The Red Planet (24 page)

“Yes.”

“How long will it take you to get them?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Right. If you’re not back in that time we shall take off.”

“What? And leave me here?” Webster was almost beside himself. “But you promised you would take me back to Earth with you.”

“Be back in ten minutes, then. Alone.”

Webster left the sphere and the moment he had passed through the door, Jet gave Harding the order to close it.

“What’s the idea, Jet?” asked Lemmy.

“I’m taking no chances,” replied our captain. “We can’t afford to.”

“But how do we find out about Frank and the rest of the crew,” I asked, “if we don’t go with him? Or even if he’s speaking the truth about them when he does get back?”

“Two of us
will
go with him,” said Jet, “but we’ll put a time limit on our return. And, if we’re not back within that time, you, Lemmy, with Mitch, will take this sphere back to Polar Base, board the
Discovery
and head for home.”

Webster was back well within the limited time and, as he had promised, brought four sets of breathing apparatus with him. They were so compact that at first I couldn’t believe they would be of any use. But a quick test proved that they were efficient enough. We wore the apparatus round our waists like a belt. From there a tiny, thin tube, no more than an eighth of an inch in diameter, was carried up into our mouths and fixed to our teeth. Through this came the necessary oxygen supply. They were rather uncomfortable to wear at first but we soon got used to them. We took one of the appliances up to Mitch who put it on and then came downstairs.

“Are you ready now, Mr Morgan?” asked Webster impatiently; when Jet explained that he and I would be going with him. “The more time wasted, the less chance we have of getting away.”

“All right, Lemmy,” said Jet. “If we’re not back in an hour, you know what to do.”

“Yes, mate,” said Lemmy. “And good luck.”

“Take care of yourself,” said Mitch, now, apparently, his normal self again.

We left the sphere and walked towards the airlock.

“What happens if this apparatus gives out on us, Webster,” I asked.

“It shouldn’t,” he replied. “It should last for forty-eight hours of continuous use but, in any case, you need wear it for only a few minutes.”

He was right. We soon reached the large airlock which was entered by a circular door some six feet in diameter. Once inside, the door closed, we passed through another and then Webster told us that we could take off our masks. I did so and found the atmosphere perfectly breathable.

I now expected Webster to open the far door so that we could step into the enclosed area we had glimpsed from outside. But, instead, we turned to a door in the right of the wall, opened it and found ourselves in a long, well-lit tunnel which sloped gently downwards. It was from here that the air, which contained a strong smell of ozone, was coming.

“Where are we now?” Jet asked.

“Inside the wall on which the dome rests. Deep down underground is the factory. Its workers are all conditioned types but it is run by unconditioned men like myself. I’ll lead the way.”

We followed Webster for about a quarter of a mile before we came to another door. Passing through it we found ourselves in a long gallery. One side was walled, the other was open. Down below was a huge shop full of machines and men tending them.

“What’s this place?” I asked.

“It’s one of the assembly shops,” explained Webster. “We have to pass through it to get to the main control room.”

He led us farther along the gallery and down a flight of steps. As we passed between the lines of men, working at their machines, hardly any of them turned to look at us.

“Don’t talk to anybody if you can help it,” Webster cautioned us.

We walked the whole length of the factory and paused before a massive door.

“Where does this lead to?” whispered Jet.

“This is the main control room,” said Webster. “It is in constant touch with Lacus Solis and, if there’s any news to be had about Rogers and his crew, we’ll get it here.”

“I see.”

“Now remember, both you and Doctor Matthews are new personnel who landed here only a couple of days ago.

You are condition-resisting types and I’m showing you over the place. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” agreed Jet

“Then let’s go in.”

We entered the room to find a man seated at a large table. Before him was a televiewer screen on which the whole factory could be seen. He was manipulating the controls and as we entered, the various close-ups of different workers passed before his eyes.

The Controller, for that’s all I could think he was, turned in his swivel seat to greet us as we came in. “Oh, hullo, there, Bill,” he said to Webster. “Thought you were out on the Mare.”

“I was, but I was called over to HQ and told to bring these gentlemen over here and show them a few things. They’re newly up from Earth and haven’t quite got used to the idea yet.”

