Red Planet. 1949 by Robert A Heinlein. A Puke (TM) Audiobook

Red Planet.
Copyright 1949 by Robert Anson Heinlein.
For Tish.
Reformatted from a scan 2023.
Chapter One.
Willis.
The thin air of Mars was chill but not really cold. It was not yet winter in southern latitudes and the daytime temperature was usually above freezing.
The queer creature standing outside the door of a dome shaped building was generally manlike in appearance, but no human being ever had a head like that. A thing like a coxcomb jutted out above the skull, the eye lenses were wide and staring, and the front of the face stuck out in a snout. The unearthly appearance was increased by a pattern of black and yellow tiger stripes covering the entire head.
The creature was armed with a pistol-type hand weapon slung at its belt and was carrying, crooked in its right arm, a ball, larger than a basketball, smaller than a medicine ball. It moved the ball to its left arm, opened the outer door of the building and stepped inside.
Inside was a very small anteroom and an inner door. As soon as the outer door was closed the air pressure in the anteroom began to rise, accompanied by a soft sighing sound. A loudspeaker over the inner door shouted in a booming bass, “Well? Who is it? Speak up! Speak up!”
The visitor placed the ball carefully on the floor, then with both hands grasped its ugly face and pushed and lifted it to the top of its head. Underneath was disclosed the face of an Earth human boy. “It’s Jim Marlowe, Doc,” he answered.
“Well, come in. Come in! Don’t stand out there chewing your nails.”
“Coming.” When the air pressure in the anteroom had equalized with the pressure in the rest of the house the inner door opened automatically. Jim said, “Come along, Willis,” and went on in.
The ball developed three spaced bumps on its lower side and followed after him, in a gait which combined spinning, walking, and rolling. More correctly, it careened, like a barrel being manhandled along a dock. They went down a passage and entered a large room that occupied half the floor space of the circular house plan. Doctor MacRae looked up but did not get up. “Howdy, Jim. Skin yourself. Coffee on the bench. Howdy, Willis,” he added and turned back to his work. He was dressing the hand of a boy about Jim’s age.
“Thanks, Doc, oh, hello, Francis. What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Jim. I killed a water-seeker, then I cut my thumb on one of its spines.”
“Quit squirming!” commanded the doctor.
“That stuff stings,” protested Francis.
“I meant it to.”
“How in the world did you do that?” persisted Jim. “You ought to know better than to touch one of those things. Just burn “Em down and burn “Em up.” He zipped open the front of his outdoor costume, peeled it off his arms and legs and hung it on a rack near the door. The rack held Francis’s suit, the headpiece of which was painted in bright colours like an Indian brave’s war paint, and the doctor’s suit, the mask of which was plain. Jim was now stylishly and appropriately dressed for indoors on Mars, in bright red shorts.
“I did burn it,” explained Francis, “But it moved when I touched it. I wanted to get the tail to make a necklace.”
“Then you didn’t burn it right. Probably left it full of live eggs. Who’re you making a necklace for?”
“None of your business. And I did so burn the egg sac. What do you take me for? A tourist?”
“Sometimes I wonder. You know those things don’t die until sundown.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Jim,” the doctor advised. “Now, Frank, I’m going to give you an antitoxin shot. “Twon’t do you any good but it’ll make your mother happy. Long about tomorrow your thumb will swell up like a poisoned pup; bring it back and I’ll lance it.”
“Am I going to lose my thumb?” the boy asked. “No, but you’ll do your scratching with your left hand for a few days. Now, Jim, what brings you here? Tummy ache?”
“No, Doc, it’s Willis.”
“Willis, eh? He looks pert enough to me.” The doctor stared down at the creature. Willis was at his feet, having come up to watch the dressing of Frank’s thumb. To do so he had protruded three eye stalks from the top of his spherical mass. The stalks stuck up like thumbs, in an equal-sided triangle, and from each popped a disturbingly human eye. The little fellow turned around slowly on his tripod of bumps, or pseudopeds, and gave each of his eyes a chance to examine the doctor.
“Get me up a cup of Java, Jim,” commanded the doctor, then leaned over and made a cradle of his hands. “Here, Willis, upsidaisy!” Willis gave a little bounce and landed in the doctor’s hands, withdrawing all protuberances as he did so. The doctor lifted him to the examining table; Willis promptly stuck out legs and eyes again. They stared at each other.
The doctor saw a ball covered with thick, close-cropped fur, like sheared sheepskin, and featureless at the moment save for supports and eye stalks. The Mars creature saw an elderly male Earthman almost completely covered with wiry grey-and-white hair. The middle portion of this strange, un Martian creature was concealed in snow-white shorts and shirt. Willis enjoyed looking at him.
“How do you feel, Willis?” inquired the doctor. “Feel good? Feel bad?”
A dimple showed at the very crown of the ball between the stalks, dilated to an opening. “Willis fine!” he said. His voice was remarkably like Jim’s.
“Fine, eh?” Without looking around the doctor added, “Jim! Wash those cups again. And this time, sterilize them. Want everybody around here to come down with the pip?”
“Okay, Doc,” Jim acknowledged, and added to Francis, “You want some coffee, too?”
“Sure. Weak, with plenty of cow.”
“Don’t be fussy.” Jim dipped into the laboratory sink and managed to snag another cup. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. Nearby a large flask of coffee simmered over a Bunsen burner. Jim washed three cups carefully, put them through the sterilizer, then filled them.
Doctor MacRae accepted a cup and said, “Jim, this citizen says he’s okay. What’s the trouble?”
“I know he says he’s all right, Doc, but he’s not. Can’t you examine him and find out?”
“Examine him? How, boy? I can’t even take his temperature because I don’t know what his temperature ought to be. I know as much about his body chemistry as a pig knows about patty cake. Want me to cut him open and see what makes him tick?”
Willis promptly withdrew all projections and became as featureless as a billiard ball. “Now you’ve scared him,” Jim said accusingly.
“Sorry.” The doctor reached out and commenced scratching and tickling the furry ball. “Good Willis, nice Willis. Nobody’s going to hurt Willis. Come on, boy, come out of your hole.”
Willis barely dilated the sphincter over his speaking diaphragm. “Not hurt Willis?” he said anxiously in Jim’s voice.
“Not hurt Willis. Promise.”
“Not cut Willis?”
“Not cut Willis. Not a bit.”
The eyes poked out slowly. Somehow he managed an expression of watchful caution, though he had nothing resembling a face. “That’s better,” said the doctor. “Let’s get to the point,
Jim. What makes you think there’s something wrong with this fellow, when he and I can’t see it?”
“Well, Doc, it’s the way he behaves. He’s all right indoors, but outdoors, He used to follow me everywhere, bouncing around the landscape, poking his nose into everything.”
“He hasn’t got a nose,” Francis commented.
“Go to the head of the class. But now, when I take him out, he just goes into a ball and I can’t get a thing out of him. If he’s not sick, why does he act that way?”
“I begin to get a glimmering,” Doctor MacRae answered. “How long have you been teamed up with this balloon?”
