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diff --git a/26843.txt b/26843.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8593a0c --- /dev/null +++ b/26843.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1149 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dope on Mars, by John Michael Sharkey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dope on Mars + +Author: John Michael Sharkey + +Illustrator: Wood + +Release Date: October 8, 2008 [EBook #26843] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOPE ON MARS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + THE DOPE + on Mars + + By JACK SHARKEY + + _Somebody had to get the human + angle on this trip ... but what + was humane about sending me?_ + + Illustrated by WOOD + + +My agent was the one who got me the job of going along to write up the +first trip to Mars. He was always getting me things like +that--appearances on TV shows, or mentions in writers' magazines. If he +didn't sell much of my stuff, at least he sold _me_. + +"It'll be the biggest break a writer ever got," he told me, two days +before blastoff. "Oh, sure there'll be scientific reports on the trip, +but the public doesn't want them; they want the _human_ slant on +things." + +"But, Louie," I said weakly, "I'll probably be locked up for the whole +trip. If there are fights or accidents, they won't tell _me_ about +them." + +"Nonsense," said Louie, sipping carefully at a paper cup of scalding +coffee. "It'll be just like the public going along vicariously. They'll +_identify_ with you." + +"But, Louie," I said, wiping the dampness from my palms on the knees of +my trousers as I sat there, "how'll I go about it? A story? An article? +A _you-are-there_ type of report? What?" + +Louie shrugged. "So keep a diary. It'll be more intimate, like." + +"But what if nothing happens?" I insisted hopelessly. + +Louie smiled. "So you fake it." + +I got up from the chair in his office and stepped to the door. "That's +dishonest," I pointed out. + +"Creative is the word," Louie said. + +So I went on the first trip to Mars. And I kept a diary. This is it. And +it is honest. Honest it is. + + * * * * * + + _October 1, 1960_ + +They picked the launching date from the March, 1959, New York _Times_, +which stated that this was the most likely time for launching. Trip time +is supposed to take 260 days (that's one way), so we're aimed toward +where Mars will be (had _better_ be, or else). + +There are five of us on board. A pilot, co-pilot, navigator and +biochemist. And, of course, me. I've met all but the pilot (he's very +busy today), and they seem friendly enough. + +Dwight Kroger, the biochemist, is rather old to take the "rigors of the +journey," as he puts it, but the government had a choice between sending +a green scientist who could stand the trip or an accomplished man who +would probably not survive, so they picked Kroger. We've blasted off, +though, and he's still with us. He looks a damn sight better than I +feel. He's kind of balding, and very iron-gray-haired and skinny, but +his skin is tan as an Indian's, and right now he's telling jokes in the +washroom with the co-pilot. + +Jones (that's the co-pilot; I didn't quite catch his first name) is +scarlet-faced, barrel-chested and gives the general appearance of +belonging under the spreading chestnut tree, not in a metal bullet +flinging itself out into airless space. Come to think of it, who _does_ +belong where we are? + +The navigator's name is Lloyd Streeter, but I haven't seen his face yet. +He has a little cubicle behind the pilot's compartment, with all kinds of +maps and rulers and things. He keeps bent low over a welded-to-the-wall +(they call it the bulkhead, for some reason or other) table, scratching +away with a ballpoint pen on the maps, and now and then calling numbers +over a microphone to the pilot. His hair is red and curly, and he looks +as though he'd be tall if he ever gets to stand up. There are freckles +on the backs of his hands, so I think he's probably got them on his +face, too. So far, all he's said is, "Scram, I'm busy." + +Kroger tells me that the pilot's name is Patrick Desmond, but that I can +call him Pat when I get to know him better. So far, he's still Captain +Desmond to me. I haven't the vaguest idea what he looks like. He was +already on board when I got here, with my typewriter and ream of paper, +so we didn't meet. + +My compartment is small but