Red Planet (23 page)

MacRae reserved for himself the job of taking the planet office—the main offices on Mars of the Company, Beecher's own headquarters. The Resident Agent General's personal apartment was part of the same building; the doctor expected to come to grips with Beecher himself.

MacRae sent a squad of men to reinforce Marlowe at the power house, then called out, ‘Let's go, before we all freeze to death. Chop, chop!’ He led the way at a ponderous trot.

Jim located Frank in the group and joined him. ‘What took you guys so long in that building?’ he asked. ‘Was there a fight?’

'Took so long?’ said Frank. ‘We weren't inside two minutes.’

'But you must have —’

'Cut out that chatter back there!’ called out Doc. Jim shut up and pondered it.

MacRae had them cross the main canal on ice, avoiding the arching bridge as a possible trap. They crossed in pairs, those behind covering those crossing; in turn they who had crossed spread out and covered those yet to come. The crossing held a nightmarish, slow-motion quality; while on the ice a man was a perfect target—yet it was impossible to hurry. Jim longed for his skates.

On the far side the doctor gathered them together in the shadow of a warehouse. ‘We'll swing around to the east and avoid the dwellings,’ he told them in a hoarse whisper. ‘From here on,
quiet!
—for your life. We won't split up because I don't want you shooting each other in the dark.’ He set forth a plan to surround the building and cover all exits, while MacRae himself and about half their numbers tried to force an entrance at the main door.

'When you get around in back and make contact,’ MacRae warned the two who were to lead the flanking and covering moves, ‘you may have one deuce of a time telling friend from foe. Be careful. The word is Mars; the answer is Freedom.’

Jim was in the assault party. Doc stationed six of them in fan shape around the door, at an easy twenty-five yards range, and had them take cover where available. Three of them were on the open ramp in front of the door; he had them lie down and steady their guns. ‘In case of doubt—shoot,’ he instructed them. ‘Come on, the rest of you.’

Jim was included in the last order. MacRae walked up to the outer door and tried it; it was locked. He pressed the signal switch and waited.

Nothing happened. MacRae pressed the switch again and called out mildly to the speaker grille, ‘Let me in. I have an important message for the Resident.’

Still nothing happened. MacRae changed his tone to pretended exasperation. ‘Hurry up, please! I'm freezing to death out here.’

The door remained dark and silent. MacRae changed his manner to belligerence. ‘Okay, Beecher, open up! We've got the place surrounded and we're ready to blast in the door. You have thirty seconds till we set off the charge.’

The seconds ticked away. Doc muttered to Jim, ‘I wish it were the truth,’ then raised his voice and said, ‘Time's up, Beecher. This is it.’

The door hissed as the compressed air in the lock began to escape to the outside; the lock was starting to cycle. MacRae motioned them back a little; they waited, not breathing, all guns drawn and aimed at the point where the door would begin to open.

Then it was open and a single figure stood in it, the lock's light shining behind him. ‘Don't shoot!’ said a firm, pleasant voice. ‘It's all right. It's all over.’

MacRae peered at the figure. ‘Why, Doctor Rawlings!’ he said. ‘Bless your ugly face.’

Rawlings himself had spent half the night locked up, along with half a dozen other prominent citizens who had attempted to reason with Beecher. As the story got around, especially the matter of the deaths of the Pottles, Beecher found himself with no support at all, save from his own clique of sycophants and toadies and the professional, largely disinterested support of the Company's police.

Even Kruger cracked up under the strain, tried to get Beecher to reverse himself—and was stuffed in with the others, which by then included the chief engineer of the power plant. But it was Doctor Rawlings who talked the guard placed over them into risking his job and letting them go—the doctor was treating the guard's wife.

'I don't think Beecher would ever stand trial, even if we had him back on Earth,’ MacRae remarked about the matter to Rawlings and Marlowe. ‘What do you think, Doctor?’ The three were seated in the outer offices of the planet office building. Marlowe had come there after getting word at the power house from MacRae and had gotten busy at once, writing despatches to the Project camps and the other outlying activities, including North Colony itself, trying to round up boats. He had then tried, red-eyed and uncertain from lack of sleep, to compose a suitable report to Earth, until MacRae had interrupted him and insisted that he get some rest first.

'Paranoia?’ said Rawlings.

'A clear case.’