Jim thought back over the twenty-four months of the Martian year. “Since along toward the end of Zeus, nearly November.”
“And now here it is the last of March, almost Ceres, and the summer gone. That suggest anything to your mind?”
“Uh, no,”
“You expect him to go hopping around through the snow? We migrate when it gets cold; he lives here.”
Jim’s mouth dropped open. “You mean he’s trying to hibernate?”
“What else? Willis’s ancestors have had a good many millions of years to get used to the seasons around here; you can’t expect him to ignore them.”
Jim looked worried. “I had planned to take him with me to Syrtis Minor.”
“Syrtis Minor? Oh, yes, you go away to school this year, don’t you? You, too, Frank.”
“You bet!”
“I can’t get used to the way you kids grow up. I came to Mars so that the years would be twice as long, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference, they spin faster.”
‘Say, Doc, how old are you?” inquired Francis.
“Never mind. Which one of you is going to study medicine and come back to help me with my practice?”
Neither one answered. “Speak up, speak up!” urged the doctor. “What are you going to study?”
Jim said, “Well, I don’t know. I’m interested in areography, but I like biology, too. Maybe I’ll be a planetary economist, like my old man.”
“That’s a big subject. Ought to keep you busy a long time. You, Frank?”
Francis looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, uh, shucks, I still think I’D like to be a rocket pilot.”
“I thought you had outgrown that.”
“Why not?” Francis answered. “I might make it.”
“On your own head be it. Speaking of such things, you younkers go to school before the colony migrates, don’t you?” Since Earth-humans do not hibernate, it was necessary that the colony migrate twice each Martian year. The southern summer was spent at Charax, only thirty degrees from the southern pole; the colony was now about to move to Copais in Utopia, almost as far to the north, there to remain half a Martian year, or almost a full Earth year.
There were year-around establishments near the equator, New Shanghai, Marsport, Syrtis Minor, others, but they were not truly colonies, being manned mainly by employees of the Mars Company. By contract and by charter the Company was required to provide advanced terrestrial education on Mars for colonists; it suited the Company to provide it only at Syrtis Minor.
“We go next Wednesday,” said Jim, “On the mail scooter.”
“So soon?”
“Yes, and that’s what worries me about Willis. What ought I to do, Doc?”
Willis heard his name and looked inquiringly at Jim. He repeated, in exact imitation of Jim, “What ought I to do, Doc?”
“Shut up, Willis.”
“Shut up, Willis.” Willis imitated the doctor just as perfectly.
“Probably the kindest thing would be to take him out, find him a hole, and stuff him in it. You can renew your acquaintance when he’s through hibernating.”
“But, Doc, that means I’ll lose him! He’ll be out long before I’m home from school. Why, he’ll probably wake up even before the colony comes back.”
“Probably.” MacRae thought about it. “It won’t hurt him to be on his own again. It’s not a natural life he leads with you, Jim. He’s an individual, you know; he’s not property.”
“Of course he’s not! He’s my friend.”
“I can’t see,” put in Francis, “Why Jim sets such store by him. Sure, he talks a lot, but most of it is just parrot stuff. He’s a moron, if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you. Willis is fond of me, aren’t you, Willis? Here, come to papa.” Jim spread his arms; the little Martian creature hopped into them and settled in his lap, a warm, furry mass, faintly pulsating. Jim stroked him.
“Why don’t you ask one of the Martians?” suggested MacRae.
“I tried to, but I couldn’t find one that was in a mood to pay any attention.”
“You mean you weren’t willing to wait long enough. A Martian will notice you if you’re patient. Well, why don’t you ask him? He can speak for himself.”
“What should I say?”
“I’ll try it. Willis!” Willis turned two eyes on the doctor; MacRae went on, “Want to go outdoors and find a place to sleep?”
“Willis not sleepy.”
“Get sleepy outdoors. Nice and cold, find hole in ground. Curl up and take good long sleep. How about it?”
“No!” The doctor had to look sharply to see that it was not Jim who had answered; when Willis spoke for himself he always used Jim’s voice. Willis’s sound diaphragm had no special quality of its own, any more than has the diaphragm of a radio loudspeaker. It was much like a loudspeaker’s diaphragm, save that it was part of a living animal.
“That seems definite, but we’ll try it from another angle. Willis, do you want to stay with Jim?”
“Willis stay with Jim.” Willis added meditatively, “Warm!”
“There’s the key to your charm, Jim,” the doctor said dryly. “He likes your blood temperature. But ipse dixit, keep him with you. I don’t think it will hurt him. He may live fifty years instead of a hundred, but he’ll have twice as much fun.”
“Do they normally live to be a hundred?” asked Jim.
“Who knows? We haven’t been around this planet long enough to know such things. Now come on, get out. I’ve got work to do.” The doctor eyed his bed thoughtfully. It had not been made in a week; he decided to let it wait until wash day.
“What does ipse dixit mean, Doc?” asked Francis.
“It means, He sure said a mouthful.”
“Doc,” suggested Jim, “Why don’t you have dinner with us tonight. I’ll call mother. You, too, Frank.”
“Not me,” Frank said. “I’D better not. My mother says I eat too many meals with you folks.”
“My mother, if she were here, would undoubtedly say the same thing,” admitted the doctor. “Call your mother, Jim.”
Jim went to the phone, turned out two colonial housewives gossiping about babies, and finally reached his home on an alternate frequency. When his mother’s face appeared on the screen he explained his wish. “Delighted to have the doctor with us,” she said. “Tell him to hurry along, Jimmy.”
“Right away, Mom!” Jim switched off and reached for his outdoor suit.
“Don’t put it on,” advised MacRae. “It’s too chilly out. We’ll go through the tunnels.”
“It’s twice as far,” objected Jim.
“We’ll leave it up to Willis. Willis, how do you vote?”
“Warm,” said Willis smugly.
Areography: equivalent to “Geography” for Earth. From “Ares,” Greek for Mars.

Chapter Two.
South Colony, Mars.
South colony was arranged like a wheel. The administration building was the hub; tunnels ran out in all directions and buildings were placed over them. A rim tunnel had been started to join the spokes at the edge of the wheel; thus far a forty-five degree arc had been completed.
Save for three Moon huts erected when the colony was founded and since abandoned, all the buildings were shaped alike. Each was a hemispherical bubble of silicone plastic, processed from the soil of Mars and blown on the spot. Each was a double bubble, in fact; first one large bubble would be blown, say thirty or forty feet across; when it had hardened, the new building would be entered through the tunnel and an inner bubble, slightly smaller than the first, would be blown. The outer bubble “Polymerized”, that is to say, cured and hardened, under the rays of the sun; a battery of ultra-violet and heat lamps cured the inner. The walls were separated by a foot of dead air space, which provided insulation against the bitter subzero nights of Mars.
When a new building had hardened, a door would be cut to the outside and a pressure lock installed; the colonials maintained about two-thirds Earth-normal pressure indoors for comfort and the pressure on Mars is never as much as half of that. A visitor from Earth, not conditioned to the planet, will die without a respirator. Among the colonists only Tibetans and Bolivian Indians will venture outdoors without respirators and even they will wear the snug elastic Mars suits to avoid skin hemorrhages.
