"What is this discussion?" Malovar spoke softly, in Martian.
"I am explaining to my son what is happening here," Larkin said.
"Your son?" Something very close to surprise showed on the wrinkled,
bleak face. "Is _this_ man _your_ son?"
"He is," Larkin answered. There was no apology and no attempt at
explanation in his voice. He stated a fact, and if it damned him,
then it damned him. The interpretation of that fact he left up to the
Martian ruler.
Malovar seemed not to find that interpretation difficult. For an
instant, the eyes of the Martian went to the younger Larkin, weighing
and testing him. Malovar's face grew bleak indeed as if his eyes saw
the surface and what was under the surface and found none of it to his
liking. Then his eyes came back to the trader.
"We will continue with the testing," he said.
"I am ready," Larkin answered, moving toward the altar.
"Hey, wait a minute," his son said, seizing his arm.
Larkin shrugged off the grip. "You idiot!" Anger blazed in his voice.
"Don't you know what you face here? This test must be accepted, or you
will never do business on Mars."
"All right, you old fool!" His son's voice was shrill with anger too,
though not the same kind of anger. "Go on and get your stupid head
chopped off and see if I care."
"I did not expect you to care," Larkin answered. He laid his head on
the altar.
Malovar lifted the long sword.
Over the coliseum the assembled Martians seemed to catch their
collective breath and then to stop breathing. The silence became thick,
heavy, like a pall of gray mist. In that voiceless instant it seemed to
Boyd Larkin that time itself was standing still. What would Malovar do?
Larkin did not know, and had never known, the facts on which the ruler
based his decision to strike or not to strike.
What did knowing, or not knowing, matter now, in the moment that might
see the end of his life?
The hushed silence was broken by a single sharp cry. Larkin opened his
eyes. He saw Malovar catch the movement of the sword. He turned his
head in the direction from which the cry had come.
Down between the lines of the elders a single Martian was running.
Seekin!
Seekin came to a halt before the altar, bowed before Malovar. His gaze
did not go to the human rising to his feet. He looked at Malovar.
"I claim the privilege of taking his place, Sire," Seekin said.
"According to the ancient law of the testing, I take his place."
Larkin blinked startled eyes. A glow came up in him. He was hardly
aware of it. He had never seen this thing happen before, he did not
know it could happen, he did not know that Martian minds worked this
way. Surprise was in him.
Surprise seemed to be in Malovar too. Over the coliseum the silence
seemed to become heavier as if thousands of Martians were each holding
his breath in wonder and in awe.
After the first flash of surprise, Malovar's face became bleak again.
"Do you accept the human's fate as your fate, whatever my decision may
be?" the Martian ruler questioned.
Under his brown, Seekin showed a creeping tide of white. He knew what
was meant, knew it intimately and well. But his nod was resolute and
undaunted.
"Yesterday he gave me valuable minerals in exchange for a valueless
jewel. Thus he gave life to me and to my family. And he gave me more
than was needed, so that something more might be grown--for someone
else. Thus he has fulfilled the highest tenet of our law. Sire--"
Seekin bowed low. "--whatever it may be, I accept his fate."
The words were simply spoken. The soft slurred sounds hardly disturbed
the quiet air. But they carried a wealth of meaning.
Over the vast throng a sigh arose as if the watching Martians were
seeing a miracle. For the first time since he had been on Mars, Boyd
Larkin saw a real smile appear on the bleak and bitter face of Malovar.
The smile was almost a benediction.
The benediction of that moment was shattered by a furious blast of
sound.
_Brrrrp, brrrrp, brrrrp!_
The sound of _Kell_ guns in operation.
V
The elder standing beside Malovar clutched his throat and collapsed,
blood spurting from a hole in his throat. Larkin jerked startled eyes
toward the source of the sound.
On top of the coliseum was a group of men from the ship. Docker led
them. They were firing _Kell_ guns indiscriminately into the Martian
crowd.