“Welcome to the fold, gentlemen,” said the Controller cordially. “You have my deepest condolences. Where did they pick you up?”

“From London,” Jet told him.

“London? It’s not the habit of the spheres to drop down on populated districts.”

“Well, not London exactly,” said Jet, “Hampstead Heath.”

“I would have thought even that would have been a little too crowded.”

“Well, it was late at night and it was foggy,” I put in.

“They weren’t the only ones,” said Webster.

“I know,” replied the Controller. “Four more arrived in Lacus Solis this morning. I was talking to them a few minutes ago.”

“Talking to them?” asked Jet. “Were their names Rogers and Grimshaw?”

“That’s right,” went on the Controller, quite unconcerned. “Good subjects, too, by all accounts. Three of them grade two types--capable of being put into the deepest sleep. Would you care to see them?”

Before we could reply the Controller turned a switch below the televiewer screen and, quite suddenly, we saw the images of Frank Rogers and Grimshaw. They were seated in chairs.

“There they are,” said the Controller. “Undergoing their initial training. Learning to obey orders by remote control.”

Jet could only gasp.

“In a few days,” went on the Controller, “they’ll be coming to work here. By then they’ll be used to my voice and to doing exactly as I tell them. Rogers,” he said sharply, “stand up.”

I looked at the screen in fascinated horror as Frank left his chair and stood to attention.

“Can you hear me, Rogers?” asked the Controller.

“I can hear you,” said Rogers in a flat voice, remarkably like that of Whitaker’s.

“Are you prepared to take my orders and act on them?”

“Orders must be obeyed without question at all times,” replied Frank without hesitation.

“Very good,” said the Controller. “Sit down, Rogers. Now, Grimshaw.”

Grimshaw stood up. “I can hear you,” he said.

“Turn it off,” demanded Jet.

“What are your orders?” repeated Grimshaw mechanically.

“Turn it off,” said Jet angrily, turning to the Controller. “Do you hear?”

He approached the man as though about to attack him, but I and Webster quickly grasped his arm and dragged him back.

“What are you getting so excited about?” asked the Controller.

“Where is Frank?” I demanded. “How far away from here is he?”

“Too far for you to get at, Doctor Matthews. You can give up all hope of trying to rescue him.”

It came as a great shock to find that the Controller knew my name but I hope I didn’t betray the fact as I said, as calmly as I could: “What makes you think I want to?”

“You can’t fool me--either of you. I know that neither Rogers nor any of the men with him came to this planet in a Martian sphere.”

“What?” said Webster flabbergasted. “How do you know?”

“Not fifteen minutes before you came in here a warning that men from Earth had landed on the planet was put out over the intercommunication system. Apparently two of them took a sphere from Lacus Solis. The other is still out in Argyre Desert somewhere and a search for him has already begun. It seems they know about the proposed invasion of Earth. Don’t you gentlemen?” said the Controller, deliberately. There was no mistaking his meaning.

The cat was out of the bag now and there was no denying it. Webster appealed to his superior. “Now, Sam,” he said, “what you say is true. But you are an Earthman yourself and so am I.”

“I was once.”

“You still are,” said Webster, “in spite of the time you’ve been up here.”

“I am a Martian,” said the Controller flatly. “It is my duty to report the fact that two of the Earthmen are here.”

“You mean nobody knows we are here but you?” asked Jet.

“That is so.”

“Look, Sam,” went on Webster, “you’d like to go back to Earth, wouldn’t you?”

“What would be the point? I came here in 1896. When I left earth seventy-five years ago I was thirty-five years old-- and you know what would happen to me the moment I left this planet. I have no wish to die yet. Now take these men to the living quarters. I’ll report their presence here to Lacus Solis immediately.”

“No, Sam,” pleaded Webster. “Wait. They’ve promised to take me back to Earth with them--if I help them to escape.”

The Controller laughed. “You?” he said scornfully. “What would you want with Earth--you who came here in 1910?”

“I didn’t,” protested Webster. “It was 1956 and I wasn’t old. Look at me--am I old?” He turned to Jet and me. “I could still spend a few more years on Earth, couldn’t I?” he pleaded. “Couldn’t I?” His last two words were shouted.

