Chapter 11: Martians Don't Care

“I don’t like the looks of this at all,” said Lockhart finally. “I suspect a trap. Yet we’ve got to land and get at that base. I’m going to take the ship out into the desert beyond the city and let a scouting squad go in first.”

The Magellan lifted back into the sky, then moved out over the ocher wasteland that was the barren desert of the red planet. Slowly the ship dropped again until its pointed nether end hung about twenty feet above the cold shale and time-worn sand.

Captain Boulton and Ferrati were selected to do the initial survey. Burl and Haines helped them climb through the packed spaces of the outer hold. The jeep was swung out to the lowermost cargo port, and the spaceship’s cargo derrick lowered the compact army vehicle to the ground.

The two scouts then put on altitude suits with oxygen masks, slung walkie-talkies about their chests, took light carbines in hand and pistols in belts and went down the rope ladder from the cargo port. They climbed into the sturdy jeep with its specially-designed carburetor and pressurized engine. The vehicle had been prepared to operate in the light atmosphere of Mars, as thin as the air on a Himalayan mountaintop, and low in free oxygen.

Burl and Haines, clad in pressure suits themselves, sat in the open port and watched the jeep set off. The engine kicked over and barked a few times in the strange air. Then Boulton at the wheel threw in the clutch, stepped on the gas, and the squat little car, painted in Air Force blue, rolled off over the flat rocky surface, kicking up a light cloud of sand as it went.

On Haines’s lap sat a walkie-talkie. Boulton and Ferrati kept up a running commentary as they approached the city. Ferrati described the ground and the appearance of the oncoming city.

The jeep was now a small object merging with the dark mounds of the city’s outermost buildings. “We haven’t met any Martians yet,” came Ferrari’s voice. “Apparently they aren’t interested in investigating us even now. And here we are rolling right up to the city limits.” There was a pause.

The walkie-talkie emitted a series of squeaks and squawks, and Ferrati’s voice came through now with distortion. “We’re crossing the city limits--there’s a sort of hard, plastic pavement that begins at the very edge. Now we’re going down an intersection between the buildings.”

The squawks became increasingly louder. They could hear only a word or two. Haines asked whether he was getting through to them, but he could not make out an answer because of the racket.

“It’s the Sun-tap station. It’s generating distortion. We’ll have to wait until they return,” said Burl.

Haines nodded and turned off the set which had begun to utter ear-piercing howls. The two men waited quietly for about half an hour. Only a phone call from the curious men in the control room interrupted their vigil.

Then finally Burl spotted a little cloud of dust on the horizon. “There they are!”

The two men stood up as the little jeep made its way back over the desert to the ship. As it drew closer, they saw a third occupant sitting in the back with Ferrati. Haines opened the walkie-talkie. “Wait till you see this fellow,” Ferrati’s comment came through.

The jeep drew up to the ship and stopped. Ferrati waved them down. A few seconds later they were joined by Lockhart and Clyde, also in pressure suits.

The creature in the back of the jeep was a Martian. They stared in fascination. It was about three feet long with a small, oval-shaped head and two very large, many-faceted eyes. A small, beaklike mouth and short, stubby antennae completed its face. The head was attached by a short neck to a body that consisted of three oval masses joined together by narrow belts, much like the joints of an insect. A pair of arms, ending in long three-fingered hands, grew from the first segment. A set of long, thin legs grew out of each of the two other segments. A glistening grayish-blue shell, its skin, covered it from head to foot.

At the moment, this particular Martian was tightly restrained by a strong nylon net, and was obviously the captive of the two explorers.

“Why, it looks like a giant insect!” exclaimed Burl.

“More like a kind of lobster,” was Ferrati’s answer. “But this is it. This is one of the city dwellers.”

Lockhart shook his head. “I don’t like this. We shouldn’t do anything to antagonize the Martians. Taking one prisoner like this may be a bad first move.”

Boulton stepped out of the jeep. “There wasn’t anything else we could do. Besides, who said that Martians were ever our friends?”

“We got into the city,” he went on, “and drove around the streets. There were plenty of these fellows around, going about their business. Hundreds of ‘em. Do you think they stopped to look at us? Do you think they were curious? Do you think they talked to us? Called the police? Did anything at all?

“No,” he answered himself. “They just walked around us as if we were a stick of something in the way. They don’t say anything to each other. They just go on about their affairs, dragging things, carrying food, herding young ones, and not a darn word.

“They looked at us, and didn’t even act as if they saw us. When we stopped one, it squirmed out of our grasp and walked away. Finally we took this fellow, simply grabbed him off the street, tied him up, stuffed him in the jeep and kidnaped him. And do you think anybody cared or turned in an alarm or tried to help him? No!”

Lockhart looked at the prisoner a moment. The Martian stared at him out of his unwinking multiple eyes. “Are you sure these are the engineers of the canals, the builders?”

Boulton nodded. “Definitely. We saw some of them at work. They were repairing a house and they used tools and fire. They have machines, and they use them. They’ve got their city working and well laid out, but I don’t know how they do it. They must communicate in some way, but they act as if they had been drilled in their jobs and were going through an elaborate and complicated pantomime. Even the young don’t utter a peep.”

Lockhart stepped back a bit. “Untie this fellow. Let’s see what he does.”

When the Martian had been released from the enveloping net, it made no effort to communicate. It turned slowly around, a little wobbly at first, and wandered off, paying no attention to the men, the ship, or the jeep. Then it started walking at a rapid pace. The men watched as it trotted into the desert--away from the city!

It seemed to wander around as if lost, and then set out in another direction, but still one that would not take it to the city which was quite plainly in view.

The Martian disappeared from view behind a series of small hummocks, still bound for nowhere.

The men were lost in amazement. Russell Clyde uttered a low whistle. “Burl’s right. It must be a sort of insect.”

“This whole civilization seems to be insectlike, if you ask me,” said Burl. “It’s like a huge anthill, or a big bee-hive. It seems complicated, and the creatures go through complex activities, and all the time it’s something they were born with.”