The Red Planet

by Charles Chilton

  “I was once.”

  “You still are,” said Webster, “in spite of the time you’ve been up here.”

  “I am a Martian,” said the Controller flatly. “It is my duty to report the fact that two of the Earthmen are here.”

  “You mean nobody knows we are here but you?” asked Jet.

  “That is so.”

  “Look, Sam,” went on Webster, “you’d like to go back to Earth, wouldn’t you?”

  “What would be the point? I came here in 1896. When I left earth seventy-five years ago I was thirty-five years old-- and you know what would happen to me the moment I left this planet. I have no wish to die yet. Now take these men to the living quarters. I’ll report their presence here to Lacus Solis immediately.”

  “No, Sam,” pleaded Webster. “Wait. They’ve promised to take me back to Earth with them--if I help them to escape.”

  The Controller laughed. “You?” he said scornfully. “What would you want with Earth--you who came here in 1910?”

  “I didn’t,” protested Webster. “It was 1956 and I wasn’t old. Look at me--am I old?” He turned to Jet and me. “I could still spend a few more years on Earth, couldn’t I?” he pleaded. “Couldn’t I?” His last two words were shouted.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” said the Controller. “You’d fade to nothing the moment you put your foot on the place. You’re not conditioned for Earth, you know. You’re not a Whitaker.”

  “You’ve got to believe me, Mr Morgan,” said Webster, appealing to Jet. “I did come here in 1956.”

  “Oh, shut up and get out,” said the Controller. “And take these Earthmen with you. I have a report to make.”

  I saw Jet looking at me hard. “All right, Doc,” he said resolutely, “let’s go.” And before I had time to realise what he had in mind, he had taken a quick step towards the Controller, brought up his fist and landed it on the point of the man’s jaw. Taken completely by surprise, the Controller toppled backwards and lay still.

  “What have you done?” cried Webster:

  Jet ignored him. “Come on, Doc,” he said. “Let’s wreck all this intercommunication stuff.”

  We wrecked it all right. We picked up the chair on which the Controller had sat and put it through both televiewer screens. I wrenched the microphone from its position on the table and threw it to the other side of the room.

  Suddenly I was aware that Jet was struggling with the Controller who had somehow managed to stagger to his feet again.

  Webster was beside himself. “There’ll be the dickens to pay,” he shouted.

  “Never mind that,” Jet gasped. “If you want to get back to Earth, help us get out of here.” That did it. Webster at once went over to where Jet and the Controller were struggling. “You carry on, Doc,” he said. “Wreck the lot!” So I did.

  When I was through, Jet and Webster were standing, breathing heavily, over the motionless form of the Controller.

  “Well,” I said, “if anybody could get that gear to work now, he’d be a genius.”

  “Nice work, Doc. Now let’s get back to the sphere, as quickly as we can.”

  The thick, soundproof door of the Control Room had prevented the noise of the commotion reaching the factory and, to our relief; we found the workmen were still busy, obviously unaware that anything unusual had happened.

  We passed through the workshop, along the gallery and were well on our way up the tunnel before we heard the shouts of pursuers behind us. We hastened our steps and called to Webster to do the same. But, instead, he began to reel like a drunken man and finally he fell to the ground.

  “He’s fainted or something, Doc,” said Jet, who reached him first.

  “Hold on,” I replied, “I’m coming.” A few seconds later I was bending over the man. “What happened to you?” I asked.

  “I got hurt back there in the fight,” he gasped. “Then why didn’t you say so?” asked Jet. “I didn’t want to hold you up. Leave me--and go on.” Jet ignored his plea. “Put his arm round your shoulder, Doc,” he said. “We haven’t far to go now.”

  “Right.”

  And so, half dragging, half carrying Webster, we came to the airlock.

  We had hardly stepped into it when we heard a voice behind us shouting: “There they are. Hey--stop!--stop!”

  But, of course, we didn’t. As the door slowly closed we heard the same voice cry: “Hey, wait--stay where you are.”

  And then another voice added: “Please wait, Mr Morgan. You must listen . . .” But his words were cut off as the door shut tight.

  Two minutes later we were out in the Argyre Desert. Between us we carried the now unconscious form of Webster towards the sphere.

  “OK, Lemmy,” I said on reaching the ship, “give me a hand to get Webster in, will you? And take it easy.”

  Somehow we got him into the sphere and laid him on the floor.

  “Mitch,” said Jet who was already in the ship, “we’ve got to get out of here. And quick. They’ve already got a search party out after us.”

  “But what about Frank and Grimshaw?” asked Mitch anxiously.

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about them now.”

  “Oh.” Mitch asked no more questions.

