“It will be your planet, to live on and to populate. You are the children of Earth but you are the first Martians.”
Of course we had known a lot of those things already.
* * * *
The last year was the best. By then the air inside the dome—except for the pressurized parts where our teachers and attendants live—was almost like that outside, and we were allowed out for increasingly long periods. It is good to be in the open.
The last few months they relaxed segregation of the sexes so we could begin choosing mates, although they told us there is to be no marriage until after the final day, after our full clearance. Choosing was not difficult in my case. I had made my choice long since and I’d felt sure that she felt the same way; I was right.
Tomorrow is the day of our freedom. Tomorrow we will be Martians, the Martians. Tomorrow we shall take over the planet.
Some among us are impatient, have been impatient for weeks now, but wiser counsel prevailed and we are waiting. We have waited twenty years and we can wait until the final day.
And tomorrow is the final day.
Tomorrow, at a signal, we will kill the teachers and the other Earthmen among us before we go forth. They do not suspect, so it will be easy.
We have dissimulated for years now, and they do not know how we hate them. They do not know how disgusting and hideous we find them, with their ugly misshapen bodies, so narrow-shouldered and tiny-chested, their weak sibilant voices that need amplification to carry in our Martian air, and above all their white pasty hairless skins.
We shall kill them and then we shall go and smash the other dome so all the Earthmen there will die too.
If more Earthmen ever come to punish us, we can live and hide in the hills where they’ll never find us. And if they try to build more domes here we’ll smash them. We want no more to do with Earth.
This is our planet and we want no aliens. Keep off!
THE HATE DISEASE, by Murray Leinster
CHAPTER I
The Med Ship Esclipus Twenty rode in overdrive while her ship’s company drank coffee. Calhoun sipped at a full cup of strong brew, while Murgatroyd the tormal drank from the tiny mug suited to his small, furry paws. The astrogation unit showed the percentage of this overdrive hop covered up to now, and the needle was almost around to the stop pin.
There’d been a warning gong an hour ago, notifying that the end of overdrive journeying approached. Hence the coffee. When breakout came, the overdrive field must collapse and the Duhanne cells down near the small ship’s keel absorb the energy which maintained it. Then Esclipus Twenty would appear in the normal universe of suns and stars with the abruptness of an explosion. She should be somewhere near the sun Tallien. She should then swim toward that sol-type sun and approach Tallien’s third planet out at the less-than-light-speed rate necessary for solar-system travel. And presently she should signal down to ground and Calhoun set about the purpose of his three-week journey in overdrive.
His purpose was a routine checkup on public health on Tallien Three. Calhoun had lately completed five such planetary visits, with from one to three weeks of overdrive travel between each pair. When he left Tallien Three he’d head back to Sector Headquarters for more orders about the work of the Interstellar Medical Service.
Murgatroyd zestfully licked his empty cup to get the last least drop of coffee. He said hopefully:
“Chee?” He wanted more.
“I’m afraid,” said Calhoun, “that you’re a sybarite, Murgatroyd. This impassioned desire of yours for coffee disturbs me.”
“Chee!” said Murgatroyd, with decision.
“It’s become a habit,” Calhoun told him severely. “You should taper off. Remember, when anything in your environment becomes a normal part of your environment, it becomes a necessity. Coffee should be a luxury, to be savored as such, instead of something you expect and resent being deprived of.”
Murgatroyd said impatiently:
“Chee-chee!”
“All right, then,” said Calhoun, “if you’re going to be emotional about it! Pass your cup.”
He reached out and Murgatroyd put the tiny object in his hand. He refilled it and passed it back.
“But watch yourself,” he advised. “We’re landing on Tallien Three. It’s just been transferred to us from another sector. It’s been neglected. There’s been no Med Service inspection for years. There could be misunderstandings.”
Murgatroyd said, “Chee!” and squatted down to drink.
Calhoun looked at a clock and opened his mouth to speak again, when a taped voice said abruptly:
“When the gong sounds, breakout will be five seconds off.”