clean. I mean clean now. It wasn't during +blastoff. The inertial gravities didn't bother me so much as the +gyroscopic spin they put on the ship so we have a sort of artificial +gravity to hold us against the curved floor. It's that constant whirly +feeling that gets me. I get sick on merry-go-rounds, too. + +They're having pork for dinner today. Not me. + + * * * * * + + _October 2, 1960_ + +Feeling much better today. Kroger gave me a box of Dramamine pills. He +says they'll help my stomach. So far, so good. + +Lloyd came by, also. "You play chess?" he asked. + +"A little," I admitted. + +"How about a game sometime?" + +"Sure," I said. "Do you have a board?" + +He didn't. + +Lloyd went away then, but the interview wasn't wasted. I learned that he +_is_ tall and _does_ have a freckled face. Maybe we can build a +chessboard. With my paper and his ballpoint pen and ruler, it should be +easy. Don't know what we'll use for pieces, though. + +Jones (I still haven't learned his first name) has been up with the +pilot all day. He passed my room on the way to the galley (the kitchen) +for a cup of dark brown coffee (they like it thick) and told me that we +were almost past the Moon. I asked to look, but he said not yet; the +instrument panel is Top Secret. They'd have to cover it so I could look +out the viewing screen, and they still need it for steering or +something. + +I still haven't met the pilot. + + * * * * * + + _October 3, 1960_ + +Well, I've met the pilot. He is kind of squat, with a vulturish neck and +close-set jet-black eyes that make him look rather mean, but he was +pleasant enough, and said I could call him Pat. I still don't know +Jones' first name, though Pat spoke to him, and it sounded like Flants. +That can't be right. + +Also, I am one of the first five men in the history of the world to see +the opposite side of the Moon, with a bluish blurred crescent beyond it +that Pat said was the Earth. The back of the Moon isn't much different +from the front. As to the space in front of the ship, well, it's all +black with white dots in it, and none of the dots move, except in a +circle that Pat says is a "torque" result from the gyroscopic spin we're +in. Actually, he explained to me, the screen is supposed to keep the +image of space locked into place no matter how much we spin. But there's +some kind of a "drag." I told him I hoped it didn't mean we'd land on +Mars upside down. He just stared at me. + +I can't say I was too impressed with that 16 x 19 view of outer space. +It's been done much better in the movies. There's just no awesomeness to +it, no sense of depth or immensity. It's as impressive as a piece of +velvet with salt sprinkled on it. + +Lloyd and I made a chessboard out of a carton. Right now we're using +buttons for men. He's one of these fast players who don't stop and think +out their moves. And so far I haven't won a game. + +It looks like a long trip. + + * * * * * + + _October 4, 1960_ + +I won a game. Lloyd mistook my queen-button for my bishop-button and +left his king in jeopardy, and I checkmated him next move. He said chess +was a waste of time and he had important work to do and he went away. + +I went to the galley for coffee and had a talk about moss with Kroger. +He said there was a good chance of lichen on Mars, and I misunderstood +and said, "A good chance of liking _what_ on Mars?" and Kroger finished +his coffee and went up front. + +When I got back to my compartment, Lloyd had taken away the chessboard +and all his buttons. He told me later he needed it to back up a star +map. + +Pat slept mostly all day in his compartment, and Jones sat and watched +the screen revolve. There wasn't much to do, so I wrote a poem, sort of. + + _Mary, Mary, quite contrary, + How does your garden grow? + With Martian rime, Venusian slime, + And a radioactive hoe._ + +I showed it to Kroger. He says it may prove to be environmentally +accurate, but that I should stick to prose. + + * * * * * + + _October 5, 1960_ + +Learned Jones' first name. He wrote something in the ship's log, and I +saw his signature. His name is Fleance, like in "Macbeth." He prefers to +be called Jones. Pat uses his first name as a gag. Some fun. + +And only 255 days to go. + +[Illustration] + + * * * * * + + _April 1, 1961_ + +I've skipped over the last 177 days or so, because there's nothing much +new. I brought some books with me on the trip, books that I'd always +meant to read and never had