  “Take a look at Webster, Doc. See what you can do for him,” went on Jet. “Meanwhile I’ll get the ship under way.”

  “Come on, Lemmy,” urged Mitch. “What are you hanging around by the door for? We want to close it.”

  “Those blokes who were following Jet and Doc--they’re just coming through the airlock now.”

  Even as he spoke he could hear the men calling for us to wait.

  Jet ordered Harding to take the ship up to twelve feet above the ground and hold it there. Then he walked over to the door to talk to the men who had now come to a standstill below us.

  The moment he saw Jet appear in the open doorway one of the men raised his arms and appealed to him. “Take us with you, Captain Morgan,” he begged. “Take us back to Earth!”

  “How many of you?” asked Jet.

  “Just the four of us, that’s all.”

  “How long have you been on this planet?”

  “Fifteen years. Since 1956.”

  “You as well? Isn’t there anybody in this part of Mars who came here any other year?”

  “You must believe us,” said the man. “We are young, all of us. And we want to go home.”

  “Don’t do it, Jet,” I heard Mitch say. “It’s a trick to get us to return to ground level.”

  But Jet ignored him. “All right,” he said, “I’ll take you. But one at a time. Three of you stand back a hundred yards--you will climb aboard in order, as I tell you.”

  “Now think what you’re doing, mate,” begged Lemmy. “Four of them could be too much for us.”

  “I can’t leave them, Lemmy,” said Jet. He turned towards Harding and was about to order him to take the ship down when I intervened.

  “No, Jet--wait,” I called. “Come over here. Look at Webster.

  Jet bent down and gazed at the still form lying on the floor. He gave a cry of surprise.

  “Yes, Jet,” I said, “he’s dead. He must have received a hard knock during that fight.”

  “But he’s old, Doc,” said Jet. “So very old.”

  Mitch and Lemmy joined us. “From looking at him,” said Mitch, “I’d say at least a hundred years.”

  “But he swore he was young,” said Jet, puzzled. “Said he’d been up here only since 1956.”

  “He wanted to get back to Earth so desperately he lied,” I said.

  “But he knew that his age would catch up on him.”

  “Maybe he thought he’d have just one glimpse of Earth before he died,” I suggested.

  We stood looking at the man in silence for a few moments and then Mitch said quietly: “Well, Jet, how about those men out there? Are they the same?”

  Jet stood up, paused only a moment and then said: “Harding, close the door. Then head for Po
lar Base--at maximum speed.”

  We hated leaving those men behind but what could we do? Our one thought now was to get back to Polar Base, the springboard for our long journey back to Earth.

  The distance was covered in less than two hours and it was with a sigh of relief that we sighted the Discovery, still standing on the ice ready for takeoff.

  Half an hour later we had left the sphere, were in the flagship and almost ready to fire the motors--and, up to now at any rate--there was no sign of any machine in pursuit of us.

  We lay strapped to our couches ready for takeoff.

  “Now listen carefully,” said Jet. “I have ordered Dobson and Harding to take the sphere into free orbit and join the Fleet. I will then have Davis take over two suits from Number Four and tell Dobson and Harding to transfer to Number Five.”

  “You intend to take them back to Earth, then?” asked Mitch.

  “Why not? The firing of the freighter motors is automatically controlled from this ship. Once they are under way, they will have no choice but to come along with us. Now let’s get off. You all right down there, Howell?”

  Howell was one of the men who had been in charge of Polar Base while we had been away. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Quite comfortable, thank you.”

  There were only four couches in the ship and we had had to improvise a bed for Howell. I hoped it would prove as efficient as a couch in protecting him against the effects of the pressure during takeoff.

  “All right,” said Jet as the sphere rose into the air and disappeared rapidly into the void, “that’s Dobson and Harding under way. Stand by for firing.”

  My heart was pounding as Jet counted off the seconds.

  Then the motor exploded and we rose steadily from the Martian surface to meet the remaining freighters, still encircling the globe.

  Once in free orbit it didn’t take us long to manoeuvre the Discovery into correct position alongside the freighters. Having lost so many men on the surface of the Red Planet we had only enough now to handle three of the freighters --and Dobson and Harding would be travelling in one of those.

  We had started out with nine ships and twenty men. We were returning with twelve, including Dobson and Harding.

  “Our trip can hardly be called a success,” I observed, a little bitterly.

  Jet took no notice of my remark; he had called up Davis and was asking him to get two suits ready to take across to the sphere.

  But he had hardly begun to give the order when a cry from Lemmy, who had been watching on the televiewer, startled us all. “Jet, for Pete’s sake, look,” he said. “Martian spheres--a whole fleet of them!”