There was a steady, monotonous tick, tock, tick, tock, like a metronome. Calhoun got up and made a casual examination of the ship’s instruments. He turned on the vision screens. They were useless in overdrive, of course, Now they were ready to inform him about the normal cosmos as soon as the ship returned to it. He put away the coffee things. Murgatroyd was reluctant to give up his mug until the last possible lick. Then he sat back and elaborately cleaned his whiskers.
Calhoun sat down in the control chair and waited.
* * * *
“Bong!” said the loud-speaker, and Murgatroyd scuttled under a chair. He held on with all four paws and his furry tail. The speaker said, “Breakout in five seconds…four…three…two…one…”
There was a sensation as if all the universe had turned itself inside out, and Calhoun’s stomach tried to follow its example. He gulped, and the feeling ended, and the vision screens came alight. Then there were ten thousand myriads of stars, and a sun flaming balefully ahead, and certain very bright objects nearby. They would be planets, and one of them showed as a crescent.
Calhoun checked the solar spectrum as a matter of course. This was the sun Tallien. He checked the brighter specks in view. Three were planets and one a remote brilliant star. The crescent was Tallien Three, third out from its sun and the Med Ship’s immediate destination. It was a very good breakout; too good to be anything but luck. Calhoun swung the ship for the crescent planet. He matter-of-factly checked the usual items. He was going in at a high angle to the ecliptic, so meteors and bits of stray celestial trash weren’t likely to be bothersome. He made other notes, to kill time.
He reread the data sheets on the planet. It had been colonized three hundred years before. There’d been trouble establishing a human-use ecological system on the planet because the native plants and animals were totally useless to humankind. Native timber could be used in building, but only after drying-out for a period of months. When growing or green it was as much water-saturated as a sponge. There had never been a forest fire here, not even caused by lightning!
There were other oddities. The aboriginal microorganisms here did not attack wastes of introduced terrestrial types. It had been necessary to introduce scavenger organisms from elsewhere. This and other difficulties made it true that only one of the world’s five continents were human-occupied. Most of the land surface was strictly as it had been before the landing of men—impenetrable jungles of spongelike flora, dwelt in by a largely unknown useless fauna. Calhoun read on. Population…government…health statistics.… He went through the list.
He had time to kill, so he rechecked his course and speed relative to the planet. He and Murgatroyd had dinner. Then he waited until the ship was near enough to report in.
“Med Ship Esclipas Twenty calling ground,” he said when the time came. He taped his own voice as he made the call. “Requesting co-ordinates for landing. Our mass is fifty tons. Repeat, five-oh tons. Purpose of landing, planetary health inspection.”
He waited while his taped voice repeated and re-repeated the call. An incoming voice said sharply:
“Calling Med Ship! Cut your signal! Do not acknowledge this call! Cut your signal! Instructions will follow. But cut your signal!”
Calhoun blinked. Of all possible responses to a landing call, orders to stop signalin
g would be least likely. But after an instant he reached over and stopped the transmission of his voice. It happened to end halfway through a syllable.
Silence. Not quite silence, of course, because there was the taped record of background noise which went on all the time the Med Ship was in space. Without it, the utter absence of noise would be sepulchral.
The voice from outside said:
“You cut off. Good! Now listen! Do not—repeat, do not!—acknowledge this call or respond to any call from anyone else! There is a drastic situation aground. You must not—repeat, must not—fall into the hands of the people now occupying Government Center. Go into orbit. We will try to seize the spaceport so you can be landed. But do not acknowledge this call or respond to any answer from anyone else! Don’t do it! Don’t do it!”