The brrrrrp-brrrrrp was an almost continuous blast of sound. Following
the throb of the guns was the violence of the explosions of the
striking missiles. The whole vast arena throbbed to the fury of the
sound.
"No!" Larkin screamed.
This was a slaughter of helpless innocents. The Martians were
unprotected, incapable of defending themselves. And they had done
nothing wrong.
"Stop!" The voice of Malovar was like thunder rolling through the
arena. He spoke in Martian but there was no mistaking his meaning.
He dropped the sword, took back his metal rod that was part of the
regalia of his office, held it erect. In that moment he was like a
tribal god ordering the lightning and the thunder.
The answer, coming from above, was a slug that whistled within inches
of Malovar's head and exploded behind him.
"For the last time, stop!"
Another slug howled downward.
Then Malovar acted.
Larkin was not quite certain what happened but out from the tip of
the metal staff that Malovar held seemed to flash a bolt of blinding
radiance. It was not a thunderbolt, it was not electrical, it was
probably no force known to Earth scientists.
Looking upward, Larkin expected to see the flashing radiance blast
through the group of humans like a smashing thunderbolt, searing and
destroying them, leaving in its wake chunks of charred and writhing
flesh that had once been men.
No such thing happened. The blinding radiance swirled around the men.
It formed a coating around each of them. In a split second each of them
was encased in a plastic cocoon that looked like ice, a covering that
held them helpless. They still retained their guns but the plastic
force covered the guns too. The guns were silent. Either they could not
fire into the plastic coat or the men who still grasped them could not
move their fingers to press the triggers.
Like statues frozen in motion, the group stood at the top of the
coliseum, on the highest row of seats of that vast circling arena.
A cry of rage sounded near Larkin, then was suddenly stilled.
At the sound of the cry near him, Larkin turned, saw that his son and
the men with him were likewise encased in plastic envelopes. He saw
that his son's eyes were bulging from terror, his throat pulsating from
the effort of trying to scream. But no sound was coming forth.
Radiance pouring from the tip of the staff of one of the elders had
accomplished this effect.
The torture of that moment must have been a terrible thing for Roy
Larkin. To be held helpless by a force that stilled all motion, to
want to scream but be unable to hear the blessed sound of your own
voice, to see the consequences of your own acts coming home upon your
head--this was torture.
Malovar and his elders had not been helpless. They had retained in the
metal rods some of the vast forgotten science of old Mars, a science
that they rarely used, and rarely needed to use.
Malovar, his face still like thunder, was standing erect and was
directing what was to happen next.
* * * * *
There were screams in the coliseum, of wounded and dying Martians, and
a vast stir as Martian friends ran to help those who had been injured,
and a babble of voices rising in anger. The elders were moving. Some of
them were attending to the stricken. Others were directing the removal
of Docker and the men with him from the top of the coliseum. Docker and
his men were being carried down by Martians. They seemed incapable of
movement of their own.
The whole group was brought before Malovar.
The face of the Martian was the face of a tribal god, furious with
anger. He made a motion with his hand toward Docker. The Martians
carrying the man laid him face down on the altar. Malovar handed his
metal staff to the nearest elder, took up the sword.
There was no mistaking the intention of the Martian. He lifted the
sword, brought it down. Just before it reached its target, the plastic
envelope collapsed as the elder holding the staff made a slight shift
with it.
Docker had time to start a scream. The scream ended. A head skittered
across the stone, blood spurted.
A moan went over the watching throng.
Larkin watched, appalled. He had seen Martian heads roll here before
but somehow this scene was different. Here was Martian justice, swift,
sure, and final.
Malovar made another motion with his hand. The nearest human, one of
the men with Docker, was lifted, carried to the altar. Larkin saw the
man's muscles writhe against the plastic force envelope that held him,
writhe unavailingly.
Sunlight glinted on the red blade of the sword as it came down.
Again a moan went up from the audience.
Malovar pointed with his sword--at Roy Larkin. Elders seized the man,
lifted him, carried him to the altar.
The sword came up.
