by Earl
Outside, Ayre stalked the streets of Los Angeles with his blueprints rolled under his arm. He was still walking at dark. Mars glittered redly in the sky. It shafted through the mists of his dream mockingly.
The question rose puzzlingly in his mind. Yes, if Martian super-culture existed, why hadn’t the Martians visited Earth?
“I’M sorry,” said Petos Koll, Director of Research. “We have no funds to spare, for this project. A rocket to Darth, the third planet! It is a wild, fantastic venture to think of!”
Young Dal Hedar angered.
“Not so fantastic! You well know that plans for a step-rocket have long been suggested. Short-sighted transportation chiefs have simply refused to back it. I’ve come to you, for research funds, as a last resort.”
“We have none to spare,” Petos Koll repeated. “Especially now, during war time.” The six fingers of his hands spread in a gesture of helplessness.
“That’s just it—the war!” stormed Dal Hedar. “If a rocket reaches Darth from our planet, Mariz—”
“Why must you instantly rocket from one planet to another?” Petos Koll demanded. “Why not a stratosphere flight from one side of Mariz to another, first? Or at least to one of our two moons.”
“Let me explain.” Dai Hedar’s young eyes filled with a somber light. “This present war promises to lay waste our civilization, as no previous one has.
Dictator Sowll will not cease till he has gained control of every canal-center on Mariz. But suppose a rocket reaches Darth and finds life and civilization—”
“Life and civilization!” Petos Koll grunted scornfully. “You are one of those who believe the Winking Lights on Darth really exist? Most astronomical authority today states it is an optical illusion.”
Dal Hedar’s eyes suddenly grew dreamy.
He had once had the privilege of looking through the great telescope at the Singing Desert Observatory, famed for its excellent visual conditions. In its whirling mercury-bowl[*] reflector, the image of Darth had shimmered as a beautiful blue orb. A full night he had watched, and seen one hemisphere of Darth majestically rotate. The Darth day was almost exactly a Mariz day, though the Darth year was much shorter.
He had seen the famed Winking Lights.
Faint will-o-wisp star-dots that hovered at the verge of straining eyesight, so that one was never sure they were actually there. And there was no proof of them. A total of 28 had been reported, widely scattered over the dark portions of the planet, which composed one-fourth of its surface. The other three-fourths was known to be water. Oceans of it, as Mariz had once had in its far past.
THE Winking Lights stood out best at half-phase of Darth. Then, here and there, they blinked into being, like tiny lamps. Those in the two land areas of the Western Hemisphere were most consistent. Three particularly bright ones always seemed to appear, so that even the die-hards could not quite deny their existence. One at the eastern coast of the northern area, at the edge of the Second Great Ocean. One inland, at the tip of the Five Small Seas. One on the western coast, further south, bordering the First Great Ocean. Like tiny flaming jewels they had appeared to Dal Hedar’s wondering eyes. The lights winked, probably because of the interference of Darth’s extensive atmosphere.
“Optical illusion?” snapped Dal Hedar. “I saw them myself. No, Petos Koll, they exist. They are the flaming lights of great Darth cities, built by intelligent beings!”
“Why have all those lights not been seen nightly for almost a year, in the Eastern Hemisphere of Darth?” argued Petos Koll. “Have those mythical cities of yours vanished, there?”
Dal Hedar shrugged his tall, bony frame.
“Perhaps adverse visual conditions. But the city-stars of the Western Hemisphere still shine nightly.”
“There is no proof,” grunted Petos Koll. “Photographs that purport to show the three brightest Winking Lights are not accepted officially. The light specks may be film imperfections.” Dal Hedar slowly shook his head.
“I wonder if on Darth, perhaps, their officials say the same of our canals—that they are an illusion . . .” His eyes glowed suddenly. “But there will be proof soon! Shortly the great new telescope will be finished, in the Rainbow Desert Observatory. With a mercury-bowl reflector twice as large as any in use, it will definitely reveal, once and for all, the Winking Lights!”
“You will have to wait till then for your funds,” Petos Koll shrugged.
“But in the meantime the holocaust of war spreads over our world!” objected the younger Martian.