There was a click, and somehow the silence was clamorous. Calhoun rubbed his nose reflectively with his finger. Murgatroyd, bright-eyed, immediately rubbed his nose with a tiny dark digit. Like all tormals, he gloried in imitating human actions, as parrots and parakeets imitate human speech. But suddenly a second voice called in, with a new and strictly professional tone:
“Calling Med Ship!” said this second voice. “Calling Med Ship! Spaceport Tallien Three calling Med Ship Esclipus Twenty! For landing, repair to co-ordinates—”
The voice briskly gave specific instructions. It was a strictly professional voice. It repeated the instructions with precision.
Out of sheer habit, Calhoun said, “Acknowledge.” Then he added sharply: “Hold it! I’ve just had an emergency call—”
The first voice interrupted stridently:
“Cut your signal, you fool! I told you not to answer any other call! Cut your signal!”
The strictly professional other voice said coldly:
“Emergency call, eh? That’ll be paras. They’re better organized than we thought, if they picked up your landing request! There’s an emergency, all right! It’s the devil of an emergency—it looks like devils! But this is the spaceport. Will you come in?”
“Naturally,” said Calhoun. “What’s the emergency?”
“You’ll find out…” That was the professional voice. The other snapped angrily, “Cut your signal!” The professional voice again: “…you land. It’s not…”
“Cut your signal, you fool! Cut it…” The other voice again.
There was confusion. The two voices spoke together. Each was on a tight beam, while Calhoun’s call was broadcast. The voices could not hear each other, but each could hear Calhoun.
“Don’t listen to them! There’s…”
“to understand, but…”
“Don’t listen! Don’t…”
“…When you land.”
Then the voice from the spaceport stopped, and Calhoun cut down the volume of the other. It continued to shout, though muffled. It bellowed, as if rattled. It mouthed commands as if they were arguments or reasons. Calhoun listened for fully five minutes. Then he said carefully into his microphone:
“Med Ship Esclipus Twenty calling spaceport. I will arrive at given co-ordinates at the time given. I suggest that you take precautions if necessary against interference with my landing. Message ends.”
He swung the ship around and aimed for the destination with which he’d been supplied—a place in emptiness five diameters out, with the center of the sun’s disk bearing so-and-so and the center of the planet’s disk bearing so-and-thus. He turned the communicator volume down still lower. The miniature voice shouted and threatened in the stillness of the Med Ship’s control room. After a time Calhoun said reflectively:
“I don’t like this, Murgatroyd! An unidentified voice is telling us—and we’re Med Ship personnel, Murgatroyd!—who we should speak to and what we should do. Our duty is plainly to ignore such orders. But with dignity, Murgatroyd! We must uphold the dignity of the Med Service!”
Murgatroyd said skeptically:
“Chee?”
“I don’t like your attitude,” said Calhoun, “but I’ll bear in mind that you’re often right.”
Murgatroyd found a soft place to curl up in. He draped his tail across his nose and lay there, blinking at Calhoun above the furry half-mask.
* * * *
The little skip drove on. The disk of the planet grew large. Presently it was below. It turned as the skip moved, and from a crescent it became a half-circle and then a gibbous near-oval shape. In the rest of the solar system nothing in particular happened. Small and heavy inner planets swam deliberately in their short orbits around the sun. Outer, gas-giant planets floated even more deliberately in larger paths. There were comets of telescopic size, and there were meteorites, and the sun Tallien sent up monstrous flares, and storms of improbable snow swept about in the methane atmosphere of the greater gas giant of this particular celestial family of this sun and its satellites. But the cosmos in general paid no attention to human activities or usually undesirable intentions. Calhoun listened, frowning, to the agitated, commanding voice. He still didn’t like it.
Suddenly, it cut off. The Med Ship approached the planet to which it had been ordered by Sector Headquarters now some months ago. Calhoun examined the nearing world via electron telescope. On the hemisphere rolling to a position under the Med Ship he saw a city of some size, and he could trace highways, and there were lesser human settlements here and there. At full magnification he could see where forests had been cut away in wedges and half-squares, with clear spaces between them. This indicated cultivated ground, cleared for human use in the invincibly tidy-minded manner of men.