the time. So now I know all about _Vanity +Fair_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _War and Peace_, _Gone with the Wind_, and +_Babbitt_. + +They didn't take as long as I thought they would, except for _Vanity +Fair_. It must have been a riot when it first came out. I mean, all +those sly digs at the aristocracy, with copious interpolations by Mr. +Thackeray in case you didn't get it when he'd pulled a particularly good +gag. Some fun. + +And only 78 days to go. + + * * * * * + + _June 1, 1961_ + +Only 17 days to go. I saw Mars on the screen today. It seems to be +descending from overhead, but Pat says that that's the "torque" doing +it. Actually, it's we who are coming in sideways. + +We've all grown beards, too. Pat said it was against regulations, but +what the hell. We have a contest. Longest whiskers on landing gets a +prize. + +I asked Pat what the prize was and he told me to go to hell. + + * * * * * + + _June 18, 1961_ + +Mars has the whole screen filled. Looks like Death Valley. No sign of +canals, but Pat says that's because of the dust storm down below. It's +nice to have a "down below" again. We're going to land, so I have to go +to my bunk. It's all foam rubber, nylon braid supports and magnesium +tubing. Might as well be cement for all the good it did me at takeoff. +Earth seems awfully far away. + + * * * * * + + _June 19, 1961_ + +Well, we're down. We have to wear gas masks with oxygen hook-ups. Kroger +says the air is breathable, but thin, and it has too much dust in it to +be any fun to inhale. He's all for going out and looking for lichen, but +Pat says he's got to set up camp, then get instructions from Earth. So +we just have to wait. The air is very cold, but the Sun is hot as hell +when it hits you. The sky is a blinding pink, or maybe more of a pale +fuchsia. Kroger says it's the dust. The sand underfoot is kind of +rose-colored, and not really gritty. The particles are round and smooth. + +No lichen so far. Kroger says maybe in the canals, if there are any +canals. Lloyd wants to play chess again. + +Jones won the beard contest. Pat gave him a cigar he'd smuggled on board +(no smoking was allowed on the ship), and Jones threw it away. He +doesn't smoke. + + * * * * * + + _June 20, 1961_ + +Got lost today. Pat told me not to go too far from camp, so, when I +took a stroll, I made sure every so often that I could still see the +rocket behind me. Walked for maybe an hour; then the oxygen gauge got +past the halfway mark, so I started back toward the rocket. After maybe +ten steps, the rocket disappeared. One minute it was standing there, +tall and silvery, the next instant it was gone. + +Turned on my radio pack and got hold of Pat. Told him what happened, and +he told Kroger. Kroger said I had been following a mirage, to step back +a bit. I did, and I could see the ship again. Kroger said to try and +walk toward where the ship seemed to be, even when it wasn't in view, +and meantime they'd come out after me in the jeep, following my +footprints. + +Started walking back, and the ship vanished again. It reappeared, +disappeared, but I kept going. Finally saw the real ship, and Lloyd and +Jones waving their arms at me. They were shouting through their masks, +but I couldn't hear them. The air is too thin to carry sound well. + +All at once, something gleamed in their hands, and they started shooting +at me with their rifles. That's when I heard the noise behind me. I was +too scared to turn around, but finally Jones and Lloyd came running +over, and I got up enough nerve to look. There was nothing there, but on +the sand, paralleling mine, were footprints. At least I think they were +footprints. Twice as long as mine, and three times as wide, but kind of +featureless because the sand's loose and dry. They doubled back on +themselves, spaced considerably farther apart. + +"What was it?" I asked Lloyd when he got to me. + +"Damned if I know," he said. "It was red and scaly, and I think it had a +tail. It was two heads taller than you." He shuddered. "Ran off when we +fired." + +"Where," said Jones, "are Pat and Kroger?" + +I didn't know. I hadn't seen them, nor the jeep, on my trip back. So we +followed the wheel tracks for a while, and they veered off from my trail +and followed another, very much like the one that had been paralleling +mine when Jones and Lloyd had taken a shot at the scaly thing. + +"We'd better get them on the radio," said