Buildings had not even view windows, any more than a modern building in New York has. The surrounding desert, while beautiful, is monotonous. South Colony was in an area granted by the Martians, just north of the ancient city of Charax, there is no need to give the Martian name since an Earthman can’t pronounce it, and between the legs of the double canal Strymon. Again we follow colonial custom in using the name assigned by the immortal Doctor Percival Lowell.
Francis accompanied Jim and Doctor MacRae as far as the junction of the tunnels under city hall, then turned down his own tunnel. A few minutes later the doctor and Jim, and Willis, ascended into the Marlowe home. Jim’s mother met them; Doctor MacRae bowed. “Madame, I am again imposing on your good nature.”
“Fiddlesticks, Doctor. You are always welcome at our table.”
“I would that I had the character to wish that you were not so superlative a cook, that you might know the certain truth: it is yourself, my dear, that brings me here.”
Jim’s mother blushed. She changed the subject. “Jim, hang up your pistol. Don’t leave it on the sofa where Oliver can get it.”
Jim’s baby brother, hearing his name, immediately made a dash for the pistol. Jim and his sister Phyllis both saw this, both yelled, “Ollie!”, and were immediately mimicked by Willis, who performed the difficult trick, possible only to an atonal diaphragm, of duplicating both voices simultaneously.
Phyllis was nearer; she grabbed the gun and slapped the child’s hands. Oliver began to cry, reinforced by Willis. “Children!” said Missus Marlowe, just as Mister Marlowe appeared in the door.
“What’s all the ruckus?” he inquired mildly.
Doctor MacRae picked up Oliver, turned him upside down, and sat him on his shoulders. Oliver forgot that he was crying. Missus Marlowe turned to her husband. “Nothing, darling. I’m glad you’re home. Children, go wash for dinner, all of you.”
The second generation trooped out. “What was the trouble?” Mister Marlowe repeated.
A few moments later Mister Marlowe joined Jim in his son’s room. “Jim?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“What’s this about your leaving your gun where the baby could reach it?”
Jim flushed. “It wasn’t charged, Dad.”
“If all the people who had been killed with unloaded guns were laid end to end it would make quite a line up. You are proud of being a licensed gun wearer, aren’t you?”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“And I’m proud to have you be one. It means you are a responsible, trusted adult. But when I sponsored you before the Council and stood up with you when you took your oath, I guaranteed that you would obey the regulations and follow the code, wholeheartedly and all the time, not just most of the time. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir. I think I do.”
“Good. Let’s go in to dinner.”
Doctor MacRae dominated the dinner table talk, as he always did, with a soft rumble of salty comments and outrageous observations. Presently he turned to Mister Marlowe and said, “You said something earlier about another twenty years and we could throw away our respirators; tell me: is there news about the Project?”
The colony had dozens of projects, all intended to make Mars more livable for human beings, but the Project always meant the atmosphere, or oxygen, project. The pioneers of the Harvard-Carnegie expedition reported Mars suitable for colonization except for the all-important fact that the air was so thin that a normal man would suffocate. However they reported also that many, many billions of tons of oxygen were locked in the Martian desert sands, the red iron oxides that give Mars its ruddy color. The Project proposed to free this oxygen for humans to breathe.
“Didn’t you hear the Deimos newscast this afternoon?” Mister Marlowe answered.
“Never listen to newscasts. Saves wear and tear on the nervous system.”
“No doubt. But this was good news. The pilot plant in Libya is in operation, successful operation. The first day’s run restored nearly four million tons mass of oxygen to the air, and no breakdowns.”
Missus Marlowe looked startled. “Four million tons? That seems a tremendous lot.”
Her husband grinned. “Any idea how long it would take that one plant at that rate to do the job, that is, increase the oxygen pressure by five mass-pounds per square inch?”
“Of course I haven’t. But not very long I should think.”
“Let me see, “His lips moved soundlessly. “Uh, around two hundred thousand years, Mars years, of course.”
“James, you’re teasing me!”
“No, I’m not. Don’t let big figures frighten you, my dear; of course we won’t depend on one plant; they’ll be scattered every fifty miles or so through the desert, a thousand mega-horsepower each. There’s no limit to the power available, thank goodness; if we don’t clean up the job in our lifetimes, at least the kids will certainly see the end of it.”
Missus Marlowe looked dreamy. “That would be nice, to walk outside with your bare face in the breeze. I remember when I was a little girl, we had an orchard with a stream running through it,” She stopped.
“Sorry we came to Mars, Jane?” her husband asked softly.
“Oh, no! This is my home.”
“Good. What are you looking sour about, Doctor?”
“Eh? Oh, nothing, nothing! I was just thinking about the end result. Mind you, this is fine work, all of it, hard work, good work, that a man can get his teeth into. But we get it done and what for? So that another two billion, three billion sheep can fiddle around with nonsense, spend their time scratching themselves and baaing. We should have left Mars to the Martians. Tell me, sir, do you know what television was used for when it first came out?”
“No, how would I?”
“Well, I didn’t see it myself of course, but my father told me about it. It seems. ’
“Your father? How old was he? When was he born?”
“My grandfather then. Or it may have been my great grandfather. That’s beside the point. They installed the first television sets in cocktail bars, amusement places, and used them to watch wrestling matches.”
“What’s a wrestling match?” demanded Phyllis.
“An obsolete form of folk dancing,” explained her father. “Never mind. Granting your point, Doctor, I see no harm.”
“What’s folk dancing?” persisted Phyllis.
“You tell her, Jane. She’s got me stumped.”
Jim looked smug. “It’s when folks dance, silly.”
“That’s near enough,” agreed his mother.
Doctor MacRae stared. “These kids are missing something. I think I’ll organize a square dancing club. I used to be a pretty good caller, once upon a time.”
Phyllis turned to her brother. “Now I suppose you’ll tell me that square dancing is when a square dances.”
Mister Marlowe raised his eyebrows. “I think the children have all finished, my dear. Couldn’t they be excused?”
“Yes, surely. You may leave, my dears. Say Excuse me, please, Ollie.” The baby repeated it, with Willis in mirror chorus.
Jim hastily wiped his mouth, grabbed Willis, and headed for his own room. He liked to hear the doctor talk but he had to admit that the old boy could babble the most fantastic nonsense when other grown-ups were around. Nor did the discussion of the oxygen project interest Jim; he saw nothing strange nor uncomfortable about wearing his mask. He would feel undressed going outdoors without it.
From Jim’s point of view Mars was all right the way it was, no need to try to make it more like Earth. Earth was no great shakes anyway. His own personal recollection of Earth was limited to vague memories from early childhood of the emigrants’ conditioning station on the high Bolivian plateau, cold, shortness of breath, and great weariness.
His sister trailed after him. He stopped just inside his door and said, “What do you want, shorty?”
