central fire, the -Martians dig a huge circular trench and fill it with dried roots of the -_belu_ tree and set fire to it. Being pitch-like, the gnarled fragments -burn for hours. Inside this ring sit the spectators, and in the exact -center are the dancers. For music, they use the drums. - -The dancers were both men and women and they were as naked as Martians -can get, but their dance was a thing of grace and loveliness. For an -instant--before anyone observed me--I stood motionless and watched -the sinuously undulating movements, and I thought, as I have often -thought before, that this is the one thing the Martians can still do -beautifully. Which, in a sad sort of way, is a commentary on the way -things have gone since the first rocket-blasting ship set down on these -purple sands. - -I felt the knife dig my spine. Carefully I turned around and pointed my -index finger to my badge and card. Bared teeth glittered at me in the -flickering light, and then the knife disappeared as quickly as it had -come. - -"Wahanhk," I said. "The Chief. Take me to him." - -The Martian turned, went away from the half-light of the circle. He led -me some yards off to the north to a swooping-tent. Then he stopped, -pointed. - -"Wahanhk," he said. - -I watched him slip away. - -Wahanhk is an old Martian. I don't think any Martian before him has -ever lived so long--and doubtless none after him will, either. His -leathery, almost purple-black skin was rough and had a charred look -about it, and up around the eyes were little plaits and folds that had -the appearance of being done deliberately by a Martian sand-artist. - -"Good evening," I said, and sat down before him and crossed my legs. - -He nodded slowly. His old eyes went to my badge. - -From there they went to the Authority Card. - -"Power sign of the Earthmen," he muttered. - -"Not necessarily," I said. "I'm not here for trouble. I know as well as -you do that, before tonight is finished, more than half of your men -and women will be drunk on illegal whiskey." - -He didn't reply to that. - -"And I don't give a damn about it," I added distinctly. - -His eyes came deliberately up to mine and stopped there. He said -nothing. He waited. Outside, the drums throbbed, slowly at first, then -moderated in tempo. It was like the throbbing--or sobbing, if you -prefer--of the old, old pumps whose shafts go so tirelessly down into -the planet for such pitifully thin streams of water. - -"I'm looking for an Earthwoman," I said. "This particular Earthwoman -took a Martian for a husband." - -"That is impossible," he grunted bitterly. - -"I would have said so, too," I agreed. "Until this afternoon, that is." - -His old, dried lips began to purse and wrinkle. - -"I met her little son," I went on. "A little semi-human boy with -Martian features. Or, if you want to turn it around and look at the -other side, a little Martian boy who whistles." - -His teeth went together with a snap. - -I nodded and smiled. "You know who I'm talking about." - -For a long long while he didn't answer. His eyes remained unblinking on -mine and if, earlier in the day, I had thought the little boy's face -was expressionless, then I didn't completely appreciate the meaning of -that word. Wahanhk's face was more than expressionless; it was simply -blank. - -"They disappeared from the shack they were living in," I said. "They -went in a hurry--a very great hurry." - -That one he didn't answer, either. - -"I would like to know where she is." - -"Why?" His whisper was brittle. - -"She's not in trouble," I told him quickly. "She's not wanted. Nor her -child, either. It's just that I have to talk to her." - -"Why?" - -I pulled out the file photo of Harry Smythe and handed it across to -him. His wrinkled hand took it, pinched it, held it up close to a lamp -hanging from one of the ridge poles. His eyes squinted at it for a long -moment before he handed it back. - -"I have never seen this Earthman," he said. - -"All right," I answered. "There wasn't anything that made me think you -had. The point is that he knows the woman. It follows, naturally, that -she might know him." - -"This one is _wanted_?" His old, broken tones went up slightly on the -last word. - -I nodded. "For murder." - -"Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? -Martians are not that important any more." His old eyes hated me with -an intensity I didn't relish. - -"You said that, old man, not I." - -A little time went by. The drums began to beat faster. They were -rolling out a lively tempo now, a tempo you could put music to. - -He said at last: "I do not know where the woman is. Nor the child." - -He looked me straight in the eyes when he said it--and almost before -the words were out of his mouth, they were whipped in again on a -drawn-back, great, sucking breath. For, somewhere outside, somewhere -near that dancing circle, in perfect time with the lively beat of the -drums, somebody was whistling. - -It was a clear, clean sound, a merry, bright, happy sound, as sharp -and as precise as the thrust of a razor through a piece of soft