Jones, turning back toward the +ship. + +There wasn't anything on the radio but static. + +Pat and Kroger haven't come back yet, either. + + * * * * * + + _June 21, 1961_ + +We're not alone here. More of the scaly things have come toward the +camp, but a few rifle shots send them away. They hop like kangaroos when +they're startled. Their attitudes aren't menacing, but their appearance +is. And Jones says, "Who knows what's 'menacing' in an alien?" + +We're going to look for Kroger and Pat today. Jones says we'd better +before another windstorm blows away the jeep tracks. Fortunately, the +jeep has a leaky oil pan, so we always have the smears to follow, unless +they get covered up, too. We're taking extra oxygen, shells, and rifles. +Food, too, of course. And we're locking up the ship. + + * * * * * + +It's later, now. We found the jeep, but no Kroger or Pat. Lots of those +big tracks nearby. We're taking the jeep to follow the aliens' tracks. +There's some moss around here, on reddish brown rocks that stick up +through the sand, just on the shady side, though. Kroger must be happy +to have found his lichen. + +The trail ended at the brink of a deep crevice in the ground. Seems to +be an earthquake-type split in solid rock, with the sand sifting over +this and the far edge like pink silk cataracts. The bottom is in the +shade and can't be seen. The crack seems to extend to our left and right +as far as we can look. + +There looks like a trail down the inside of the crevice, but the Sun's +setting, so we're waiting till tomorrow to go down. + +Going down was Jones' idea, not mine. + + * * * * * + + _June 22, 1961_ + +Well, we're at the bottom, and there's water here, a shallow stream +about thirty feet wide that runs along the center of the canal (we've +decided we're in a canal). No sign of Pat or Kroger yet, but the sand +here is hard-packed and damp, and there are normal-size footprints +mingled with the alien ones, sharp and clear. The aliens seem to have +six or seven toes. It varies from print to print. And they're barefoot, +too, or else they have the damnedest-looking shoes in creation. + +The constant shower of sand near the cliff walls is annoying, but it's +sandless (shower-wise) near the stream, so we're following the +footprints along the bank. Also, the air's better down here. Still thin, +but not so bad as on the surface. We're going without masks to save +oxygen for the return trip (Jones assures me there'll _be_ a return +trip), and the air's only a little bit sandy, but handkerchiefs over +nose and mouth solve this. + +We look like desperadoes, what with the rifles and covered faces. I said +as much to Lloyd and he told me to shut up. Moss all over the cliff +walls. Swell luck for Kroger. + + * * * * * + +We've found Kroger and Pat, with the help of the aliens. Or maybe I +should call them the Martians. Either way, it's better than what Jones +calls them. + +They took away our rifles and brought us right to Kroger and Pat, +without our even asking. Jones is mad at the way they got the rifles so +easily. When we came upon them (a group of maybe ten, huddling behind a +boulder in ambush), he fired, but the shots either bounced off their +scales or stuck in their thick hides. Anyway, they took the rifles away +and threw them into the stream, and picked us all up and took us into a +hole in the cliff wall. The hole went on practically forever, but it +didn't get dark. Kroger tells me that there are phosphorescent bacteria +living in the mold on the walls. The air has a fresh-dug-grave smell, +but it's richer in oxygen than even at the stream. + +We're in a small cave that is just off a bigger cave where lots of +tunnels come together. I can't remember which one we came in through, +and neither can anyone else. Jones asked me what the hell I kept writing +in the diary for, did I want to make it a gift to Martian archeologists? +But I said where there's life there's hope, and now he won't talk to me. +I congratulated Kroger on the lichen I'd seen, but he just said a short +and unscientific word and went to sleep. + +There's a Martian guarding the entrance to our cave. I don't know what +they intend to do with us. Feed us, I hope. So far, they've just left us +here, and we're out of rations. + +Kroger tried talking to the guard once, but he (or it) made a whistling +kind of sound and flashed a mouthful of teeth. Kroger says the teeth are +in multiple rows, like a tiger shark's. I'd