Frome began jerking on heavy clothing. “Get into your clothes, lad,” he barked, “and call Angus. He came here with the first ship and he deserves to be present when we awaken one of these Martians.”
Sparks, diving toward the engine room, realized that Frome had given no reason for taking him along. He had said that Angus deserved to be present. The old engineer did. He had suffered all the privations of the pioneer explorers of this planet. He had earned a chance to be present at the historic moment when one of the men of Mars was awakened.
But Sparks knew why Frome was taking him. He hadn’t earned his chance. Someone else, who couldn’t be present, had earned it for him.
He was only a youth, barely past twenty. Only his superb knowledge of radio equipment had got him a place with the Martian explorers. His father had not opposed his coming. Nor had he helped his son secure the appointment. He had said, “The fact that I am commander of the men exploring Mars, will make no difference so far as you are concerned. You will suffer every hardship that anyone else suffers, you will take every risk. You will eat the same food, sleep in the same hard bunks, drink the same synthesized water, and stand strictly on your own feet. You will ask no favors and you will obey orders implicitly, no matter what they are.”
Richard Avery had been a hard man. But he had been a man.
Only Shorty Adams was left to guard the ship. Frome gave him strict orders to be on the lookout.
~ * ~
Sutter led them at a dogtrot across the silent, deserted city to a low building that had only one door. Ruby crystals were scattered all around the door where he and Orsatti had shoved them out of the way. Sutter dived into the dark opening and as the others followed, Sparks saw how heavy that door was. It was at least a foot thick and the other surface was heavily pitted by rust.
Orsatti waited for them down below. “They’re here all right,” he said. “Each of these cells has a Martian in it. They’re in frozen sleep, too. No doubt about it.”
The chamber was not large. It had been carved out of solid rock and it had perhaps five hundred coffinlike cells in it. Each receptacle was fitted with a glass top.
“I waited for your permission to open one of these receptacles, Captain Frome,” Orsatti continued. “Pending your arrival, I took the liberty of removing the seals from one of the caskets. It’s ready to open. Shall I go ahead?”
Frome hesitated. He peered through the glass top, studied the creature that lay within.
“Are you certain these people are really in frozen sleep?” he asked.
“Positive of it. Feel the temperature down here. It’s perfect for frozen sleep. That’s why this city was in perfect order, the tools put away in grease, the houses closed and locked. These people expected to return to their city when they awakened.”
“Well,” said Frome slowly, “you may— What’s that, Angus?”
McIlrath had stood apart from the others. He had taken a flashlight and poked carefully around the cavern, nosing down the aisles between the receptacles like a wary old hound scenting the presence of danger. Now he spoke.
“I’m thinking that these people had a reason for putting themselves into suspended animation. They didn’t come down here and hide away in this gloomy hole for no cause. I don’t know what their reason was, but it could have been the last desperate expedient of a race fleeing from some deadly and implacable enemy. If this is true, we had best consider well our action in awakening them.”
A little stir of uneasiness ran through the group. Orsatti blinked owlishly. Sutter protested inarticulately.
“Have you seen anything that you might consider an enemy strong enough to force the Martians to resort to frozen sleep to escape it?” Frome questioned.
“I have not that.”
“But perhaps their food supply gave out,” Sutter protested. “The water supply has been dwindling on this planet for ages. Perhaps a protracted period of drought left them with no choice except frozen sleep or starvation. They chose suspended animation hoping that when they awakened, climatic conditions would be better. Perhaps they had alternate cycles of drought and meager rainfall. This was the way they escaped the drought.”
The old Scot shook his head. “Ye may be right. Perhaps these Martians fled from drought. But I remember we came here to rescue three men. We found them dead. One of them had fled from their ship. What he fled from we do not know. But we do know that this race was also fleeing from something.”
Again the little stir of uneasiness came. Was the old Scot sensing something that he could not put into words?
Sutter was an archaeologist. He had spent years digging into the ruins of Mars. He would not be balked now. “This is superstitious nonsense!”
“It may be that,” McIlrath answered. “I think I knew the three men who died here fairly well. There was little superstition in them. And I know very well indeed that uranium fission engines are not superstitious. But both the men and the engines are dead. You cannot account for that by superstition.”
Sutter and Orsatti turned to Frome and began to plead with him to permit the opening of one of the receptacles.
Frome considered his decision. “The whole purpose of our exploration of this planet has been to discover the Martians. Having found them, if we fail to awaken them, our purpose is defeated. Therefore you may open one of the receptacles.”
Sutter and Orsatti wasted no time. Frome turned to McIlrath. “I’m sorry, Angus. If you had had a definite reason, we would have waited.”
“Aye, captain,” McIlrath answered.