yellow -cheese. - -"In your teeth, Wahanhk! Right in your teeth!" - -He only looked at me for another dull instant and then his eyes slowly -closed and his hands folded together in his lap. Being caught in a lie -only bores a Martian. - -I got up and went out of the tent. - - * * * * * - -The woman never heard me approach. Her eyes were toward the flaming -circle and the dancers within, and, too, I suppose, to her small son -who was somewhere in that circle with them, whistling. She leaned -against the bole of a _belu_ tree with her arms down and slightly -curled backward around it. - -"That's considered bad luck," I said. - -Her head jerked around with my words, reflected flames from the circle -fire still flickering in her eyes. - -"That's a _belu_ tree," I said. "Embracing it like that is like looking -for a ladder to walk under. Or didn't you know?" - -"Would it make any difference?" She spoke softly, but the words came to -me above the drums and the shouts of the dancers. "How much bad luck -can you have in one lifetime, anyway?" - -I ignored that. "Why did you pull out of that shack? I told you you had -nothing to fear from me." - -She didn't answer. - -"I'm looking for the man you saw me talking with this morning," I went -on. "Lady, he's wanted. And this thing, on my lapel is an Authority -Card. Assuming you know what it means, I'm asking you where he is." - -"What man?" Her words were flat. - -"His name is Harry Smythe." - -If that meant anything to her, I couldn't tell. In the flickering light -from the fires, subtle changes in expression weren't easily detected. - -"Why should I care about an Earthman? My husband was a Martian. And -he's dead, see? Dead. Just a Martian. Not fit for anything, like all -Martians. Just a bum who fell in love with an Earthwoman and had the -guts to marry her. Do you understand? So somebody murdered him for it. -Ain't that pretty? Ain't that something to make you throw back your -head and be proud about? Well, ain't it? And let me tell you, Mister, -whoever it was, I'll get him. _I'll get him!_" - -I could see her face now, all right. It was a twisted, tortured thing -that writhed at me in its agony. It was small yellow teeth that bared -at me in viciousness. It was eyes that brimmed with boiling, bubbling -hate like a ladle of molten steel splashing down on bare, white flesh. -Or, simply, it was the face of a woman who wanted to kill the killer of -her man. - -And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Even though the noise of the dance and -the dancers was loud enough to command the attention and the senses. I -could still hear her quiet sobbing, and I could see the heaving of the -small, thin shoulders. - -And I knew then the reason for old Wahanhk's bitterness when he had -said to me, "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not -that important any more." - -What I said then probably sounded as weak as it really was: "I'm sorry, -kid. But look, just staking out in that old shack of yours and trying -to pry information out of the type of men who drifted your way--well, I -mean there wasn't much sense in that, now was there?" - -I put an arm around her shoulders. "He must have been a pretty nice -guy," I said. "I don't think you'd have married him if he wasn't." - -I stopped. Even in my own ears, my words sounded comfortless. I looked -up, over at the flaming circle and at the sweat-laved dancers within -it. The sound of the drums was a wild cacophonous tattoo now, a rattle -of speed and savagery combined; and those who moved to its frenetic -jabberings were not dancers any more, but only frenzied, jerking -figurines on the strings of a puppeteer gone mad. - -I looked down again at the woman. "Your little boy and his butterfly -net," I said softly. "In a season when no butterflies can be found. -What was that for? Was he part of the plan, too, and the net just the -alibi that gave him a passport to wander where he chose? So that he -could listen, pick up a little information here, a little there?" - -She didn't answer. She didn't have to answer. My guesses can be as good -as anybody's. - -After a long while she looked up into my eyes. "His name was Tahily," -she said. "He had the secret. He knew where the gold vein was. And -soon, in a couple of years maybe, when all the prospectors were gone -and he knew it would be safe, he was going to stake a claim and go -after it. For us. For the three of us." - -I sighed. There wasn't, isn't, never will be any gold on this planet. -But who in the name of God could have the heart to ruin a dream like -that? - - * * * * * - -Next day I followed the little boy. He left the reservation in a cheery -frame of mind, his whistle sounding loud and clear on the thin morning -air. He didn't go in the direction of town, but the other way--toward -the ruins of the ancient Temple City of the Moons. I watched his chubby -arm and the swinging of the big butterfly net on the end of that arm. -Then I followed along in his sandy tracks. - -It was desert country, of course. There wasn't any chance of tailing -him