Here, Kerry McLeod, is the structural chemical formula for synthesizing vitamin A. Be fruitful, sons of Earth, and multiply…
1This word is here faithfully reproduced from Kerry McLeod’s manuscript, though the meaning is not clear. Present-day chemistry recognizes no element known as phoebium, but we do not know whether the word is a later era term for a mineral now known to us by another name, or whether phoebium is an element now “missing” from our periodic tables, thus yet to be discovered by science.
MARTIAN ADVENTURE, by Robert Moore Williams
Originally published in Fantastic Adventures, October 1944.
“Cripes, it’s Harden!” Keogh gasped.
“Yeah,” Harden said. “But take it easy. I didn’t know you were boss of this outfit, and besides I’m here on business—”
He got no farther. Keogh, in a manner surprising for his bulk, lifted himself from behind the desk and darted through the door at the back. As he moved, the Martian glow lamps, reacting to his mental command, flickered and went out. The room was plunged into darkness.
As Harden turned, he was reaching inside his coat for the gun nestled in its holster there. The gun slid smoothly into his hand, a flat, compact little weapon that fired a tiny sliver of steel much like a phonograph needle of the old days. The gun was actuated by a powerful spring and was almost silent in operation, a tiny ping being the only noise when it was fired. As to what happened when one of the needles hit you, that depended on the charge the needle carried. It might be anything from sudden death to unconsciousness within ten seconds. The needles in the magazine of the gun that Harden carried were loaded with thirty minutes of blissful sleep.
“Open!” he said.
The door did not budge. When he had entered, it had opened to his command. Or that was what he thought when he entered. He realized now that Keogh, hearing his voice, had ordered the door to open. The sensitive operating mechanism was tuned to Keogh’s mental commands.
“Damn!”
He dropped into a crouch, intending to drive his shoulder at the door. The knife whistled as it passed over his head, hit the door with a metallic clang. If he had been standing erect, it would have hit him between the shoulder blades.
Harden fired without moving, aiming at the back door through which Keogh had made his hasty exit. One thing was certain: Keogh had not thrown that knife. A Martian had done that. The Martians were experts with knives, preferring them to any other weapon. Too often Harden had seen them bring down small game with a thrown knife for him to doubt their expertness with a stiletto. He held his breath and waited.
There was a sigh and a soft thump. “Sleep, tight!” Harden thought grimly. He turned again to the door. Something that flew through the air like a great bird hit him in the middle of the back, sent him sprawling blindly, almost knocking the breath out of him.
As skinny, leathery arms went around his neck and a six-fingered hand began to search hurriedly for his throat, he knew what had happened. There had been two Martians. The needle from his gun had got one of them. The other had calmly waited, then had launched himself at Harden in the darkness.
Harden had been trained in a hard school. There had been more rough and tumble fighting in his life than books, more death and danger than afternoon teas. He could not remember a time when anything except the keenness of his wits and the quickness of his hand and eye stood between him and death. The Martian was on his back, feeling for his throat. He lifted himself to his feet, fell backward heavily. The Martian clawed like a cat, trying to get out from under. He didn’t quite make it. With satisfaction Harden heard the Martian grunt heavily. With more satisfaction he felt the fingers relax around his throat. A second later the Martian was discovering how it felt to be strangled.
* * * *
When the Martian was quiet, Harden felt for his gun, dropped in the struggle. The feel of the cool little weapon was reassuring. He sat on the floor, the gun trained on the back door and waited. The Martian that he had throttled breathed heavily; grunted as air and consequent consciousness began to return. Harden took careful aim at the sound. The little weapon pinged. The Martian grunted again, then sighed. He would be all right in half an hour. In the meantime sleep was the thing for him.
Harden listened. Oddly, the rat warren of a house was quiet. The normal noises of the streets, the cries of the sandnut venders, the shrill yells of the perfume hawkers—Martians loved perfume—did not penetrate here. Harden did not like this quietness. It was likely to break with explosive violence at any second.
The silence broke. But not with violence. The front door squeaked gently and swung open. The glow lamps in the hall were burning. Light from them streamed into the room.
A girl stood there in the door. And what a girl! She had red hair and green eyes. A white fur was around her throat. She was clutching a large white purse in two firm little hands.
She peered into the darkened room.
“Keogh?” she said.
“He went fishing,” Harden said.
“Fishing? On Mars?” She could not see who had spoken.
“Yes,” Harden said. “And if you will take my advice, you will go fishing, too, pronto!”
“Who—”
“Please stand to one side,” Harden said. “The rush around here is likely to be terrific at any moment.”
He stepped forward, intending to pass her and get to hell out of this place. For the first time she saw the Martian on the floor. Apparently she thought the Willie was dead. She uttered a frightened little squeak and her hand dived into her purse.
Gently but firmly, Harden took the spring gun out of her hands. “Tut, tut,” he said. “This is Mars. Mustn’t shoot people here or the Willies will kick you—kerplunk—into what they call the land of serenity.”