rather he hadn't told me. + + * * * * * + + _June 23, 1961, I think_ + +We're either in a docket or a zoo. I can't tell which. There's a rather +square platform surrounded on all four sides by running water, maybe +twenty feet across, and we're on it. Martians keep coming to the far +edge of the water and looking at us and whistling at each other. A +little Martian came near the edge of the water and a larger Martian +whistled like crazy and dragged it away. + +"Water must be dangerous to them," said Kroger. + +"We shoulda brought water pistols," Jones muttered. + +Pat said maybe we can swim to safety. Kroger told Pat he was crazy, that +the little island we're on here underground is bordered by a fast river +that goes into the planet. We'd end up drowned in some grotto in the +heart of the planet, says Kroger. + +"What the hell," says Pat, "it's better than starving." + +It is not. + + * * * * * + + _June 24, 1961, probably_ + +I'm hungry. So is everybody else. Right now I could eat a dinner raw, in +a centrifuge, and keep it down. A Martian threw a stone at Jones today, +and Jones threw one back at him and broke off a couple of scales. The +Martian whistled furiously and went away. When the crowd thinned out, +same as it did yesterday (must be some sort of sleeping cycle here), +Kroger talked Lloyd into swimming across the river and getting the red +scales. Lloyd started at the upstream part of the current, and was about +a hundred yards below this underground island before he made the far +side. Sure is a swift current. + +But he got the scales, walked very far upstream of us, and swam back +with them. The stream sides are steep, like in a fjord, and we had to +lift him out of the swirling cold water, with the scales gripped in his +fist. Or what was left of the scales. They had melted down in the water +and left his hand all sticky. + +Kroger took the gummy things, studied them in the uncertain light, then +tasted them and grinned. + +The Martians are made of sugar. + + * * * * * + +Later, same day. Kroger said that the Martian metabolism must be like +Terran (Earth-type) metabolism, only with no pancreas to make insulin. +They store their energy on the _outside_ of their bodies, in the form of +scales. He's watched them more closely and seen that they have long +rubbery tubes for tongues, and that they now and then suck up water from +the stream while they're watching us, being careful not to get their +lips (all sugar, of course) wet. He guesses that their "blood" must be +almost pure water, and that it washes away (from the inside, of course) +the sugar they need for energy. + +I asked him where the sugar came from, and he said probably their bodies +isolated carbon from something (he thought it might be the moss) and +combined it with the hydrogen and oxygen in the water (even _I_ knew the +formula for water) to make sugar, a common carbohydrate. + +Like plants, on Earth, he said. Except, instead of using special cells +on leaves to form carbohydrates with the help of sunpower, as Earth +plants do in photosynthesis (Kroger spelled that word for me), they used +the _shape_ of the scales like prisms, to isolate the spectra (another +Kroger word) necessary to form the sugar. + +"I don't get it," I said politely, when he'd finished his spiel. + +"Simple," he said, as though he were addressing me by name. "They have a +twofold reason to fear water. One: by complete solvency in that medium, +they lose all energy and die. Two: even partial sprinkling alters the +shape of the scales, and they are unable to use sunpower to form more +sugar, and still die, if a bit slower." + +"Oh," I said, taking it down verbatim. "So now what do we do?" + +"We remove our boots," said Kroger, sitting on the ground and doing so, +"and then we cross this stream, fill the boots with water, and _spray_ +our way to freedom." + +"Which tunnel do we take?" asked Pat, his eyes aglow at the thought of +escape. + +Kroger shrugged. "We'll have to chance taking any that seem to slope +upward. In any event, we can always follow it back and start again." + +"I dunno," said Jones. "Remember those _teeth_ of theirs. They must be +for biting something more substantial than moss, Kroger." + +"We'll risk it," said Pat. "It's better to go down fighting than to die +of starvation." + +The hell it is. + + * * * * * + + _June 24, 1961, for sure_ + +The Martians have coal mines. _That's_ what they use those teeth for. We +passed through one and surprised a lot of them chewing gritty hunks of +anthracite out of the walls. They came running at us, whistling with +those tubelike tongues, and drooling dry coal dust, but Pat swung one of +his boots in an arc that splashed all over the ground in front of them, +and they turned tail (literally) and clattered off down another tunnel, +sounding like a locomotive whistle gone berserk. + +We made the surface in another hour, back in the canal, and were lucky +enough to find our own trail to follow toward the place above which the +jeep still waited. + +Jones got the rifles out of the stream (the Martians had probably +thought they were beyond recovery there) and we found the jeep. It was +nearly buried in sand, but we got it cleaned off and running, and got +back to the ship quickly. First thing we did on arriving was to break +out the stores and have a celebration feast just outside the door of the +ship. + +It was pork again, and I got sick. + + * * * * * + + _June 25, 1961_ + +We're going back. Pat says that a week is all we were allowed to stay +and that it's urgent to return and tell what we've learned about Mars +(we know there are Martians, and they're made of sugar). + +"Why," I said, "can't we just tell it on the radio?" + +"Because," said Pat, "if we tell them now, by the time we get back we'll +be yesterday's news. This way we may be lucky and get a parade." + +"Maybe even money," said Kroger, whose mind wasn't always on science. + +"But they'll ask why we didn't radio the info, sir," said Jones +uneasily. + +"The radio," said Pat, nodding to Lloyd, "was unfortunately broken +shortly after landing." + +Lloyd blinked, then nodded back and walked around the rocket. I heard a +crunching sound and the shattering of glass, not unlike the noise made +when one drives a rifle butt through a radio. + +Well, it's time for takeoff. + + * * * * * + +This time it wasn't so bad. I thought I was getting my space-legs, but +Pat says there's less gravity on Mars, so escape velocity didn't have to +be so fast, hence a smoother (relatively) trip on our shock-absorbing +bunks. + +Lloyd wants to play chess again. I'll be careful not to win this time. +However, if I don't win, maybe this time _I'll_ be the one to quit. + +Kroger is busy in his cramped lab space trying to classify the little +moss he was able to gather, and Jones and Pat are up front watching the +white specks revolve on that black velvet again. + +Guess I'll take a nap. + + * * * * * + + _June 26, 1961_ + +Hell's bells. Kroger says there are two baby Martians loose on board +ship. Pat told him he was nuts, but there are certain signs he's right. +Like the missing charcoal in the air-filtration-and-reclaiming (AFAR) +system. And the water gauges are going down. But the clincher is those +two sugar crystals Lloyd had grabbed up when we were in that zoo. +They're gone. + +Pat has declared a state of emergency. Quick thinking, that's Pat. +Lloyd, before he remembered and turned scarlet, suggested we radio Earth +for instructions. We can't. + +Here we are, somewhere in a void headed for Earth, with enough air and +water left for maybe three days--if the Martians don't take any more. + +Kroger is thrilled that he is learning something, maybe, about Martian +reproductive processes. When he told Pat, Pat put it to a vote whether +or not to jettison Kroger through the airlock. However, it was decided +that responsibility was pretty well divided. Lloyd had gotten the +crystals, Kroger had only studied them, and Jones had brought them +aboard. + +So Kroger stays, but meanwhile the air is getting worse. Pat suggested +Kroger put us all into a state of suspended animation till landing time, +eight months away. Kroger said, "How?" + + * * * * * + + _June 27, 1961_ + +Air is foul and I'm very thirsty. Kroger says that at least--when the +Martians get bigger--they'll have to show themselves. Pat says what do +we do _then_? We can't afford the water we need to melt them down. +Besides, the melted crystals might _all_ turn into little Martians. + +Jones says he'll go down spitting. + +Pat says why not dismantle interior of rocket to find out where they're +holing up? Fine idea. + +How do you dismantle riveted metal plates? + + * * * * * + + _June 28, 1961_ + +The AFAR system is no more and the water gauges are still dropping. +Kroger suggests baking bread, then slicing it, then toasting it till it +turns to carbon, and we can