“Well, what good will the rocket to Darth do?”
Again Dal Hedar’s eyes softened with a dreamy light.
“It will find there a great civilization. One that arose and reached its prime while we were still swamp-men. You have heard that theory, Petos Koll. That life arose on Darth first, because it is nearer the life-giving sun. Mariz had to wait till the lesser rays spawned single-celled life in our primordial ooze. Therefore, evolution produced intelligent life on Darth far before us. They must be a great and cultured race. Perhaps ages ago they passed through the stage of civilization where wars are fought. They live now as a peaceful, united, highly civilized society, with their great cities dotting all their lands as what we call Winking Lights.”
His voice was eager.
“Don’t you see, Petos Koll? Their wise men will come to Mariz and teach us the ways of peace and brotherhood. Wars will end forevermore on our bleeding world. We will no longer fight over the canals, which are the life-blood of our existence. Petos Koll, can you let a few radium coins stand between that and the downfall of our present civilization?”
Petos Koll sighed. He could not blame the young engineer for his visionary views. And there was just a chance that it would all happen that way.
“But,” he mumbled, “there is war. My hands are tied. You will have to wait till the new telescope proves unquestionably the reality of the Winking Lights.”
Dal Hedar left. So it had to be. In about sixty days, the new telescope would be turned on Darth. The Winking Lights would be proved or blasted, in sixty Mariz days, which were almost equal to sixty Darth days.
IN the visitor’s room of Mt. Palomar Observatory, Tom Ayre waited nervously.
The mighty glass eye had been officially put into operation a week before. Previous to beginning its timed program of stellar observations, it was being swung from planet to planet, for tests of its powers.
The rings of Saturn had come out with stark clarity as composed of tiny pin-point bodies whirling around their primary. Another moon of Jupiter had been instantly spotted, the twelfth. The huge telescope was proving its tremendous powers already.
And today, Mars was on the calendar, for a night’s observation. What would they announce about the canals, an enigma that had stirred fierce controversy for half a century? Illusion or not? Civilization or not? A dream in Ayre’s mind come true, or—just a dream?
Ayre’s mind drummed.
The canals had to exist! They must! On them rested the fate of humanity. The one chance to pull Earth’s eyes away from its sordid doings and center them on the blinding revelation of another civilization. And a better one. Earth’s warlords would dim and fade in that limelight, and all the nebulous, shoddy “causes” they held up would pass like black clouds.
Each man on Earth—French, German, British, Russian, Japanese—would suddenly draw closer to his “enemy.” They were all human beings, in the last analysis. Out in space there, on Mars, were alien beings.
And they might attack!
Yes, it would work two ways, Ayre gloated. The first headline announcing a rocket to Mars and back would run over Earth like wildfire. The first thought would be—will our world be attacked by these super-beings on Mars? Here we are, bleeding, fighting ourselves to exhaustion. Tomorrow the Martians might come, conquering.
So would mass conjecture run, in this time of warlike thoughts and demoralization. As Orson Welles had unwittingly proved! Ayre smiled. And then how
sublimely wonderful it would be when the Martians descended like gods from some Olympia! Wise, gentle, truly civilized beings who would overnight organize the anarchy of human life into a peaceful era.
Ayre jerked to awareness.
A man came in from the telescope chamber above. It was two o’clock a.m. They had trained their tube on Mars for several hours. His face was red with excitement. His voice cracked.
“Japanese bombers have just attacked Los Angeles!” he yelled. “The news just came over the radio.” He gulped and went on, half with a groan. “America is in the war!”
THERE was a stunned silence in the room. The visiting astronomers looked at one another as though he had announced the universe splitting in half. Their scholarly faces recoiled from the dread pronouncement, so different from what they had expected. Not the canals of Mars, but war!
“America in the war!” one man murmured, closing his eyes to shut out a terrible vision. “The whole world is now at war. Two billion human souls!”
Ayre’s mind shook itself, staggering. Was it too late? He ran forward and grasped the announcer’s arm, who stood woodenly as if not knowing what to do or say next.