~ * ~
Sparks Avery watched. He had taken no part in the conversation. Now, in spite of the dry, frigid air, globules of sweat began to form on his forehead. He brushed them away. Now and again his eyes strayed to the heavy pistol that hung at Frome’s hip. Frome had opened the flap and loosened the pistol in its holster.
There was a jewel on the floor near the end of the ramp that led downward. It glittered evilly in the sunlight that was beginning to shine into the cavern.
It seemed to the radio operator that only minutes passed before Orsatti had opened the receptacle. Very gently he and Sutter lifted out its occupant.
They laid him on the floor, this man of Mars. The men from Earth clustered about him. He was not quite five feet tall, had a huge chest, and long, spindly arms. He was clad in a soft leather garment and around his waist was a metal belt from which a pouch and a short dagger hung.
“In minutes, he will awaken,” Orsatti whispered.
The others were silent. Sparks caught the suppressed tension of that moment. He had been on Mars less than six months, but he had absorbed from his father the lure of the red planet, the vast mystery of it. Now the mystery would be solved. Now Mars would have a voice. Now the red deserts would give up their secrets, now the deserted cities would reveal what had happened in them.
The Martian stirred. A little finger moved, an arm twisted. His chest heaved. The soft sigh of air through long unused vocal chords echoed through the cavern.
“He’s awakening,” Sutter whispered. “Heavens! What will he say? What will he do? What will he think? How amazed he will be to see us, strangers from another world, bending over him!”
As they watched, the chest movement of the Martian became more regular. The panting heaves that had marked his first gasping efforts for air smoothed into an even rhythm. Spasmodic twitching fluttered his throat.
“Look!” the archaeologist’s tense voice rang out. “His eyes are opening.”
They were brown, an agate-brown. They were filmed and out of focus.
“Easy, old fellow,” Sutter whispered. “Here. I’ll help you sit up.” He slipped an arm under the Martian’s shoulder.
The Martian glanced at Sutter, and looked away. The film was gone from his eyes. They were in focus now.
Sparks caught his breath. What he had seen was incredible.
The Martian had only glanced at Sutter. Then he looked away. His eyes went to the faces
of the others. But he only glanced at them, too, glanced casually at them, as if they were of no importance.
Awakening from the sleep of ages, finding himself the captive of a race that obviously did not belong to Mars, he found them not worthy of a second glance.
What was wrong? Couldn’t the Martian see yet? Was he blind?
Or, no matter how important were these giants who were bending over, was there something that was more important?
The Martian had large, pointed ears, which he could move at will. He twitched them backward, like a cat listening for a sound behind him. He absolutely ignored the Earthmen. His ears flipped forward, toward the open doorway through which the sun was shining. He listened. There was no sound. He moved his head from side to side, his ears questing for some sound in the cold dry air, his eyes alert for movement.
Sparks found himself listening, too. He heard nothing. But the Martian seemed to hear something. His ears were flipped forward, with the intentness of a cat that has heard the growl of a dangerous dog. But he was no longer listening. He was looking. He saw something. The agate-brown eyes were fixed with terrible intentness on an object near the doorway.
Fear crept over his face, a horror and a terror that was akin to madness. He jerked himself free from Sutter’s arms. The archaeologist tried to hold him. He wrenched himself free. His hand darted to the dagger at his belt.
It rose evilly upward—and sank in the Martian’s throat!
He screeched. The screech died in a gurgle. He fell forward on his face, and a cloud of dry dust puffed from under his dead body.
In the shocked, stunned silence Sutter hoarsely gasped. “We scared him. He saw us, and committed suicide.”
“No!” Sparks jerked out. “He saw us all right, but we didn’t scare him. He didn’t pay any attention to us. There’s the thing that scared him!”
He pointed toward the doorway where the ruby jewel glinted in the sunlight. “That’s what he saw. That thing. It scared him so badly that he committed suicide.” He started to approach the jewel.
“Drop it!” McIlrath’s voice rang out. “Don’t touch that thing.”
Sparks leaped away.
“The lad’s right,” Angus continued. “I was watching. The Martian paid us no heed. It was yon jewel that scared him.”
“But that’s preposterous!” Sutter protested. “That jewel is harmless. We’ll open another receptacle, revive another Martian.”
“We’ll do nothing of the kind,” Frome snapped. “Preposterous or not, this demands a full investigation. When the first Martian we find commits suicide as soon as we awaken him, I’m going to know why he did it before we awaken another one. Sutter, you and Orsatti pick up his body. We’ll take it to the ship, make a complete report to our main base, and ask that a large expedition be sent here. Angus, you lead the way. Sparks, you follow him. I’ll bring up the rear.”
He jerked the pistol from its holster. The click as he slipped a cartridge into the chamber was loud in the silent vault. Overruling Sutter’s objections, he ordered them from the vault. They obeyed him. As he walked up the incline, he picked up the jewel and swiftly thrust it into his knapsack. He closed the door of the cavern as they left.