“Well, Lookie, Jimmy, seeing as I’m going to have to take care of Willis after you’ve gone away to school, maybe it would be a good idea for you to sort of explain it to him, so he would do what I tell him without any trouble.”
Jim stared. “Whatever gave you the notion I was going to leave him behind?”
She stared back. “But you are! You’ll have to. You can’t take him to school. You ask mother.”
“Mother hasn’t anything to do with it. She doesn’t care what I take to school.”
“Well, you oughtn’t to take him, even if she doesn’t object. I think you’re mean.”
“You always think I’m mean if I don’t cater to your every wish!”
“Not to me, to Willis. This is Willis’s home; he’s used to it. He’ll be homesick away at school.”
“He’ll have me!”
“Not most of the time, he won’t. You’ll be in class. Willis wouldn’t have anything to do but sit and mope. You ought to leave him here with me, with us, where he’d be happy.”
Jim straightened himself up. “I’m going to find out about this, right away.” He walked back into the living compartment and waited aggressively to be noticed. Shortly his father turned toward him.
“Yes? What is it, Jim? Something eating you?”
“Uh, well, look, Dad, is there any doubt about Willis going with me when I go away to school?”
His father looked surprised. “It had never occurred to me that you would consider taking him.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Well, school is hardly the place for him.”
“Why?”
“Well, you wouldn’t be able to take care of him properly. You’ll be awfully busy.”
“Willis doesn’t take much care. Just feed him every month or so and give him a drink about once a week and he doesn’t ask for anything else. Why can’t I take him, Dad?”
Mister Marlowe looked baffled; he turned to his wife. She started in, “Now, Jimmy darling, we don’t want you to.”
Jim interrupted, “Mother, every time you want to talk me out of something you start out, Jimmy darling!”
Her mouth twitched but she kept from smiling. “Sorry, Jim. Perhaps I do. What I was trying to say was this: we want you to get off to a good start at school. I don’t believe that having Willis on your hands will help any.”
Jim was stumped for the moment, but was not ready to give up. “Look, Mother. Look, Dad. You both saw the pamphlet the school sent me, telling me what to do and what to bring and when to show up and so forth. If either one of you can find anything anywhere in those instructions that says I can’t take Willis with me, I’ll shut up like a Martian. Is that fair?”
Missus Marlowe looked inquiringly at her husband. He looked back at her with the same appeal for help in his expression. He was acutely aware that Doctor MacRae was watching both of them, not saying a word but wearing an expression of sardonic amusement.
Mister Marlowe shrugged. “Take Willis along, Jim. But he’s your problem.”
Jim’s face broke out in a grin. “Thanks, Dad!” He left the room quickly in order not to give his parents time to change their minds.
Mister Marlowe banged his pipe on an ashtray and glowered at Doctor MacRae. “Well, what are you grinning at, you ancient ape? You think I’m too indulgent, don’t you?”
“Oh, no, not at all! I think you did perfectly right.”
“You think that pet of Jim’s won’t cause him trouble at school?”
“On the contrary. I have some familiarity with Willis’s peculiar social habits.”
“Then why do you say I did right?”
“Why shouldn’t the boy have trouble? Trouble is the normal condition for the human race. We were raised on it. We thrive on it.”
“Sometimes, Doctor, I think that you are, as Jim would put it, crazy as a spin bug.”
“Probably. But since I am the only medical man around, I am not likely to be committed for it. Missus Marlowe, could you favor an old man with another cup of your delicious coffee?”
“Certainly, Doctor.” She poured for him, then went on. “James, I am not sorry you decided to let Jim take Willis. It will be a relief.”
“Why, dear? Jim was correct when he said that the little beggar isn’t much trouble.”
“Well, he isn’t really. But, I just wish he weren’t so truthful.”
“So? I thought he was the perfect witness in settling the children’s squabbles?”
“Oh, he is. He’ll play back anything he hears as accurately as a transcriber. That’s the trouble.” She looked upset, then chuckled. “You know Missus Pottle?”
“Of course.”
The doctor added, “How can one avoid it? I, unhappy man, am in charge of her nerves.”
Missus Marlowe asked, “Is she actually sick, Doctor?”
“She eats too much and doesn’t work enough. Further communication is forbidden by professional ethics.”
“I didn’t know you had any.”
“Young lady, show respect for my white hairs. What about this Pottle female?”
“Well, Luba Konski had lunch with me last week and we got to talking about Missus Pottle. Honest, James, I didn’t say much and I did not know that Willis was under the table.”
“He was?” Mister Marlowe covered his eyes. “Do go on.”
“Well, you both remember that the Konskis housed the Pottles at North Colony until a house was built for them. Sarah Pottle has been Luba’s pet hate ever since, and Tuesday Luba was giving me some juicy details on Sarah’s habits at home. Two days later Sarah Pottle stopped by to give me advice on how to bring up children. Something she said triggered Willis, I knew he was in the room but I didn’t think anything of it, and Willis put on just the wrong record and I couldn’t shut him up. I finally carried him out of the room. Missus Pottle left without saying goodbye and I haven’t heard from her since.”
“That’s no loss.” her husband commented.
‘True, but it got Luba in Dutch. No one could miss Luba’s accent and Willis does it better than she does herself. I don’t think Luba minds, though, and you should have heard Willis’s playback of Luba’s description of how Sarah Pottle looks in the morning, and what she does about it.”
“You should hear,” answered MacRae, “Missus Pottle’s opinions on the servant problem.”
“I have. She thinks it’s a scandal that the Company doesn’t import servants for us.”
The doctor nodded. “With collars riveted around their necks.”
“That woman! I can’t see why she ever became a colonist.”
“Didn’t you know?” her husband said. “They came out here expecting to get rich in a hurry.”
“Humph!”
Doctor MacRae got a far-away look. “Missus Marlowe, speaking as her physician, it might help me to hear what Willis has to say about Missus Pottle. Do you suppose he would recite for us?”
“Doctor, you’re an old fraud, with a taste for gossip.”
“Granted. I like also eavesdropping.”
“You’re shameless.”
“Again granted. My nerves are relaxed. I haven’t felt ashamed in years.”
“Willis may just give a thrilling account of the children’s chit-chat for the past two weeks.”
“Perhaps if you coaxed him?”
Missus Marlowe suddenly dimpled. “It won’t hurt to try.” She left the room to fetch Jim’s globular friend.

Chapter Three.
Gekko.
Wednesday morning dawned clear and cold, as mornings have a habit of doing on Mars. The Suttons and the Marlowes, minus Oliver, were gathered at the Colony’s cargo dock on the west leg of Strymon canal, ready to see the boys off.
The temperature was rising and the dawn wind was blowing firmly, but it was still at least thirty below. Strymon canal was a steel-blue, hard sheet of ice and would not melt today in this latitude. Resting on it beside the dock was the mail scooter from Syrtis Minor, its boat body supported by razor-edged runners. The driver was still loading it with cargo dragged from the warehouse on the dock.
The tiger stripes on Jim’s mask, the war paint on Frank’s, and a rainbow motif on Phyllis’s made the young people easy to identify. The adults could be told apart only by size, shape, and manner; there were two extras, Doctor MacRae and Father Cleary. The priest was talking in low, earnest tones to Frank.