“The canals of Mars?” Ayre demanded, shaking him. “What about the canals of Mars?”
“Canals of Mars?” The man looked at him stupidly, then waved a hand. “Oh, they exist. A webwork of them, clear as cracks in a mirror. Let me go! America is at war! The whole world is at war! Who cares about the canals of Mars?”
DAL HEDAR whipped his nine-foot angular frame back and forth in the antechamber of the Rainbow Desert’s Observatory. The giant new mercury-bowl reflector had been sweeping the firmament for ten days.
Already memorable announcements had come. Polor’s rings had come out with stark clarity as composed of tiny pin-point bodies whirling around their primary. Another moon of huge Kanto had been instantly spotted, the twelfth. And tonight, Darth was on the list for observation.
What would they announce about the Winking Lights, an enigma that had stirred fierce controversy for thirty years? Illusion or not? Civilization or not, on Darth? A dream in Dal Hedar’s mind come true, or—just a dream?
Dal Hedar’s mind hummed.
The Winking Lights had to exist! They must! On them hung the fate of his world. The one chance to shift Mariz’s eyes away from its terrible civil war and center them on the blinding revelation of another civilization.
And a better one! Mariz’s warlords would shrink to insignificance in that glory, and all the nebulous, twisted “causes” they held up would pass like winds in the Desert of Sighs. Each soldier on Mariz—Hokian, Pthuvian, Dorkite, Lansic—would suddenly draw closer to his “enemy.” They were all fellow Marizians, in the last analysis.
Out in space there, on Darth, were alien beings.
And they might attack!
Yes, it would work two ways, Dal Hedar gloated. The first sound-cast announcing a rocket to Darth and back would run over Mariz like a dust-cloud. The first thought would be—will our world be attacked by these super-beings on Darth? Here we are, drying away, fighting ourselves to exhaustion. Tomorrow the Darthians might come—conquering.
So would popular speculation run, in this time of warlike thoughts and hysteria. Dal Hedar smiled. And then how achingly glorious it would be when the Darthians descended like gods from the Spirit Dimension. Wise, learned, truly civilized beings who would overnight lead Mariz out of its chaos.
Dal Hedar jerked to awareness.
A staff-member came in from the telescope chamber above. It was late at night. They had been observing Darth for several hours, with the new giant mercury-bowl. His face was green with excitement. His voice was harsh.
“Hokian air-sleds have just attacked Canal Center Five! Kansa, our nation, is in the war! All Mariz is at war, now!”
Dal Hedar forged his way through stupefied astronomers to the man, grasping his arm.
“The Winking Lights of Darth!” he demanded, shaking him. “What about the Winking Lights?”
“Winking Lights of Darth?” The man looked at him woodenly, then waved an arm.
“Oh, they do not exist, after all. We observed for many hours, but not one was seen. Even the three brightest alleged to be in the Western Hemisphere aren’t there. They have proved to be an utter illusion.” He laughed wildly, and jerked away. “All Mariz is at war! Who cares about the mythical Winking Lights of Darth?”
Dal Hedar stood stunned, broken. Illusion, all illusion! There were no Winking Lights on Darth. No civilization, no cities, perhaps no life at all. The great new telescope could not be wrong. If it didn’t show the Winking Lights, then they could not exist.
And there would be no rocket to Darth.
TOM AYRE stumbled, along with ten other drafted recruits, toward the barracks. The whole city was dark—blacked-out. Every city in Europe and Asia had been blacked-out for months, at night, in dread of the horrible airraids that became the rule. Now every city in America too, would be kept snuffed like a useless candle.
They reached the barracks.
“Name?” asked the non-com checking them in.
“Tom Ayre. But listen, there are canals on Mars! Won’t anybody listen? People up there, who’ll save Earth. The canals are there. If you don’t believe me, ask them at Mt. Palomar, where they have the big telescope—”
The officer interrupted, shaking his head a little at the young recruit’s staring, haunted eyes.
“What are you raving about, son? The Mt. Palomar Observatory was bombed down the second night the Japs attacked. Now grab up that outfit and get going. There’s a war to fight, mister, and it’s going to be a long one.”