In the minds of each of them was a single question: Why did the Martian commit suicide? Why had that jewel scared him so badly? Was death, silent and invisible, here in this haunted city? Had the Martians fled from death?
When they reached the ship they found that death was there ahead of them. They found Shorty Adams curled up under the water cooler in his own galley.
He was dead.
~ * ~
Sparks found him, and called the others. Frome got there first. His examination of the body was swift, but thorough. “This happened almost as soon as we left the ship. There is no wound on his body, no sign to show the cause of death. But his face is stamped with the same agony that was on the faces of the first three.”
Methodically he began to search the galley. From an open bin he pulled another jewel.
Frome’s face seemed to freeze. He was still wearing the heavy gloves that are standard equipment in the open of Mars. Handling the jewel gingerly, he raised it up to the level of his eyes, squinted at it. Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t tell whether it is the same one we brought into the ship last night.”
“Do you think, while we were at dinner, Adams slipped into the other room and stole it?” Sutter asked.
“That is not true,” said McIlrath flatly.
“How do you know it isn’t? It could be true.”
“I knew Adams,” the old Scot said. “He was no thief.”
“But how did it get out of the ship, or where was it hidden? Are you suggesting it moved of its own accord?” Sutter persisted.
“Enough,” Frome interrupted decisively. “Something killed him. I am not prepared to say this jewel was responsible for his death. I’m not prepared to say it wasn’t. But I am saying this: We’re going to our main base immediately, where complete laboratory facilities are available, and we’re going to find out what these damned things really are. Angus, prepare your engines for an immediate take-off. Sparks,” he barked, “warm up your transmitter and make contact with our main base immediately. Report that we are coming in. Get moving.”
Sparks was already racing toward the bow of the ship. As he slid into the seat before the transmitter, he saw, out of the corner of his eyes, the body of the dead Martian where Sutter and Orsatti had dropped it when they entered the ship. The dagger was still sticking from his throat.
The sight sent a touch of eerie chill up his spine. If he had needed anything to remind him that some incredible form of death lurked very near, the sight of the dagger protruding from the Martian provided it.
He snapped the switches, reached automatically for the microphone. When no transformer hum came he snapped the switches again. He was still working with them when Frome entered the room.
“I regret to report,” he said, “that our transmitter is dead. The power seems to have failed.”
Frome stopped in midstride. He would have halted like that if somebody had suddenly pulled a gun on him. “What’s that?”
As Sparks repeated the words, Sutter and Orsatti entered the room.
“But the power for our radio transmitter is drawn from our main engines,” Frome whispered. Then he spun on his heel, brushed past Orsatti and Sutter, and was gone.
“What’s going on?” Orsatti asked bewilderedly.
“I have a hunch I know,” Sparks answered. He pounded after the captain. When he reached the engine room he needed only a glance to see that his worst fear had come true.
“But the engines can’t be dead,” Frome was saying vehemently. “They can’t be. It’s impossible for uranium fission engines to fail.”
“I know it’s impossible,” the old engineer replied stubbornly, “but I’m telling you it’s happened anyhow.”
Captain Frome faced the tense little group. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I need not remind you that we are face to face with a new and unknown form of death. Night is coming. We are without power to move the ship or to operate our radio apparatus. There are hundreds of miles of dry, deadly deserts surrounding this city, deserts which we could not hope to cross on foot. We have food and water for two weeks. Unquestionably, when our main base cannot raise us by radio, they will send a rescue ship, but it will be a week before a rescue expedition can reach us. If we are to be numbered among the living when it arrives, the price we will pay for our lives is constant vigilance. Pistols will be issued to all of you. Keep them ready at all times.”
He paused and looked at the engineer. “Angus, you and Sparks will make every effort to determine the cause of our engine failure and to correct it. Sutter, you will do me a great favor if you will take charge of the galley. Orsatti, I would like you to help me.”
“Certainly. What are we to do?”
“We are going to find out what these damned things really are,” Frome answered. He
pointed to the two jewels. The biochemist paled.
~ * ~
Working on the engines, it was obvious that the old engineer was trying to conceal his fears. To all questions he returned the same answer, a perturbed shake of the head. “I dinna know, lad. It is as if the uranium has lost its power to explode.”
“But it hasn’t been touched. The seals are in place. If anyone had tampered with it, he would have left marks behind him.”
“I know that, lad. And I am remembering that there were no marks on the bodies of the dead men, either.”
“But what could have done it?”
“I dinna know, lad. But we must remember this is Mars. There are strange things here on this planet, things that no man can guess. The Martian committed suicide. That was strange. And those ruby jewels are very strange.”
Men Against the Stars - [Adventures in Science Fiction 01] Page 8