He turned presently and spoke to Jim. “Your own pastor asked me to say good-bye to you, son. Unfortunately the poor man is laid up with a touch of Mars throat. He would have come anyhow had I not hidden his mask.” The Protestant chaplain, as well as the priest, was a bachelor; the two shared a house.
“Is he very sick?” asked Jim.
“Not that sick. But take his blessing, and mine too.” He offered his hand.
Jim dropped his travel bag, shifted his ice skates and Willis over to his left arm and shook hands. There followed an awkward silence. Finally Jim said, “Why don’t you all go inside before you freeze to death?”
“Yeah,” agreed Francis. “That’s a good idea.”
“I think the driver is about ready now,” Mister Marlowe countered. “Well, son, take care of yourself. We’ll see you at migration.” He shook hands solemnly.
“So long, Dad.”
Missus Marlowe put her arms around him, pressed her mask against his and said, “Oh, my little boy, you’re too young to go away from home!”
“Oh, Mother, please!” But he hugged her. Then Phyllis had to be hugged. The driver called out: “Board!”
”Bye everybody!” Jim turned away, felt his elbow caught.
It was the doctor. “Take care of yourself, Jim. And don’t take any gruff off of anybody.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Jim turned and presented his school authorization to the driver while the doctor bade Francis good-bye.
The driver looked it over. “Both deadheads, eh? Well, seeing as how there aren’t any pay passengers this morning you can ride in the observatory.” He tore off his copy; Jim climbed inside and went up to the prized observation seats behind and above the driver’s compartment. Frank joined him.
The craft trembled as the driver jacked the runners loose from the ice, then with a roar from the turbine and a soft, easy surge the car got under way. The banks flowed past them and melted into featureless walls as the speed picked up. The ice was mirror smooth; they soon reached cruising speed of better than two hundred fifty miles per hour. Presently the driver removed his mask; Jim and Frank, seeing him, did likewise. The car was pressurized now by an air ram faced into their own wind of motion; it was much warmer, too, from the air’s compression.
“Isn’t this swell?” said Francis.
“Yes. Look at Earth.”
Their mother planet was riding high above the Sun in the north eastern sky. It blazed green against a deep purple background. Close to it, but easy to separate with the naked eye, was a lesser, pure white star, Luna, Earth’s moon. Due north of them, in the direction they were going, Deimos, Mars’ outer moon, hung no more than twenty degrees above the horizon.
Almost lost in the rays of the sun, it was a tiny pale disc, hardly more than a dim star and much outshone by Earth.
Phobos, the inner moon, was not in sight. At the latitude of Charax it never rose more than eight degrees or so above the northern horizon and that for an hour or less, twice a day. In the daytime it was lost in the blue of the horizon and no one would be so foolhardy as to watch for it in the bitter night. Jim did not remember ever having seen it except during migration between colonies.
Francis looked from Earth to Deimos. “Ask the driver to turn on the radio,” he suggested. “Deimos is up.”
“Who cares about the broadcast?” Jim answered. “I want to watch.” The banks were not so high now; from the observation dome he could see over them into the fields beyond. Although it was late in the season the irrigated belt near the canal was still green and getting greener as he watched, as the plants came out of the ground to seek the morning sunlight.
He could make out, miles away, an occasional ruddy sand dune of the open desert. He could not see the green belt of the east leg of their canal; it was over the horizon.
Without urging, the driver switched on his radio; music filled the car and blotted out the monotonous low roar of the turbo-jet. It was terrestrial music, by Sibelius, a classical composer of another century. Mars colony had not yet found time to develop its own arts and still borrowed its culture. But neither Jim nor Frank knew who the composer was, nor cared. The banks of the canal had closed in again; there was nothing to see but the straight ribbon of ice; they settled back and day-dreamed.
Willis stirred for the first time since he had struck the outer cold. He extended his eye stalks, looked inquiringly around, then commenced to beat time with them.
Presently the music stopped and a voice said: “This is station D-M-S, the Mars Company, Deimos, circum Mars. We bring you now by relay from Syrtis Minor a program in the public interest. Doctor Graves Armbruster will speak on Ecological Considerations involved in Experimental Artificial Symbiotics as related to.”
The driver promptly switched the radio off.
“I would like to have heard that,” objected Jim. “It sounded interesting.”
“Oh, you’re just showing off,” Frank answered. “You don’t even know what those words mean.”
“The dickens I don’t. It means.”
“Shut up and take a nap.” Taking his own advice Frank lay back and closed his eyes. However he got no chance to sleep. Willis had apparently been chewing over, in whatever it was he used for a mind, the programme he had just heard. He opened up and started to play it back, woodwinds and all.
The driver looked back and up, looked startled. He said something but Willis drowned him out. Willis bulled on through to the end, even to the broken-off announcement. The driver finally made himself heard. “Hey, you guys! What you got up there? A portable recorder?”
“No, a bouncer.”
“A what?”
Jim held Willis up so that the driver could see him. “A bouncer. His name is Willis.” The driver stared.
“You mean that thing is a recorder?”
“No, he’s a bouncer. As I said, his name is Willis.”
‘This I got to see,” announced the driver. He did something at his control board, then turned around and stuck his head and shoulders up into the observation dome.
Frank said, “Hey! You’ll wreck us.”
“Relax,” advised the driver. “I put her on echo-automatic. High banks for the next couple o’ hundred miles. Now what is this gismo? When you brought it aboard I thought it was a volley ball.”
“No, it’s Willis. Say hello to the man, Willis.”
“Hello, man,” Willis answered agreeably.
The driver scratched his head. “This beats anything I ever saw in Keokuk. Sort of a parrot, eh?”
“He’s a bouncer. He’s got a scientific name, but it just means Martian roundhead. Never seen one before?”
“No, you know, bud, this is the screwiest planet in the whole system.”
“If you don’t like it here,” asked Jim, “Why don’t you go back where you came from?”
“Don’t go popping off, youngster. How much will you take for the gismo? I got an idea I could use him.”
“Sell Willis? Are you crazy?”
“Sometimes I think so. Oh, well, it was just an idea.” The driver went back to his station, stopping once to look back and stare at Willis.
The boys dug sandwiches out of their travel bags and munched them. After that Frank’s notion about a nap seemed a good idea. They slept until wakened by the car slowing down. Jim sat up, blinked and called down, “What’s up?”
“Coming into Cynia Station,” the driver answered. “Lay over until sundown.”
“Won’t the ice hold?”
“Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. The temperature’s up and I’m not going to chance it.” The car slid softly to a stop, then started again and crawled slowly up a low ramp, stopped again. “All out!” the driver called. “Be back by sundown, or get left.” He climbed out; the boys followed.
Cynia Station was three miles west of the ancient city of Cynia, where west Strymon joins the canal Oeroe. It was merely a lunchroom, a bunkhouse, and a row of pre-fab warehouses. To the east the feathery towers of Cynia gleamed in the sky, seemed almost to float, too beautifully unreal to be solid.