'My opinion, too. I've seen suggestive indications of it, but the case was not fully developed until his will was crossed. He must be hospitalized—and restrained.’ Doctor Rawlings glanced over his shoulder at a closed door. Behind it was Beecher.

Rawlings turned back. ‘What do you think of Howe, Doctor?’

MacRae grunted. ‘Haven't seen enough of him to have an opinion. What do you plan to do with him, Jim?’ he added, turning to Marlowe.

Marlowe frowned. ‘Nothing. The only charges we can make stick aren't worth the trouble. We'll simply ship him back.’

MacRae nodded. ‘That's the ticket. Hanging's too good for him; kick him out.’

'What worries me more,’ Marlowe went on, ‘is whom to get to replace him. The school has to be running again before we leave for Copais. Why don't you volunteer to fill in, Doc? Temporarily, of course.’

MacRae stared. ‘Me? Heaven forbid!’

'Well, I've got to have somebody to ride herd on those youngsters, somebody who can do it without using a straitjacket. They all like you.’

'No—repeat—emphatically—no!’

'There is a young fellow already with the school,’ volunteered Rawlings, ‘whom Professor Steuben was grooming for the job when the Company sent Howe instead. Chap named van der Linden. Seems a good, sensible sort. My boy likes him.’

Marlowe looked interested. ‘I ran into him. He was helpful. Of course I don't have any real authority to appoint him.’

MacRae snorted. ‘Jamie, you'll be the death of me!’

Marlowe put down his coffee cup and wiped his mouth. ‘All that is as may be. I think I'll stretch out on one of these desks for a couple of hours. Doc, will you see that someone wakes me?’

'Certainly,’ agreed MacRae, having no intention of allowing the man to be disturbed until he was fully rested. ‘Don't worry.’

Jim and the others were back at the school where they were to remain until boats could be gotten to take them to Copais. Mrs Palmer was bustling around with her assistants, getting a mammoth breakfast for weary men and boys. Jim himself was dead tired and hungry but much too excited to think about sleeping, even though dawn had broken outside.

He had just received a cup of coffee and was blowing on it when Smythe showed up. ‘Say, I understand you really did kill that cop that took a pot shot at me.’

'No,’ Jim denied, ‘he's in the infirmary now, just wounded. I've seen him.’

Smythe looked troubled. ‘Oh, shucks,’ he said finally, ‘it won't happen more than once in a lifetime. Here's your IOU.’

Jim stared at him. ‘Smitty, you're sick.’

'Probably. Better take it.’

Jim reached back into his subconscious memory and quoted his father. ‘No, thanks, Marlowes pay their debts.’

Smythe looked at him, then said, ‘Oh, the heck with you, you ungracious twerp!’ He tore the IOU into small pieces and stalked away.

Jim looked wonderingly after him. ‘Now what was he sore about?’ He decided to look up Frank and tell him about it.

He found Frank but had no time to tell him about it; a shout came through the crowd: ‘Marlowe! Jim Marlowe!’

'Captain Marlowe's at the planet office,’ someone answered.

'Not him, the kid,’ the first voice replied. ‘Jimmy Marlowe! You're wanted up front, right away.’

'Coming,’ yelled Jim. ‘What for?’ He pushed his way toward the entrance, Frank behind him.

The man who had paged him let him get close before he answered, ‘You won't believe it—I don't myself. Martians.’

Jim and Frank hurried outside. Gathered in front of the school door were more than a dozen Martians. Gekko was there, and G'kuro, but not K'boomch. Nor could Jim make out the old one whom he thought of as ‘head man’ of Gekko's tribe. Gekko spotted them and said in his own speech, ‘Greetings, Jim-Marlowe, greetings, Frank-Sutton, friends sealed with water.’

Another voice called out from one of Gekko's palm flaps, ‘Hi, Jim boy!’ Willis had come home with the bacon, a little late perhaps, but successfully.

Another voice boomed mellowly. Gekko listened, then said, ‘Where is he who stole our little one?’

Jim, uncertain of the dominant tongue, at best, was not sure that he had understood. ‘Huh?’

'He wants to know where Howe is,’ said Frank and answered in fluent, fairly accurate Martian. Howe was still where he had taken refuge, still afraid to face Kelly, despite repeated invitations.

Gekko indicated that he would come into the building. Amazed, but co-operative, the boys led him in. Gekko was forced to fold himself into a shape resembling a hat rack to get into the lock but he managed it; the lock was large. Inside, the sensation caused by his appearance was like that which might have resulted from introducing an elephant into a church. People gave way before him.