“But—”
“Nice day,” Harden said. “Glad to have met you and all that. But really I must be on my way. If you care to stick around, I’m sure Keogh will show eventually, but I can’t guarantee what kind of a humor he will be in. He was pretty jumpy, the last I saw of him.” She did not attempt to keep him from passing through the door. He stepped into the short hall. It was jammed almost full of packing cases. To the left, it took a tortuous turn and dived out of sight. If you went that way you would eventually reach the street, after you had passed through several rooms. Harden turned to tile left.
The lights went out.
“Uh huh,” he said. “I was afraid of that.”
* * * *
The place was as black as a tunnel in a coal mine. Mentally he cursed all Martians forever for building their houses without windows or skylights. He knew the cold and the dust accounted for this method of construction and he recognized the necessity for it, but it was damned inconvenient for a human who was trying to get out of one of the places, especially when the darned lighting system was responsive to a wish—somebody else’s wish, in this case. He was aware that the girl was clutching his arm.
“Sister,” he said, “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I know you’re in damned bad company.”
“I came here to talk to Keogh,” she snapped. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“The company I am referring to is myself,” Harden said. “If Keogh finds you with me, he is not likely to ask questions.”
“Oh! Are you and Keogh enemies?”
“Well, we’re not exactly friends.”
“Then how did you happen to be here?”
“I didn’t know the man I was coming to see was Keogh,” Harden explained. “He didn’t seem to know that the man who was coming to see him was me, either, but he recognized me fast enough. After that, things sort of started to happen. But enough of this. If it can be conveniently arranged, I would like to get out of here alive.”
Her grip tightened on his arm.
“Is it as bad a
s that?” she questioned. “I mean, will you be killed if you’re caught?”
“I’m not planning to be caught.”
“I mean—Listen, there is no reason why Keogh won’t let me out. He doesn’t know me. All I have to do is go to the front and yell who I am. I’m sure I won’t be bothered. Then, when I get outside I can call the police to rescue you.”
It was a good plan, presuming she was telling the truth and presuming Keogh would actually let her out. There was only one thing wrong with the plan.
“It’s nice of you to offer to help, but I’m afraid I am not very anxious to be rescued, by the police.”
“Why not?”
“There are several reasons,” Harden said. “One reason is that the police would take my fingerprints.”
“Oh, I see. It’s like that, is it?”
“Sort of like that,” Harden admitted.
“Are you a criminal?”
“The police think I am. But, as I said before, enough of this. I’m going to try to get out of this joint. You can come with me or you can stay here and finish your business with Keogh, when he returns; whatever,” he delicately hinted, “your business was.”
He could not see her but he could hear her breathing in the darkness. He felt her take her hand from his arm. She had made her decision then. She was going to remain here. Well, that was good sound sense. If she went with him, she was taking a chance of getting killed, but if she remained here Keogh would probably not harm her. Harden was a little sorry she was not going with him. There was something about this girl that he liked. He moved silently toward the rear.
“Wait a minute,” she whispered.
“Why?” he questioned.
“I’m going with you!”
“Good girl,” Harden said. “Here’s your gun.” He pressed the little weapon into her hand. “You’ll probably need it.”
* * * *
Like two mice in a house full of hungry cats, they slipped silently to the rear. Here Harden had noticed a stairway leading to the second floor. Somewhere up on that second floor there ought to be a ladder leading to a trapdoor through the roof. The Martians always built their houses this way. Harden was hoping to reach the roof, then either drop to the ground or jump across to the roof of the neighboring structure. He got one foot on the first step when it happened.
Willies seemed to boil out of everywhere. All along Harden had known that the dark was no protection for the reason that the Martians could sense the presence of a human being near them. The knife whistled as it went past his ear, thudded home in the wall.
He jerked the girl down, fired blindly into the darkness. He heard her gun pinging away beside him. They were shooting at every sound they heard. They didn’t hear the three Martians come down the stairs, because the Willies, sensing the presence of the two humans on the steps, jumped down feet first. The girl squealed.
Simultaneously other Martians came charging from the darkness. Keogh was apparently not risking his valuable skin, at least while he had Willies to do the dirty work.
Harden struck out with his fists. In the darkness a Martian grunted as the bare knuckles somehow went home. He tripped over Harden, fell headfirst into the group at the foot of the steps. They gave him a royal welcome.
“Are you all right?” Harden hissed.
“Y-yes,” the girl answered doubtfully.
“Then upstairs, quick, before Keogh thinks to turn on the lights.”
There were still two Willies on the stairs but they did not know exactly what was going on. They could sense the presence of the humans but they could not tell exactly where the man and the woman were. They hesitated. Harden grabbed one of them by the legs, swung him in a somersault over his head. He hit with a thud in the middle of the conflict raging below. The girl’s gun pinged sharply. Harden caught the third Willie as he fell. One of the needles from the girl’s gun had got to him and he was already starting his siesta. He added fresh confusion down below.