“Don’t make me laugh,” said the Controller. “You’d fade to nothing the moment you put your foot on the place. You’re not conditioned for Earth, you know.
You’re
not a Whitaker.”

“You’ve got to believe me, Mr Morgan,” said Webster, appealing to Jet. “I did come here in 1956.”

“Oh, shut up and get out,” said the Controller. “And take these Earthmen with you. I have a report to make.”

I saw Jet looking at me hard. “All right, Doc,” he said resolutely, “let’s go.” And before I had time to realise what he had in mind, he had taken a quick step towards the Controller, brought up his fist and landed it on the point of the man’s jaw. Taken completely by surprise, the Controller toppled backwards and lay still.

“What have you done?” cried Webster:

Jet ignored him. “Come on, Doc,” he said. “Let’s wreck all this intercommunication stuff.”

We wrecked it all right. We picked up the chair on which the Controller had sat and put it through both televiewer screens. I wrenched the microphone from its position on the table and threw it to the other side of the room.

Suddenly I was aware that Jet was struggling with the Controller who had somehow managed to stagger to his feet again.

Webster was beside himself. “There’ll be the dickens to pay,” he shouted.

“Never mind that,” Jet gasped. “If you want to get back to Earth, help us get out of here.” That did it. Webster at once went over to where Jet and the Controller were struggling. “You carry on, Doc,” he said. “Wreck the lot!” So I did.

When I was through, Jet and Webster were standing, breathing heavily, over the motionless form of the Controller.

“Well,” I said, “if anybody could get that gear to work now, he’d be a genius.”

“Nice work, Doc. Now let’s get back to the sphere, as quickly as we can.”

The thick, soundproof door of the Control Room had prevented the noise of the commotion reaching the factory and, to our relief; we found the workmen were still busy, obviously unaware that anything unusual had happened.

We passed through the workshop, along the gallery and were well on our way up the tunnel before we heard the shouts of pursuers behind us. We hastened our steps and called to Webster to do the same. But, instead, he began to reel like a drunken man and finally he fell to the ground.

“He’s fainted or something, Doc,” said Jet, who reached him first.

“Hold on,” I replied, “I’m coming.” A few seconds later I was bending over the man. “What happened to you?” I asked.

“I got hurt back there in the fight,” he gasped. “Then why didn’t you say so?” asked Jet. “I didn’t want to hold you up. Leave me--and go on.” Jet ignored his plea. “Put his arm round your shoulder, Doc,” he said. “We haven’t far to go now.”

“Right.”

And so, half dragging, half carrying Webster, we came to the airlock.

We had hardly stepped into it when we heard a voice behind us shouting: “There they are. Hey--stop!--stop!”

But, of course, we didn’t. As the door slowly closed we heard the same voice cry: “Hey, wait--stay where you are.”

And then another voice added: “Please wait, Mr Morgan. You must listen . . .” But his words were cut off as the door shut tight.

Two minutes later we were out in the Argyre Desert. Between us we carried the now unconscious form of Webster towards the sphere.

“OK, Lemmy,” I said on reaching the ship, “give me a hand to get Webster in, will you? And take it easy.”

Somehow we got him into the sphere and laid him on the floor.

“Mitch,” said Jet who was already in the ship, “we’ve got to get out of here. And quick. They’ve already got a search party out after us.”

“But what about Frank and Grimshaw?” asked Mitch anxiously.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about them now.”

“Oh.” Mitch asked no more questions.

“Take a look at Webster, Doc. See what you can do for him,” went on Jet. “Meanwhile I’ll get the ship under way.”

“Come on, Lemmy,” urged Mitch. “What are you hanging around by the door for? We want to close it.”

“Those blokes who were following Jet and Doc--they’re just coming through the airlock now.”

Even as he spoke he could hear the men calling for us to wait.

Jet ordered Harding to take the ship up to twelve feet above the ground and hold it there. Then he walked over to the door to talk to the men who had now come to a standstill below us.

The moment he saw Jet appear in the open doorway one of the men raised his arms and appealed to him. “Take us with you, Captain Morgan,” he begged. “Take us back to Earth!”