The door to the outer office was even more of a squeeze than the air lock, but Gekko made it, with Jim and Frank trailing him. Gekko handed Willis to Jim, then gently explored the handle of the door to Howe's office with a hand flap. Suddenly he pulled and the door came away, not only the lock broken but the door wrenched completely off its hinges. He squatted down further, completely filling the door frame.

The boys looked at each other; Willis closed up. They heard Howe saying ‘What's the meaning of this? Who are —’

Then Gekko stood up as well as he could in a room intended for humans and started for the outer door. The boys hesitated; Frank said, ‘Let's see what he did to him.’ He stepped to the wrecked door and looked in. ‘I don't see him. Hey, Jim—he's not in here at all.’

Nor was he.

They hurried after Gekko and reached him at the air lock. No one stopped Gekko; no one stopped them. The repeated indoctrination concerning Martians swept a path before them. Outside Gekko turned to them. ‘Where is the other one, who would do harm to the little one?’

Frank explained that Beecher was some distance away and not available. ‘You will show us,’ announced Gekko and picked them both up. Another Martian relieved him of Frank.

Jim felt himself cradled in the soft palm flaps, even as Willis was still cradled in Jim's arms. Willis extended his eyes, looked around and remarked, ‘Fine ride, huh?’ Jim was not sure.

The Martians ambled through town at an easy eight miles an hour, over the bridge, and to the planet offices. The pressure lock there was higher and larger than that at the school; the entire party went inside. The ceiling of the building's foyer was quite high enough for even the tallest Martian. Once they were inside Gekko set Jim down, as did the Martian carrying Frank.

There had been the same scurrying surprise as at the school. MacRae came out and looked the situation over without excitement. ‘What's all this jamboree?’ he asked.

'They want to talk to Beecher,’ Frank explained.

MacRae raised his eyebrows, then spoke in clear Martian. One of them answered him; they conversed back and forth. ‘Okay, I'll get him,’ agreed MacRae, then repeated it in Martian. He went into the offices. He returned in a few minutes, pushing Beecher in front of him, and followed by Rawlings and Marlowe. ‘Some people to see you,’ MacRae said and gave Beecher a shove that carried him out onto the floor of the foyer.

'This is the one?’ inquired the Martian spokesman.

'This is verily the one.’

Beecher looked up at them. ‘What do you want me for?’ he said in Basic. The Martians moved so that they were on all sides of him. ‘Now you get away from me!’ he said. They moved in slowly, tightening the circle. Beecher attempted to break out of it; a great hand flap was placed in his way.

They closed in further. Beecher darted this way and that, then he was concealed completely from the spectators by a screen of palm flaps. ‘Let me out!’ he was heard to shout. ‘I didn't do anything. You've got no right to —’ His voice stopped in a scream.

The circle relaxed and broke up. There was no one inside it, not even a spot of blood on the floor.

The Martians headed for the door. Gekko stopped and said to Jim, ‘Would you return with us, my friend?’

'No—oh, no,’ said Jim. ‘I have to stay here,’ then remembered to translate.

'And the little one?’

'Willis stays with me. That's right, isn't it, Willis?’

'Sure, Jim boy.’

'Then tell Gekko so.’ Willis complied. Gekko said farewell sadly to the boys and to Willis and went on out the lock.

MacRae and Rawlings were in whispered, worried conference at the spot where Beecher had last been seen; Captain Marlowe was looking sleepy and confused and listening to them. Frank said, ‘Let's get out of here, Jim.’

'Right.’

The Martians were still outside. Gekko saw them as they came out, spoke to one of his kind, then said, ‘Where is the learned one who speaks our speech? We would talk with him.’

'I guess they want Doc,’ said Frank.

'Is that what he meant?’

'I think so. We'll call him.’ They went back inside and dug MacRae out of a cluster of excited humans. ‘Doc,’ said Frank, ‘they want to talk with you—the Martians.’

'Eh?’ said MacRae. ‘Why me?’

'I don't know.’

The doctor turned to Marlowe. ‘How about it, Skipper? Do you want to sit in on this?’

Mr Marlowe rubbed his forehead. ‘No, I'm too confused to try to handle the language. You take it.’

'Okay.’ MacRae went for his suit and mask, let the boys help dress him, and then did not deny them when they tagged along. However, once outside, they held back and watched from a distance.