without his knowledge and I knew it. I also knew that before long -he'd know it, too. And he did--but he didn't let me know he did until -we came to the rag-cliffs, those filigree walls of stone that hide the -entrance to the valley of the two moons. - -Once there, he paused and placed his butterfly net on a rock ledge and -then calmly sat down and took off his shoes to dump the sand while he -waited for me. - -"Well," I said. "Good morning." - -He looked up at me. He nodded politely. Then he put on his shoes again -and got to his feet. - -"You've been following me," he said, and his brown eyes stared -accusingly into mine. - -"I have?" - -"That isn't an honorable thing to do," he said very gravely. "A -gentleman doesn't do that to another gentleman." - -I didn't smile. "And what would you have me do about it?" - -"Stop following me, of course, sir." - -"Very well," I said. "I won't follow you any more. Will that be -satisfactory?" - -"Quite, sir." - -Without another word, he picked up his butterfly net and disappeared -along a path that led through a rock crevice. Only then did I allow -myself to grin. It was a sad and pitying and affectionate kind of grin. - -I sat down and did with my shoes as he had done. There wasn't any -hurry; I knew where he was going. There could only be one place, of -course--the city of Deimos and Phobos. Other than that he had no -choice. And I thought I knew the reason for his going. - -Several times in the past, there have been men who, bitten with the -fever of an idea that somewhere on this red planet there must be gold, -have done prospecting among the ruins of the old temples. He had -probably heard that there were men there now, and he was carrying out -with the thoroughness of his precise little mind the job he had set -himself of finding the killer of his daddy. - -I took a short-cut over the rag-cliffs and went down a winding, -sand-worn path. The temple stones stood out barren and dry-looking, -like breast bones from the desiccated carcass of an animal. For a -moment I stopped and stared down at the ruins. I didn't see the boy. He -was somewhere down there, though, still swinging his butterfly net and, -probably, still whistling. - -I started up once more. - -And then I heard it--a shrill blast of sound in an octave of urgency; a -whistle, sure, but a warning one. - -I stopped in my tracks from the shock of it. Yes, I knew from whom it -had come, all right. But I didn't know why. - -And then the whistle broke off short. One instant it was in the air, -shrieking with a message. The next it was gone. But it left tailings, -like the echo of a death cry slowly floating back over the dead body of -the creature that uttered it. - -I dropped behind a fragment of the rag-cliff. A shot barked out -angrily. Splinters of the rock crazed the morning air. - -The little boy screamed. Just once. - -I waited. There was a long silence after that. Then, finally, I took -off my hat and threw it out into the valley. The gun roared once more. -This time I placed it a little to the left below me. I took careful -sighting on the hand that held that gun--and I didn't miss it. - -It was Harry Smythe, of course. When I reached him, he had the injured -hand tucked tightly in the pit of his other arm. There was a grim look -in his eyes and he nodded as I approached him. - -"Good shooting, mate. Should be a promotion in it for you. Shooting -like that, I mean." - -"That's nice to think about," I said. "Where's the boy? I owe him a -little something. If he hadn't whistled a warning, you could have -picked me off neat." - -"I would." He nodded calmly. - -"Where is he?" - -"Behind the rock there. In that little alcove, sort of." He indicated -with his chin. - -I started forward. I watched him, but I went toward the rock. - -"Just a minute, mate." - -I stopped. I didn't lower my gun. - -"That bloody wench we spoke about yesterday. You know, out in front of -that shack? Well, just a thought, of course, but if you pull me in and -if I get _it_, what'll become of her, do you suppose? Mean to say, I -couldn't support her when I was dead, could I?" - -"Support her?" Surprise jumped into my voice. - -"What I said. She's my wife, you know. Back on Earth, I mean. I skipped -out on her a few years back, but yesterday I was on my way to looking -her up when you--" - -"She didn't recognize the name Harry Smythe," I said coldly. "I'm -afraid you'll have to think a little faster." - -"Of course she didn't! How could she? That ain't my name. What made you -think it was?" - -Bright beads of sweat sparkled on his forehead, and his lips had that -frantic looseness of lips not entirely under control. - -"You left her," I grunted. "But you followed her across space anyway. -Just to tell her you were sorry and you wanted to come back. Is that -it?" - -"Well--" His eyes were calculating. "Not the God's honest, mate, no. -I didn't know she was here. Not at first. But there was this Spider, -see? This Martian. His name was Tahily and he used to hang around the -saloons and he talked a lot, see? Then's when I knew...." - -"So it was you who killed him," I said. "One murder wasn't enough -back on Earth; you had to pile them up on the planets." I could feel -something begin to churn inside of me. - -"Wait! Sure, I knocked off the Martian. But a fair fight, see? That -Spider jumped my claim. A fair fight it was, and anybody'd done the -same. But even without that, he had it coming anyway, wouldn't you -say? Bigamist and all that, you know? I mean marrying a woman already -married." - -His lips were beginning to slobber. I watched them with revulsion in my -stomach. - -"Wouldn't you say, mate? Just a lousy, stinking Martian, I mean!" - -I swallowed. I turned away and went around the rock and looked down. -One look was enough. Blood was running down the cheek of the prone -little Martian boy, and it was coming from his mouth. Then I turned -back to the shaking man. - -"Like I say, mate! I mean, what would you've done in my place? -Whistling always did drive me crazy. I can't stand it. A phobia, you -know. People _suffer_ from phobias!" - -"What did you do?" I took three steps toward him. I felt my lips -straining back from my teeth. - -"Wait now, mate! Like I say, it's a phobia. I can't stand whistling. It -makes me suffer--" - -"So you cut out his tongue?" - -I didn't wait for his answer. I couldn't wait. While I was still calm, -I raised my gun on his trembling figure. I didn't put the gun up again -until his body stopped twitching and his fingers stopped clawing in the -sands. - - * * * * * - -From the desk to the outside door, the hospital corridor runs just a -few feet. But I'd have known her at any distance. I sighed, got to my -feet and met her halfway. - -She stopped before me and stared up into my eyes. She must have run all -the way when she got my message, for although she was standing as rigid -as a pole in concrete, something of her exhaustion showed in her eyes. - -"Tell me," she said in a panting whisper. - -"Your boy is going to be okay." I put my arm around her. "Everything's -under control. The doctors say he's going to live and pull through -and...." - -I stopped. I wondered what words I was going to use when no words that -I had ever heard in my life would be the right ones. - -"Tell me." She pulled from my grasp and tilted her head so that she -could look up into my eyes and read them like a printed page. "_Tell -me!_" - -"He cut out the boy's--he said he couldn't stand whistling. It was a -phobia, he claimed. Eight bullets cured his phobia, if any." - -"He cut out what?" - -"Your son's tongue." - -I put my arm around her again, but it wasn't necessary. She didn't cry -out, she didn't slump. Her head did go down and her eyes did blink once -or twice, but that was all. - -"He was the only little boy on Mars who could whistle," she said. - -All of the emotion within her was somehow squeezed into those few words. - - * * * * * - -I couldn't get it out of my mind for a long while. I used to lie in bed -and think of it somewhat like this: - -There was this man, with his feet planted in the purple sands, and -he looked up into the night sky when the moon called Deimos was in -perigee, and he studied it. And he said to himself, "Well, I shall -write a book and I shall say in this book that the moon of Mars is thus -and so. And I will be accurately describing it, for in truth the moon -_is_ thus and so." - -And on the other side of the planet there was another man. And he, too, -looked up into the night sky. And he began to study the moon called -_Phobos_. And he, too, decided to write a book. And he knew he could -accurately describe the moon of Mars, for his own eyes had told him it -looked like thus and so. And his own eyes did not lie. - -I thought of it in a manner somewhat like that. I could tell the woman -that Harry Smythe, her first husband, was the man who had killed -Tahily, the Martian she loved. I could tell her Smythe had killed him -in a fair fight because the Martian had tried to jump a claim. And her -heart would be set to rest, for she would know that the whole thing was -erased and done with, at last. - -Or, on the other hand, I could do what I eventually did do. I could -tell her absolutely nothing, in the knowledge that that way she would -at least have the strength of hate with which to sustain herself -through the years of her life. The strength of her hate against this -man, whoever he might be, plus the chill joy of anticipating the -day--maybe not tomorrow, but some day--when, like the dream of finding -gold on Mars, she'd finally track him down and kill him. - -I couldn't leave her without a reason for living. Her man was dead and -her son would never whistle again. She had to have something to live -for, didn't she? - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Moons of Mars, by Dean Evans - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONS OF MARS *** - -***** This file should be named 50826.txt or 50826.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/8/2/50826/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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