The driver went into the little inn. Jim wanted to walk over and explore the city; Frank favoured stopping in the restaurant first. Frank won out. They went inside and cautiously invested part of their meagre capital in coffee and some indifferent soup.
The driver looked up from his dinner presently and said, “Hey, George! Ever see anything like that?” He pointed to Willis.
George was the waiter. He was also the cashier, the hotel keeper, the station agent, and the Company representative. He glanced at Willis. “Yep.”
“You did, huh? Where? Do you suppose I could find one?”
“Doubt it. You see “Em sometimes, hanging around the Martians. Not many of “Em.” He turned back to his reading, a New York Times, more than two years old.
The boys finished, paid their bills, and prepared to go outside. The cook-waiter-station-agent said, “Hold on. Where are you kids going?”
“Syrtis Minor.”
“Not that. Where are you going right now? Why don’t you wait in the dormitory? Take a nap if you like.”
“We thought we would kind of explore around outside,” explained Jim.
“Okay. But stay away from the city.”
“Why?”
“Because the Company doesn’t allow it, that’s why. Not without permission. So stay clear of it.”
“How do we get permission?” Jim persisted.
“You can’t. Cynia hasn’t been opened up to exploitation yet.” He went back to his reading.
Jim was about to continue the matter but Frank tugged at his sleeve. They went outside together. Jim said, “I don’t think he has any business telling us we can’t go to Cynia.”
“What’s the difference? He thinks he has.”
“What’ll we do now?”
“Go to Cynia, of course. Only we won’t consult his nibs.”
“Suppose he catches us?”
“How can he? He won’t stir off that stool he’s warming. Come on.”
“Okay.” They set out to the east. The going was not too easy; there was no road of any sort and all the plant growth bordering the canal was spread out to its greatest extent to catch the rays of the midday sun. But Mars’ low gravity makes walking easy work even over rough ground. They came shortly to the bank of Oeroe and followed it to the right, toward the city.
The way was easy along the smooth stone of the bank. The air was warm and balmy even though the surface of the canal was still partly frozen. The sun was high; they were the better part of a thousand miles closer to the equator than they had been at daybreak.
“Warm,” said Willis. “Willis want down.”
“Okay,” Jim agreed, “But don’t fall in.”
“Willis not fall in.” Jim put him down and the little creature went skipping and rolling along the bank, with occasional excursions into the thick vegetation, like a puppy exploring a new pasture.
They had gone perhaps a mile and the towers of the city were higher in the sky when they encountered a Martian. He was a small specimen of his sort, being not over twelve feet tall. He was standing quite still, all three of his legs down, apparently lost in contemplation of the whichness of what. The eye facing them stared unblinkingly.
Jim and Frank were, of course, used to Martians and recognized that this one was busy in his “Other world”; they stopped talking and continued on past him, being careful not to brush against his legs.
Not so Willis. He went darting around the Martian’s peds, rubbing against them, then stopped and let out a couple of mournful croaks.
The Martian stirred, looked around him, and suddenly bent and scooped Willis up.
“Hey!” yelled Jim. “Put him down!”
No answer.
Jim turned hastily to Frank. “You talk to him, Frank. I’ll never be able to make him understand me. Please!” Of the Martian dominant language Jim understood little and spoke less. Frank was somewhat better, but only by comparison. Those who speak Martian complain that it hurts their throats.
“What’ll I say?”
“Tell him to put Willis down!”
“Relax. Martians never hurt anybody.”
“Well, tell him to put Willis down, then.”
“I’ll try.” Frank screwed up his mouth and got to work. His accent, bad at best, was made worse by the respirator and by nervousness. Nevertheless he clucked and croaked his way through a phrase that seemed to mean what Jim wanted. Nothing happened.
He tried again, using a different idiom; still nothing happened. “It’s no good, Jim,” he admitted. “Either he doesn’t understand me or he doesn’t want to bother to listen.”
Jim shouted, “Willis! Hey, Willis! Are you all right?”
“Willis fine!”
“Jump down! I’ll catch you.”
“Willis fine.”
The Martian wobbled his head, seemed to locate Jim for the first time. He cradled Willis in one arm; his other two arms came snaking suddenly down and enclosed Jim, one palm flap cradling him where he sat down, the other slapping him across the belly.
He felt himself lifted and held and then he was staring into a large liquid Martian eye which stared back at him. The Martian “Man” rocked his head back and forth and let each of his eyes have a good look.
It was the closest Jim had ever been to a Martian; he did not care for it. Jim tried to wiggle away, but the fragile appearing Martian was stronger than he was.
Suddenly the Martian’s voice boomed out from the top of his head. Jim could not understand what was being said although he spotted the question symbol at the beginning of the phrase. But the Martian’s voice had a strange effect on him. Croaking and uncouth though it was, it was filled with such warmth and sympathy and friendliness that the native no longer frightened him. Instead he seemed like an old and trusted friend.
The Martian repeated the question.
“What did he say, Frank?”
“I didn’t get it. He’s friendly but I can’t understand him.”
The Martian spoke again; Frank listened. “He’s inviting you to go with him, I think.”
Jim hesitated a split second. “Tell him okay.”
“Jim, are you crazy?”
“It’s all right. He means well. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, all right.” Frank croaked the phrase of assent.
The native gathered up one leg and strode rapidly away toward the city. Frank trotted after. He tried his best to keep up, but the pace was too much for him. He paused, gasping, then shouted, “Wait for me,” his voice muffled by his mask.
Jim tried to phrase a demand to stop, gave up, then got an inspiration. “Say, Willis, Willis boy. Tell him to wait for Frank.”
“Wait for Frank?” Willis said doubtfully.
“Yes. Wait for Frank.”
“Okay.” Willis hooted at his new friend; the Martian paused and dropped his third leg. Frank came puffing up.
The Martian removed one arm from Jim and scooped up Frank with it. “Hey!” Frank protested. “Cut it out.”
“Take it easy,” advised Jim.
“But I don’t want to be carried.”
Frank’s reply was disturbed by the Martian starting up again. Thus burdened, he shifted to a three-legged gait in which at least two legs were always on the ground. It was bumpy but surprisingly fast.
“Where do you suppose he is taking us?” asked Jim.
“To the city I guess.” Frank added, “We don’t want to miss the scooter.”
“We’ve got hours yet. Quit worrying.”
The Martian said nothing more but continued slogging toward Cynia. Willis was evidently as happy as a bee in a flower shop. Jim settled down to enjoying the ride. Now that he was being carried with his head a good ten feet above ground his view was much improved; he could see over the tops of the plants growing by the canal and beyond them to the iridescent towers of Cynia. The towers were not like those of Charax; no two Martian cities looked alike. It was as if each were a unique work of art, each expressing the thoughts of a different artist.
Jim wondered why the towers had been built, what they were good for, how old they were.
The canal crops spread out around them, a dark green sea in which the Martian waded waist deep. The broad leaves were spread flat to the sun’s rays, reaching greedily for life-giving radiant energy. They curled aside as the native’s body brushed them, to spread again as he passed.
