Chapter 5: Blumberg Promises

The Martian began to speak slowly, carefully. Through long days and nights he had rehearsed his story, knowing he would have to tell it. The pale young man helped him often, at points where he lacked words...

He told of the scarcity of water on Mars--of how there was only a little, that had to be preserved carefully.

Here Blumberg interrupted. “How much water has this chap been drinking?”

“Less than a cup, sir--in almost ten days,” said Edgar. “The attendant was telling me...”

Blumberg grunted. “Go on!” he said.

He told of the social order of Mars--of the three great classes: the Aristocrats, the Scientists, and the Workers. The Aristocrats, he explained, were the rulers, who utilized the knowledge of the Scientists and the energy of the Workers to build up a State for themselves.

He told how, once a year, the water rushed down the canals from the melting polar ice caps, spreading vegetation over the face of the planet, and of how quickly this precious water disappeared, evaporated by the ever-shining sun, until there was none left for the thirsty plants, and they died. Thus, every year the famine was worse on Mars, and more Workers died.

He told how he, and other Scientists, had wanted to spread oil on the canals to stop evaporation, and of how the Aristocrats had forbidden them to do it.

He told of the plan he had conceived to control the waters at the head of the canals when the ice melted in the spring, so as to force the Aristocrats to come to terms.

And finally, he told of their premature discovery of his plan; of their great anger and fear; of their determination to punish him as no man had ever been punished before; of his banishment from the very world in which he lived.

There was a long silence when he had finished. At last Blumberg coughed, and shook himself.

“That’s a fine story,” he grumbled, “but you left somethin’ out ... What I wanta know is: how did you get here?”

“In a space traveller,” said the Martian.

“What’s that?”

Carefully, laboriously, he described the space ship. With the pencil he sketched diagram after diagram, while the pale young man helped him and labeled them as he directed. The young man was becoming visibly excited. When the Martian had finished, he burst out:

“By god, it would--it would do it! ... Look--”

“Shut up!” said Blumberg. The perspiration was standing out in large beads on his forehead.

“Fellow,” he said heavily, “if you’re lying, you’ve got one hell of an imagination!”

“You not have space travellers?” asked the Martian tensely.

“No ... Just ships that travel in air,” answered the pale young man. He heard the other’s painful catch of breath, and continued quickly: “But with these diagrams it would be easy to--”

“Shut up, Edgar ... Shut up--an’ get outta here!” barked the big man. The other turned, and left the room without a word.

“Now, look here, fellow,” said Blumberg, “I’m goin’ to take your word for it. I’m probably crazy to believe you; but I’ve seen most of the funny critters of this world in my time, an’ I ain’t ever seen one like you. So you may come from Mars, for all I know.”

The other looked at him eagerly, trying to understand his words. “You think I am man of Lo--of Mars?”

“Yes--that’s right.”

The Martian quivered with excitement. He held out his arms in a gesture of appeal.

“You help me?...”

“Yes.”

“You help me go to Mars?”

Blumberg looked down at the desktop, and was silent.

“Yes. I’ll help you,” said Blumberg suddenly. He stood up, and patted the other softly on the head... “Sure ... you bet!”

The Martian lay upon his back on a leather couch in a small room where they had taken him. His eyes were wide and shining. His hands clenched and opened convulsively. It seemed to him that he had been waiting for days.

The door opened, and Blumberg entered, followed by a smaller man. As the Martian struggled to his knees to greet him, he spoke heartily.

“Hello there! Think I wasn’t comin’? No use being in too much of a hurry, y’know ... Meet Dr. Smith. He’s a scientist like you...”

The Martian nodded and smiled at them happily. Dr. Smith looked at him long and curiously, meanwhile automatically seating himself in a chair close to the couch. Blumberg, who was pacing the room, cleared his throat.

“Now, look here,” he said, “I’m willing to help you, but you’ve got to help me do it... --”

The Martian understood him immediately.

“Yes!” he replied quickly. “Yes.”

“Good! ... Now, Dr. Smith is going to ask you questions about things we need to know. You tell him all you can.”

“Yes ... I tell him!”

Dr. Smith had many questions to ask, on many and diverse subjects. At first, communication between the two was very difficult; but both were highly intelligent and understanding men, and before long they became fairly successful in exchanging ideas. Blumberg paced constantly about the room. Occasionally he went out, but always returned quickly.

The catechism went on for hours; and ended only to be resumed early the next day.

And so it continued on the following day, and on the day after. The Martian was puzzled. They seemed to want to know so many things! Dr. Smith had questioned him on every subject--mechanics, electricity, magnetism, chemistry, colloids, catalysts, transmutation of metals--everything. He feared that they were wasting time, but did not think it proper to object when they were going to so much trouble on his account. Nevertheless, he could not help worrying; and that night, when the pale young man brought him his food, he asked timidly:

“Do they make the ship?...”

The pale young man looked at the floor, biting his lips. Then he went to the door, opened it, and looked out into the hall. He closed the door softly, and came near the couch. He looked straight into the Martian’s eyes.

“There is no ship!”

“No ship?”

“No.” The young man was flushed and angry. He spoke very fast: “That fat crook is not helping you ... But you are helping him--you bet!...”

“Does--does he not think--think I am the Martian?...”

“Oh, he thinks you’re a Martian, all right! He knows you are. He’s taking out patents already.”