Presently he saw the landing grid near the biggest city—that half-mile-high, cagelike wall of intricately braced steel girders. It tapped the planet’s ionosphere for all the power that this world’s inhabitants could use, and applied the same power to lift up and let down the ships of space by which communication with the rest of humanity was maintained. From this distance, though, even with an electron telescope, Calhoun could see no movement of any sort. There was no smoke, because electricity from the grid provided all the planet’s power and heat, and there were no chimneys. The city looked like a colored map, with infinite detail but nothing which stirred.
A tiny voice spoke. It was the voice of the spaceport.
“Calling Med Ship. Grid locking on. Right?”
“Go ahead,” said Calhoun. He turned up the communicator.
The voice from the ground said carefully:
“Better stand by your controls. If anything happens down here you may need to take emergency action.”
Calhoun raised his eyebrows. But he said:
“All set.”
He felt the cushiony, fumbling motions as force fields from the landing grid groped for the Med Ship and centered it in their complex pattern. Then there came the sudden solid feeling when the grid locked on. The Med Ship began to settle, at first slowly but with increasing speed, toward the ground below.
It was all very familiar. The shape of the continents below him were strange, but such unfamiliarity was commonplace. The voice from the ground said matter-of-factly:
“We think everything’s under control, but it’s hard to tell with these paras. They got away with some weather rockets last week and may have managed to mount war heads on them. They might use them on the grid, here, or try for you.”
Calhoun said:
“What are paras?”
“You’ll be briefed when you land,” said the voice. It added: “Everything’s all right so far, though.”
* * * *
The Esclipus Twenty went down and down and down. The grid had locked on at forty thousand miles. It was a long time before the little ship was down to thirty thousand and another long time before it was at twenty. Then more time to reach ten, and then five, and one thousand, and five hundred. When solid ground was only a hundred miles below and the curve of the horizon had to be looked for to be seen, the voice from the ground said:
“The last hundred miles is the tricky part, and the last five will b
e where it’s tight. If anything does happen, it’ll be there.”
Calhoun watched through the electron telescope. He could see individual buildings now, when he used full magnification. He saw infinitesimal motes which would be ground cars on the highways. At seventy miles he cut down the magnification to keep his field of vision wide. He cut the magnification again at fifty and at thirty and at ten.
Then he saw the first sign of motion. It was an extending thread of white which could only be smoke. It began well outside the city and leaped up and curved, evidently aiming at the descending Med Ship. Calhoun said curtly:
“There’s a rocket coming up. Aiming at me.”
The voice from the ground said:
“It’s spotted. I’m giving you free motion if you want to use it.”
The feel of the ship changed. It no longer descended. The landing-grid operator was holding it aloft, but Calhoun could move it in evasive action if he wished. He approved the liberty given him. He could use his emergency rockets to dodge. A second thread of smoke came streaking upward.
Then other threads of white began just outside the landing grid. They rushed after the first. The original rockets seemed to dodge. Others came up. There was an intricate pattern formed by the smoke trails of rockets rising and other rockets following, and some trails dodging and others closing in. Calhoun carefully reminded himself that it was not likely that there’d be atomic war heads. The last planetary wars had been fought with fusion weapons, and only the crews of single ships survived. The planetary populations didn’t. But atomic energy wasn’t much used aground, these days. Power for planetary use could be had more easily from the upper, ionized limits of atmospheres.
A pursuing rocket closed in. There was a huge ball of smoke and a flash of light, but it was not brighter than the sun. It wasn’t atomic flame. Calhoun relaxed. He watched as every one of the first-ascended rockets was tracked down and destroyed by another. The last, at that, was three-quarters of the way up.
The Med Ship quivered a little as the force fields tightened again. It descended swiftly. It came to ground. Figures came to meet Calhoun as, with Murgatroyd, he went out of the air lock. Some were uniformed. All wore the grim expression and harried look of men under long-continued strain.
The Second Science Fiction Megapack Page 19