The towers grew much closer; suddenly the Martian stopped and set the two boys down. He continued to carry Willis. Ahead of them, almost concealed by overhanging greenery, a ramp slanted down into the ground and entered a tunnel arch. Jim looked at it and said, “Frank, what do you think?”
“Gee, I don’t know.” The boys had been inside the cities of Charax and Copais, but only in the abandoned parts and at ground level. They were not allowed time to fret over their decision; their guide started down the slope at a good clip.
Jim ran after him, shouting, “Hey, Willis!”
The Martian stopped and exchanged a couple of remarks with Willis; the bouncer called out, “Jim wait.”
‘Tell him to put you down.”
“Willis fine. Jim wait.” The Martian started up again at a pace that Jim could not possibly match. Jim went disconsolately back to the start of the ramp and sat down on the ledge thereof.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Frank.
“Wait, I suppose. What else can I do? What are you going to do?”
“Oh, I’ll stick. But I’m not going to miss the scooter.”
“Well, neither am I. We couldn’t stay here after sundown anyhow.”
The precipitous drop in temperature at sunset on Mars is almost all the weather there is, but it means death by freezing for an Earth human unless he is specially clothed and continuously exercising.
They sat and waited and watched spin bugs skitter past. One stopped by Jim’s knee, a little tripod of a creature, less than an inch high; it appeared to study him. He touched it; it flung out its limbs and whirled away. The boys were not even alert, since a water-seeker will not come close to a Martian settlement; they simply waited.
Perhaps a half hour later the Martian, or, at least, a Martian of the same size, came back. He did not have Willis with him. Jim’s face fell. But the Martian said, “Come with me,” in his own tongue, prefacing the remark with the question symbol.
“Do we or don’t we?” asked Frank.
“We do. Tell him so.” Frank complied. The three started down. The Martian laid a great hand flap on the shoulders of each boy and herded him along. Shortly he stopped and picked them up. This time they made no objection.
The tunnel seemed to remain in full daylight even after they had penetrated several hundred yards underground. The light came from everywhere but especially from the ceiling. The tunnel was large by human standards but no more than comfortably roomy for Martians. They passed several other natives; if another was moving their host always boomed a greeting, but if he was frozen in the characteristic trance-like immobility no sound was made.
Once their guide stepped over a ball about three feet in diameter. Jim could not make out what it was at first, then he did a double-take and was still more puzzled. He twisted his neck and looked back at it. It couldn’t be, but it was!
He was gazing at something few humans ever see, and no human ever wants to see: a Martian folded and rolled into a ball, his hand flaps covering everything but his curved back.
Martians, modern, civilized Martians, do not hibernate, but at some time remote eons in the past their ancestors must have done so, for they are still articulated so that they can assume the proper, heat-conserving, moisture-conserving globular shape, if they wish.
They hardly ever so wish.
For a Martian to roll up is the moral equivalent of an Earthly duel to the death and is resorted to only when that Martian is offended so completely that nothing less will suffice. It means: I cast you out, I leave your world, I deny your existence.
The first pioneers on Mars did not understand this, and, through ignorance of Martian values, offended more than once. This delayed human colonization of Mars by many years; it took the most skilled diplomats and semanticians of Earth to repair the unwitting harm. Jim stared unbelievingly at the withdrawn Martian and wondered what could possibly have caused him to do that to an entire city. He remembered a grisly tale told him by Doctor MacRae concerning the second expedition to Mars. “So this dumb fool,” the doctor had said, “A medical lieutenant he was, though I hate to admit it, this idiot grabs hold of the beggar’s flaps and tries to unroll him. Then it happened.”
“What happened?” Jim had demanded.
“He disappeared.”
“The Martian?”
“No, the medical officer.”
“Huh? How did he disappear?”
“Don’t ask me; I didn’t see it. The witnesses, four of “Em, with sworn statements, say there he was and then there he wasn’t. As if he had met a boojum.”
“What’s a boojum?” Jim had wanted to know.
“You modern kids don’t get any education, do you? The boojum is in a book; I’ll dig up a copy for you.”
“But how did he disappear?”
“Don’t ask me. Call it mass hypnosis if it makes you feel any better. It makes me feel better, but not much. All I can say is that seven-eighths of an iceberg never shows.” Jim had never seen an iceberg, so the allusion was wasted on him, but he felt decidedly not better when he saw the rolled up Martian.
“Did you see that?” demanded Frank.
“I wish I hadn’t,” said Jim. “I wonder what happened?”
“Maybe he ran for mayor and lost.”
“It’s nothing to joke about. Maybe he, Sssh!” Jim broke off. He caught sight of another Martian, immobile, but not rolled up; politeness called for silence.
The Martian carrying them made a sudden turn to the left and entered a hall; he put them down. The room was very large to them; to Martians it was probably suitable for a cozy social gathering. There were many of the frames they use as a human uses a chair and these were arranged in a circle. The room itself was circular and domed; it had the appearance of being outdoors for the domed ceiling simulated Martian sky, pale blue at the horizon, increasing to warmer blue, then to purple, and reaching purple-black with stars piercing through at the highest point of the ceiling.
A miniature sun, quite convincing, hung west of the meridian. By some trick of perspective the pictured horizons were apparently distant. On the north wall Oeroe seemed to flow past.
Frank’s comment was, “Gee whiz!” Jim did not manage that much.
Their host had placed them by two resting frames. The boys did not attempt to use them; stepladders would have been more comfortable and convenient. The Martian looked first at them, then at the frames, with great sorrowful eyes. He left the room.
He came back very shortly, followed by two others; all three were carrying loads of colourful fabrics. They dumped them down in a pile in the middle of the room. The first Martian picked up Jim and Frank and deposited them gently on the heap.
“I think he means, Draw up a chair,” commented Jim.
The fabrics were not woven but were a continuous sheet, like cobweb, and almost as soft, though much stronger. They were in all hues of all colours from pastel blue to deep, rich red.
The boys sprawled on them and waited.
Their host relaxed himself on one of the resting frames; the two others did the same. No one said anything. The two boys were decidedly not tourists; they knew better than to try to hurry a Martian. After a bit Jim got an idea; to test it he cautiously raised his mask. Frank snapped, “Say! What “Cha trying to do? Choke to death?”
Jim left his mask up. “It’s all right. The pressure is up.”
“It can’t be. We didn’t come through a pressure lock.”
“Have it your own way.” Jim left his mask up. Seeing that he did not turn blue, gasp, nor become slack-featured, Frank ventured to try it himself. He found himself able to breathe without trouble. To be sure, the pressure was not as great as he was used to at home and it would have seemed positively stratospheric to an Earthling, but it was enough for a man at rest.
Several other Martians drifted in and unhurriedly composed themselves on frames. After a while Frank said, “Do you know what’s going on, Jim?”
“Uh, maybe.”
“No maybes about it. It’s a growing-together.”