  “Where, Lemmy?” asked Jet.

  “Almost directly below us.”

  We all gazed at the televiewer. Looking rather like a flock of birds, the spheres, although very minute at the moment, were clearly ascending rapidly. At the same time, growing gradually louder, we could hear the same noise that we had heard so often in the past few weeks--the strange, hypnotic music that was intended to put us all to sleep.

  “They aim to stop us, Jet,” said Mitch in alarm. “They’re trying to hypnotise us before we can get away.”

  “How far and how fast can those spheres travel?” said Jet, turning to me.

  “According to that Flying Doctor, not very far.”

  “Then we’ll have to outpace them. Lemmy, let me know as soon as Howell has entered his own ship. “Howell, of course, had had to leave our ship and transfer to his own. “He’s just reached the airlock now,” announced Lemmy.

  “Then call up the other ships, Mitch,” said Jet. “Have them stand by for takeoff.”

  “Right.” Mitch set to work.

  “So it will be only three ships after all,” I said, half to myself. There was no longer any question of sparing the time necessary to transfer Dobson and Harding to the fourth freighter.

  “Hullo, Space Fleet,” Mitch was saying. Discovery calling. Stand by for takeoff. Repeat, stand by for takeoff.”

  “Number Three to Flagship--standing by.”

  “Number Four to Flagship--standing by.”

  The strange noise was increasing in volume now.

  “They’re giving out with a vengeance this time,” remarked Lemmy.

  “Whatever you do,” I yelled, “don’t any of you go to sleep. Fight it!”

  “Motor, Mitch?” demanded Jet.

  “OK.”

  “Then stand by. Position?”

  “Three degrees,” said Lemmy. “Two degrees . . .”

  “Firing imminent.”

  “One degree.”

  “Contact!”

  We felt the great ship vibrate as the motors fired. Glancing at the televiewer I could see the motors of the freighters firing, too.

  “Well, that’s it,” said Jet. “All motors fired simultaneously.”

  “Good for them,” said Mitch.

  “But Dobson and Harding’s sphere hasn’t moved,” I pointed out.

  “I didn’t expect it to, Doc,” said Jet. “By now they are obeying other orders than ours.”

  “And the spheres are making no attempt to pursue us,” said Lemmy gleefully. “We’re going to make it.” He began to laugh, a little hysterically. “We’re going home,” he said. And then, again: “We’re going home!”

  Epilogue

  We established contact with Control a week after takeoff and, as we suffered no interference or jamming from Mars, were able to tell them the whole story of our landing, and of the loss of most of our ships and half our men.

  The main object of our trip, the exploration of Mars, was virtually unaccomplished; but our escape to warn the Earth of the proposed Martian invasion during the next close opposition was a very definite achievement.

  At first Control did not believe our story but, as we passed more and more details of our adventures back to Earth, the truth slowly began to sink in.

  “Hullo, Space Fleet,” said the voice from home one day, “Control calling. Come in, please.”

  “Hullo, Control,” said Lemmy. “Barnet here.”

  “It is requested that full details of the construction of the Martian spheres be passed to us, together with methods of operating same, as soon as possible.”

  “Blimey, mate,” protested Lemmy, “we only flew in those things--we didn’t take them apart.”

  “Sorry, Lemmy,” said the radio operator down on Earth. “You don’t know the commotion your news has caused down here. A Martian invasion of the Earth was never dreamed of. The last thing anybody expected.”

  “I don’t see why,” said Lemmy. “We invaded their planet, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” agreed Control, “but that’s different.”

  “The Martians didn’t seem to think so. Anyway, mate, I’ll pass the signal on to Jet. I expect he’ll be calling you.”

  “OK, Lemmy.”

  And so our depleted Fleet, consisting of only the Flagship and a freighter on either side, limped home as best it might on its long journey to overtake the Earth which we hoped to do some six months after leaving the hostile planet.

  We were constantly at the radio, telling Control everything we could remember; of the people we had met who had originally come from Earth, of the pyramid in the canal, of the great pyramid city in the Lacus Solis. Nothing was left out, most of it was told over and over again.

  At last, after six months and two weeks of journeying through space, the ships were turned over and we prepared to make the Moon landing.

  Man’s first trip to Mars was over. But it marked only the beginning of his dealings with the fiery planet. The invasion of Earth did indeed begin two years later, thirteen years before it was intended. No doubt, now their plans were known, the Martians thought it best to strike immediately. The advance ships of the Martian invasion fleet landed on the world on September 23rd, 1973.

  But that is another story...

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Ch
apter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue