by Rog Phillips
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
The OLD MARTIANS
By Rog Phillips
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of ScienceFiction March 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _They opened the ruins to tourists at a dollar a head butthey reckoned without The OLD MARTIANS_]
The man with the pith helmet had his back toward me. Hunched forward, hewas screaming at the girl in the lens of his camera. "Don't just standthere, Dotty! Move! Do something! Back up toward that column withinscriptions on it...."
The girl was tall and longlegged with ideal body proportions, herfeatures and skin coloring a perfect norm-blend with no throwbackelements. Right now she seemed confused and half-frightened as she triedto comply with the directions of the man with the movie camera. Shesmiled artificially, turned her head to look at the fragment of a wallbehind her, reached out with a finger and started tracing the lines ofan almost obliterated inscription in its stone surface.
The camera stopped whirring. Its owner straightened and grumbled,"That's all."
Now the girl was allowed to go back to her worrying. Swiftly shesurveyed the crowd, but didn't find the person she was looking for. Shestarted moving toward one of the arches that led deeper into the ruins.
I followed her slowly.
She passed through the arch, stopped, and turned her head toward theright, her eyes on something out of sight. She'd found him, but she sawme at the same time and her worry deepened.
When she moved back into the crowd, I strolled casually through thearchway.
There was a vaguely defined passageway, the roof over it gone for half amillion years, of course. And twenty feet away, oblivious of hissurroundings except for what was directly in front of him, was my man.
His height and build were somewhat less than the norm. But it was hisprofile that drew my attention. A remarkable throwback; a throwback of adistinct type.
In fact, he might well have served as the model in the types textbookslabeled British. The resemblance was subtle. Only one trained todifferentiate would ever have noticed it.
I let my attention take in his whole figure. His elbows had a habit ofmaking fluttery movements when his exploring hands paused so that astrange birdlike impression was given. Also an air of ungainliness inthe lines of the lean body, rather than the feline smoothness and graceof the norm-blend. It was so in keeping with his features that it servedto strengthen the psycho diagnosis.
A throwback to an era ten thousand years in the past, and therefore, asthe textbooks say, prone to mental instability. It was no wonder thatthe girl called Dotty had had the air of being perpetually worried!
She appeared now, from the far side of the ruin and approached the man.
He sensed rather than saw her and straightened up, every line of himetched with excitement.
"Dotty!" he said. "I've found it. I've found the proof. I've been herebefore, thousands of years ago when this wasn't a ruins. I _remember_."
The girl's manner reflected weariness, "Please, Herb. You've got toforget all about it. You'll talk too much!"
His shoulders stiffened. "Don't worry. I won't talk until I have proofto convince even them. Somewhere around here something lies buried.Something I will be able to remember. They will dig where the rockshaven't been touched for five thousand centuries and find what I say isthere."
Dotty was shaking her head. "No, Herb, If it were on Earth I might halfbelieve you. But not here on Mars. These--these people weren't evenhumanoid!"
"_Neither was I_," Herb whispered hoarsely.
I sighed regretfully. I'd seen too many cases like this one. I'd grownto dread them. But it was a job and a man had to eat.
* * * * *
The guide began herding the tourists back to the bus. I mingled with thecrowd, and when Dotty and Herb climbed aboard I managed to stick closeto them.
"Where'd you two go to?" the man in the pith helmet called from where hewas sitting. "Stick close to me. I put a new roll in the camera. At thenext place I want to get some shots of both of you together."
"All right, George," Dotty said obediently.
She and Herb were forced to find separate seats. They would do notalking, so I faced around and studied the three alternately. The man inthe pith helmet, George, was a normal blend; totally unconcerned abouthis reactions on others so long as he could pursue his hobby.
The bus detoured a roped-off area in the center of the ancient city, thepart considered too dangerous because of cave-in possibilities, and madeits way out to the northern edge of ruins to the part that resembled theancient cemeteries on Earth. The only major difference was that therewere no remains under the evenly spaced stones. There was some doubtthat it had been a cemetery. But the guide announced it as one. And thatannouncement as the bus came to a stop had a pronounced effect on Herb.He began his fluttery elbow movements again and looked around at Dottywith a triumphant smile. I moved up quickly to keep him in earshot.
He protested when George insisted on taking camera shots, then gave inand cooperated in order to get it over with.
Finally George snapped his camera shut. Herb mumbled something to Dottythat I didn't catch, and started down one of the lanes between rows ofstones as though headed for a definite goal.
I couldn't very well follow after they left the main group. It wouldhave been obvious. Instead, I veered off to one side, gambling that whenthey reached their destination I would be able to read their lips.
I got well away from stragglers and took out my mirroscope, pointing ifoff in the distance and swinging the objective lens around until itcentered on them. I was lucky. They were facing in my direction.
"It isn't a cemetery," Herb was saying with emphatic motions of hishands. "It was a parking area, and this stone was where I parked myairsled. I can remember it as though it were yesterday."
_If this was a cemetery, the old Martians should havebeen here. But there were no voices--no bones._]
I had to admire the man's subconscious. It was a remarkably shrewdguess. The experts wouldn't play along with it, but they would probablynever be able to prove him wrong on that count. But Dotty was arguingwith him. "How can you prove it was a parking area?" Her eyes roamedover the large field with its regularly spaced stones. "It certainlylooks impractical for a parking lot."
"Just the same, that's what it was. I wish I had a shovel here. I seemto remember burying something near my stone. If I could find that itwould prove I really remember."
"Why don't you forget it?" Dotty pleaded. "After all, even if it weretrue, what does it matter _now_?"
"It matters to me. Ever since we arrived here I've seen familiar things.Too familiar to be coincidence. I never felt this way before. I alwaysconsidered reincarnation as ancient superstitious belief, just likeeveryone else. But not any more. I _know_. I lived here when all thiswas new."
"But can't you just be satisfied to feel that you did and let it go atthat?" Dotty asked. "I'm afraid of what they would do to you if theyfound out what you're thinking."
"Hah!" Herb snorted. "I have a feeling that before we leave Mars I'll beable to prove it to them. Somewhere in this city is something that onlyI know exists. It's hidden under stones that haven't been disturbedsince man first set foot on the planet. It isn't entirely clear yet, butit will come--it will come. Then I'll make them listen. They'll dig, andthey'll find what I say is there. You wait and see."
"They'll lock you up, darling," Dotty said. "They won't believe you."
The guide was calling everyone ba
ck to the bus. I watched Herb scowlfiercely at the stone marker that he believed to have been his, open hismouth to say something, then turn away so that his lips were out ofsight. Regretfully I put the mirroscope away and went back to the bus.
* * * * *
I knew where we were going next, and I was uneasy about it. Herb andDotty managed to sit together and I got a place right behind them whereI could eavesdrop. But they sat in silence.
The bus had left the ancient city behind, to head out over the deserttoward one of the few structures on Mars which had withstood the ravagesof time without crumbling. An immense dome of solid concrete reinforcedwith pure copper rods harder than steel. The Martians had known whatEarth civilization didn't learn until around the year