“Growing together’ is an imperfect translation of a Martian idiom which names their most usual social event, in bald terms, just sitting around and saying nothing. In similar terms, violin music has been described as dragging a horse’s tail across the dried gut of a cat. “I guess you’re right,” agreed Jim. “We had better button our lips.”
“Sure.”
For a long time nothing was said. Jim’s thoughts drifted away, to school and what he would do there, to his family, to things in the past. He came back presently to personal self-awareness and realized that he was happier than he had been in a long time, with no particular reason that he could place. It was a quiet happiness; he felt no desire to laugh nor even to smile, but he was perfectly relaxed and content.
He was acutely aware of the presence of the Martians, of each individual Martian, and was becoming even more aware of them with each drifting minute. He had never noticed before how beautiful they were. “Ugly as a native’ was a common phrase with the colonials; Jim recalled with surprise that he had even used it himself, and wondered why he ever had done so.
He was aware, too, of Frank beside him and thought about how much he liked him. Staunch, that was the word for Frank, a good man to have at your back. He wondered why he had never told Frank that he liked him.
Mildly he missed Willis, but he was not worried about him. This sort of a party was not Willis’s dish; Willis liked things noisy, boisterous, and unrefined. Jim put aside the thought of Willis, lay back, and soaked in the joy of living. He noted with delight that the unknown artist who had designed this room had arranged for the miniature sun to move across the ceiling just as the true Sun moved across the sky. He watched it travel to the west and presently begin to drop toward the pictured horizon.
There came a gentle booming behind him, he could not catch the words, and another Martian answered. One of them unfolded himself from his resting stand and ambled out of the room. Frank sat up and said, “I must have been dreaming.”
“Did you go to sleep?” asked Jim. “I didn’t.”
“The heck you didn’t. You snored like Doc MacRae.”
“Why, I wasn’t even asleep.”
“Says you!”
The Martian who had left the room returned. Jim was sure it was the same one; they no longer looked alike to him. He was carrying a drinking vase. Frank’s eyes bulged out. “Do you suppose they are going to serve us water?”
“Looks like,” Jim answered in an awed voice.
Frank shook his head. “We might as well keep this to ourselves; nobody’ll ever believe us.”
“You’re right.”
The ceremony began. The Martian with the vase announced his own name, barely touched the stem of the vase and passed it on. The next Martian gave his name and also simulated drinking. Around the circle it came. The Martian who had brought them in, Jim learned, was named “Gekko”; it seemed a pretty name to Jim and fitting. At last the vase came around to Jim; a Martian handed it to him with the wish, “May you never suffer thirst.” The words were quite clear to him.
There was an answering chorus around him: “May you drink deep whenever you wish!”
Jim took the vase and reflected that Doc said that the Martians didn’t have anything that was catching for humans. “Jim Marlowe!” he announced, placed the stem in his mouth and took a sip.
As he handed it back he dug into his imperfect knowledge of the dominant language, concentrated on his accent and managed to say, “May water ever be pure and plentiful for you.”
There was an approving murmur that warmed him. The Martian handed the vase to Frank.
With the ceremony over the party broke up in noisy, almost human chatter. Jim was trying vainly to follow what was being said to him by a Martian nearly three times his height when Frank said, “Jim! You see that sun? We’re going to miss the scooter!”
“Huh? That’s not the real Sun; that’s a toy.”
“No, but it matches the real Sun. My watch says the same thing.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Where’s Willis? Gekko, where’s Gekko?”
Gekko, on hearing his name, came over; he clucked inquiringly at Jim. Jim tried very hard to explain their trouble, tripped over syntax, used the wrong directive symbols, lost his accent entirely. Frank shoved him aside and took over. Presently Frank said, “They’ll get us there before sunset, but Willis stays here.”
“Huh? They can’t do that!”
“That’s what the man says.”
Jim thought. “Tell them to bring Willis here and ask him.”
Gekko was willing to do that. Willis was carried in, placed upon the floor. He waddled up to Jim and said, “Hi, Jim boy! Hi, Frank boy!”
“Willis,” said Jim earnestly, “Jim is going away. Willis come with Jim?”
Willis seemed puzzled. “Stay here. Jim stay here. Willis stay here. Good.”
“Willis,” Jim said frantically, “Jim has got to go away. Willis come with Jim?”
“Jim go?”
“Jim go.”
Willis almost seemed to shrug. “Willis go with Jim,” he said sadly.
‘Tell Gekko.” Willis did so. The Martian seemed surprised, but there was no further argument. He gathered up both boys and the bouncer and started for the door. Another larger Martian , tagged “G’Kuro’ Jim recalled, relieved Gekko of Frank and tailed along behind. As they climbed the tunnel Jim found suddenly that he needed his mask; Frank put his on, too.
The withdrawn Martian was still cluttering the passageway; both their porters stepped over him without comment.
The sun was very low when they got to the surface. Although a Martian cannot be hastened, his normal pace makes very good time; the long-legged pair made nothing of the three miles back to Cynia Station. The sun had just reached the horizon and the air was already bitter when the boys and Willis were dumped on the dock. The two Martians left at once, hurrying back to the warmth of their city.
“Good-bye, Gekko!” Jim shouted. “Good-bye, G’Kuro!”
The driver and the station master were standing on the dock; it was evident that the driver was ready to start and had been missing his passengers. “What in the world?” said the station master.
“We’re ready to go,” said Jim.
“So I see,” said the driver. He stared at the retreating figures. He blinked and turned to the agent. “We should have left that stuff alone, George. I’m seeing things.” He added to the boys,
“Well, get aboard.”
They did so and climbed up to the dome. The car clumped down off the ramp to the surface of the ice, turned left onto Oeroe canal and picked up speed. The Sun dropped behind the horizon; the landscape was briefly illuminated by the short Martian sunset. On each bank the boys could see the plants withdrawing for the night. In a few minutes the ground, so lush with vegetation a half hour before, was bare as the true desert.
The stars were out, sharp and dazzling. Soft curtains of aurora hung over the skyline. In the west a tiny steady light rose and fought its way upwards against the motion of the stars.
“There’s Phobos,” said Frank. “Look!”
“I see it,” Jim answered. “It’s cold. Let’s turn in.”
“Okay. I’m hungry.”
“I’ve got some sandwiches left.” They munched one each, then went down into the lower compartment and crawled into bunks. In time the car passed the city Hesperidum and turned west-northwest onto the canal Erymanthus, but Jim was unaware of it; Jim was dreaming that Willis and he were singing a duet for the benefit of amazed Martians.
“All out! End of the line!” The driver was prodding them.
“Huh?”
“Up you come, shipmate. This is it, Syrtis Minor.”

Chapter Four.
Lowell Academy.
Dear Mother and Dad,
The reason I didn’t phone you when we got in Wednesday night was that we didn’t get in until Thursday morning. When I tried to phone on Thursday the operator told me that Deimos had set for South Colony and then I knew it would be about three days until I could relay a call through Deimos and a letter would get there sooner and save you four and a half credits on a collect phone call.
Heinlein Index:
https://rumble.com/v406mdz-index-of-robert-heinlein-audiobooks..html