The two groups of Willies, those coming down the steps and those charging from the first floor, had not recognized each other quick enough. It was a mistake they would not long continue to make, but by the time they had discovered their error, Harden and the girl were up the stairs.
A dim light was burning on the second floor. They dived through the first door they saw, the hidden control mechanism of the door reacting to Harden’s mental command to open.
Two minutes later they were on the roof. The white stars of Mars were above them. The cool wind drifting in from the deserts blew past them.
“Are you all right?” Harden questioned.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m all right,” the girl answered. “But I’ll do.” She was blushing and hg saw the reason why. Her skirt had been torn straight down the middle.
“Think nothing of it, lady, think nothing of it.”
Half an hour later, in a little cafe ran by a wanderer from Earth, with two glasses of the sparkling wine of the Red Planet before them, Harden said:
“And now, lady, if you don’t mind my asking, why in the devil did you ever go to see Ben Keogh?”
CHAPTER II
The Girl from Earth
She looked him in the eyes, mentally estimating him, weighing him, judging him. She saw a face browned and burned by the hot sun of space, gray eyes that could laugh with you or look through you, as the owner chose. The eyes were laughing now. There was a scar along the left cheek, an old scar.
“Who are you?” she said.
He laughed. “Ladies first. Who are you?”
“Marion Gray,” she answered promptly, so promptly that he knew she was not telling the truth.
“And what are you doing on Mars?”
“I landed on the last liner from Earth.”
“Ah. Purpose?”
“I’m a sociologist working on my Ph.D from Chicago University. I’m doing a thesis on Martian customs and I came here to get material. Is that sufficient?”
Harden laughed. He was enjoying this girl. She had an answer for every question. The trouble was, she had the answer right on the tip of her tongue.
“Don’t you believe me?” she demanded.
“Sure,” he answered. “Joe! Bring the telephone.”
* * * *
The Martian radiotelephone, a complicated little gadget, was brought to their table. He consulted the directory, punched the proper buttons. A voice speaking with the nasal twang of Mars answered. Harden answered in the same language, waited while the clerk on the other end of the connection hunted for the information he wanted. Eventually he got a reply. Punching the shut-off button, he sat silently regarding the instrument.
“Well, are you satisfied?” the girl demanded.
“That was the space port,” Harden said. “They keep careful records of such things. They said that the last ship from Earth brought a Marion Gray, who was here to do research on Martian customs.” He grinned at her. “What,” he asked, “is a Ph.D?”
“You mean you’ve never heard of a Ph.D?”
“Nope.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“The mining camps of Ganymede,” Harden answered. “The stink holes of Venus.”
“But—” she said doubtfully, “do they have schools in those places?”
“That’s the catch,” Harden said. “They don’t.”
She did not seem to be satisfied with his answer. “But, when you were a boy on Earth, didn’t you go to school?”
“I’ve never been on Earth.”
“You’ve never been on Earth! You’re kidding me now.”
“Am I?” Harden answered.
“Who are you?”
He hesitated. There was such a thing as talking too much, especially to a woman. But, he liked this girl. He wondered if she had ever heard his name before. “Bruce Harden,�
�� he said.
He watched her closely. Her face showed nothing. If she recognized his name, she was a clever actress and could keep herself under complete control.
“You still haven’t told me,” he said, “why a person looking for material for a Ph.D. would be going to see Ben Keogh. He’s not a Martian, you know.”
* * * *
Why had she gone to see Keogh?
That was the important question. Keogh was not openly a crook but that was because he managed to keep his activities secret. He was one of the vast numbers of adventurers from Earth who operated on the shady side of the law, who, when space travel had been invented, had invaded the worlds of space, seeking loot from conquered peoples. To their annoyance they found that Mars had not been conquered, that Earthmen were tolerated there, and nothing more. Mars was run by the Martians, very much so. The Red Planet was ruled by Martian law, and while Earthmen were welcome whether they came to trade, to visit, or just to look at the strange wonders of the world in the sky, the horde of get-rich-quick artists who had descended here had not found the Martians easy pickings. If any looting was to be done, the Martians felt perfectly competent to do it themselves. Keogh and his kind had found the competition tough.
“I’ll tell you why I went to see him if you will tell me what the fight was about,” Marion Gray said.
“Touche!” Harden wryly answered.
“Well, what were you fighting about?” she demanded, when he showed no signs of answering.
“I told you—because Keogh recognized me.”
“Um. That doesn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t intend for it to. The truth is, I knew Keogh on Ganymede three years ago. We had a difference of opinion about certain matters. After he left Ganymede, I forgot all about him. I didn’t know he was on Mars and I certainly didn’t know he was the man I was supposed to see about—ah—”
“About what?”
“You are a very curious person,” Harden observed.
“My feminine instincts account for it. Why were you fighting?”
“I don’t know why Keogh was trying to do me in. Personally, I was only trying to save my own neck.”
The Space Opera Novella Page 13