use the carbon in the AFAR system. + +We'll have to try it, I guess. + + * * * * * + +The Martians ate the bread. Jones came forward to tell us the loaves +were cooling, and when he got back they were gone. However, he did find +a few of the red crystals on the galley deck (floor). They're good-sized +crystals, too. Which means so are the Martians. + +Kroger says the Martians must be intelligent, otherwise they couldn't +have guessed at the carbohydrates present in the bread after a lifelong +diet of anthracite. Pat says let's jettison Kroger. + +This time the vote went against Kroger, but he got a last-minute +reprieve by suggesting the crystals be pulverized and mixed with +sulphuric acid. He says this'll produce carbon. + +I certainly hope so. + +So does Kroger. + + * * * * * + +Brief reprieve for us. The acid-sugar combination not only produces +carbon but water vapor, and the gauge has gone up a notch. That means +that we have a quart of water in the tanks for drinking. However, the +air's a bit better, and we voted to let Kroger stay inside the rocket. + +Meantime, we have to catch those Martians. + + * * * * * + + _June 29, 1961_ + +Worse and worse. Lloyd caught one of the Martians in the firing chamber. +We had to flood the chamber with acid to subdue the creature, which +carbonized nicely. So now we have plenty of air and water again, but +besides having another Martian still on the loose, we now don't have +enough acid left in the fuel tanks to make a landing. + +Pat says at least our vector will carry us to Earth and we can die on +our home planet, which is better than perishing in space. + +The hell it is. + + * * * * * + + _March 3, 1962_ + +Earth in sight. The other Martian is still with us. He's where we can't +get at him without blow-torches, but he can't get at the carbon in the +AFAR system, either, which is a help. However, his tail is prehensile, +and now and then it snakes out through an air duct and yanks food right +off the table from under our noses. + +Kroger says watch out. _We_ are made of carbohydrates, too. I'd rather +not have known. + + * * * * * + + _March 4, 1962_ + +Earth fills the screen in the control room. Pat says if we're lucky, he +might be able to use the bit of fuel we have left to set us in a +descending spiral into one of the oceans. The rocket is tighter than a +submarine, he insists, and it will float till we're rescued, if the +plates don't crack under the impact. + +We all agreed to try it. Not that we thought it had a good chance of +working, but none of us had a better idea. + + * * * * * + +I guess you know the rest of the story, about how that destroyer spotted +us and got us and my diary aboard, and towed the rocket to San +Francisco. News of the "captured Martian" leaked out, and we all became +nine-day wonders until the dismantling of the rocket. + +Kroger says he must have dissolved in the water, and wonders what _that_ +would do. There are about a thousand of those crystal-scales on a +Martian. + +So last week we found out, when those red-scaled things began clambering +out of the sea on every coastal region on Earth. Kroger tried to explain +to me about salinity osmosis and hydrostatic pressure and crystalline +life, but in no time at all he lost me. + +The point is, bullets won't stop these things, and wherever a crystal +falls, a new Martian springs up in a few weeks. It looks like the five +of us have abetted an invasion from Mars. + +Needless to say, we're no longer heroes. + +I haven't heard from Pat or Lloyd for a week. Jones was picked up +attacking a candy factory yesterday, and Kroger and I were allowed to +sign on for the flight to Venus scheduled within the next few +days--because of our experience. + +Kroger says there's only enough fuel for a one-way trip. I don't care. +I've always wanted to travel with the President. + + --JACK SHARKEY + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Galaxy Magazine_ June 1960. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on + this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical + errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Dope on Mars, by John Michael Sharkey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOPE ON MARS *** + +***** This file should be named 26843.txt or 26843.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/8/4/26843/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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