[*] A mercury-bowl reflector would be a telescopic mirror formed of liquid mercury, contained in a huge metal bowl, and rotated swiftly until a perfect concave surface was afforded, at the proper degree of curve to concentrate the light received through the barrel of the telescope. Naturally, such a telescope would be a tremendous machine, since Mercury weighs a great deal, and the mechanics of a rotator steady enough to provide an undistorted reflecting surface would be sensational. However, astronomers have dreamed of such a telescope and perhaps it will be a reality in the not too distant future.
THE TEACHER FROM MARS
The Old Professor From the Crimson Planet Feared Earth’s Savagery—Until Humanity Taught Him a Profound Secret!
THE afternoon Rocket Express train from Chicago came into the station, and I stepped off. It was a warm spring day. The little town of Elkhart, Indiana, sprawled lazily under the golden sunshine. I trudged along quiet, tree-shaded streets toward Caslon Preparatory School for Boys.
Before I had gone far, I was discovered by the children playing here and there. With the dogs, they formed a shrill, raucous procession behind me. Some of the dogs growled, as they might at a wild animal. Housewives looked from their windows and gasped.
So the rumors they had heard were true. The new teacher at Caslon was a Martian!
I suppose I am grotesquely alien to human eyes, extremely tall and incredibly thin. In fact, I am seven feet tall, with what have often been described as broomstick arms and spindly legs. On an otherwise scrawny body, only the Martian chest is filled out, in comparison with Earth people. I was dressed in a cotton kimona that dangled from my narrow shoulders to my bony ankles. Chinese style, I understand.
Thus far I am pseudo-human. For the rest, a Martian is alien, from the Earth viewpoint. Two long tentacles from the back of my shoulders hang to my knees, appendages that have not vanished in Martian evolution like the human tail. The top of my skull is bulging and hairless, except for a fringe of silver-white fur above large conchshaped ears. Two wide-set owlish eyes, a generous nose and a tiny mouth complete my features. All my skin is leathery and tanned a deep mahogany by the Sun of our cloudless Martian skies.
Timidly I stopped before the gates of Caslon Prep and looked within the grounds. The spectacles on my large nose were cup-shaped and of tinted glass that cut down the unnatu
ral glare of the brighter, hotter Sun. I felt my shoulders drooping wearily from the tug of more than twice the gravity to which I was conditioned.
Luckily, however, I had brought leg-braces. Concealed by my long robe, they were ingenious devices of light metal, bracing the legs against strain. They had been expensive—no less than forty dhupecs—but they were worth even that much.
Gripping my cane and duffle-bag, I prepared to step into the sanctuary of the school grounds. It looked so green and inviting in there, like a canalside park. It would be a relief to escape from those Earth children. They had taken to tossing pebbles at me, and some of the canines had snapped at my heels. Of course I didn’t blame them, nor must I resent the unwelcome stares I had felt all around me, from adult Earthlings. After all, I was an alien.
I STEPPED forward, between the gates. At least here, in the school that had hired me to teach, I would be accepted in a more friendly fashion. . . .
Ssss!
The hiss of a thousand snakes filled the air. I reacted violently, dropping my bag and clamping my two hands around my upraised cane. For a moment I was back on Mars, surrounded by a nest of killer-snakes from the vast deserts. I must beat them off with my cane!
But wait. This was Earth, where snakes were a minor class of creature, and mainly harmless. I relaxed, then, panting. The horrible, icy fear drained away. Perhaps you human beings can never quite know the paralyzing dread we have of snakes.
Then I heard a new sound, one that cheered me somewhat. A group of about fifty laughing boys trooped into view, from where they had been hidden behind the stone wall circling Caslon’s campus. They had made the hissing sound, as a boyish prank. How foolish of me to let go of my nerves, I thought wryly.
I smiled at the group in greeting, for these were the boys I would teach.
“I am Professor Mun Zeerohs, your new teacher.” I introduced myself in what, compared with the human tone, is a reedy voice. “The Sun shine upon you. Or, in your Earthly greeting, I am happy to meet you.”