"NO!" A single burst of involuntary sound came from the lips of the
trader. He leaped forward. "NO!"
Malovar held the sword, looked at him. The Martian looked a little sad.
"I know he is your son, my friend, but he came here to cheat and to
rob. Men under his direction have killed."
"But--"
"The laws of my people are explicit," Malovar continued. "Nor will I
stay my hand for the sake of friendship at the time of the testing."
"But--" Larkin still protested. Here was a bond, an obligation, that
went beyond friendship.
"I am sorry," Malovar said gently. His tone of voice and the expression
on his face said he was really sorry. But they also said he had no
intention of holding his hand from striking.
Boyd Larkin moved again. He was not quite sure why he did what he did
and he was utterly unsure as to what the result would be, but in the
face of the rising sword, he lifted his son from the altar.
"I claim your law," he said. "I take his place." He laid himself on the
altar.
Over the watching throng there was silence. He sensed rather than saw
Malovar lift the sword.
There was a stir of feet near him. A gentle voice spoke.
"I also claim the law. I have bought his life once this day. You may
not strike him."
Seekin's voice. Soft and gentle but very firm and very sure. Seekin
stood before the altar with uplifted hand. He spoke to Malovar but his
eyes were on Larkin.
"You are free, my friend. Our laws protect you now and will protect you
until the next time of the testing."
Malovar lowered the sword blade. "Our laws hold," he said. "I may not
accept you as a substitute sacrifice. Nor may I accept Seekin. Nor may
I accept him--" his eyes sought Roy Larkin. His voice became terrible
as he spoke a single word. "--now."
He made a gesture with his hand toward the elder who had taken his
metal staff. The elder touched the staff in a certain place. Around
Roy Larkin the plastic envelope vanished.
Roy Larkin came to his feet, his fingers clutching the _Kell_ gun, the
wild light of terror in his eyes. Looking at him, Boyd Larkin caught
his breath. There was such terror and wild fear in this man as he had
never seen before, such terror as might send death spurting from the
muzzle of the _Kell_ gun in a steady stream.
Larkin saw his son's finger tighten on the trigger, an involuntary
movement. Malovar must have seen the movement too, all the Martian
elders must have seen it. They must have known the meaning of it, must
have understood that they were facing death. Not a Martian moved a
muscle.
Roy Larkin apparently had expected them to cringe, to fawn, to beg.
When they did nothing, he seemed confused. Wonderingly he stared at
them. His gaze came to the face of his father. On his features the
confusion grew. His eyes came down to the _Kell_ gun. Something was
happening inside of him, what it was no man except he knew or could
know. As he seemed to realize he still held the gun, a look of horror
appeared on his face. He dropped the weapon. It clattered on the stone
floor, the only sound in that vast silence.
Then there was another sound, a sound that resembled the cry of a child
gulping a single word--"Daddy." Roy Larkin was saying that single word
and he was moving toward his father.
"I've been so terribly wrong," Roy Larkin whispered. "For so many years
I've been wrong. I wanted to tell you, but I never could, until now."
Boyd Larkin folded his son into his arms. The hard, bitter driving man
that he had known this morning was somehow gone. The man who was in his
arms and clutching his shoulders and burying his head against his chest
was somehow a little boy who had been lost, bewildered, and alone, and
who was no longer lost, who in this moment was growing to the stature
of manhood.
Larkin patted the shoulders of this man-boy. His eyes were moist and
there was a choke in his throat. Here was something that he had wanted
desperately for so many years. Now he had it. His son, his son!
In him somewhere was a feeling not of triumph but of vast achievement.
He looked over his son's shoulders at Malovar. The Martian's face was
glowing as if he too was tasting this feeling of vast achievement.
In this moment Malovar no longer looked like a tribal god demanding
vengeance. Malovar looked like a very gentle and kindly old Martian.
"Mine eyes have seen wonders this day," Malovar spoke. "I think at the
next time of the testing all of you will be safe from me."
"Do you mean that?" Larkin whispered.
"Of course. I never make careless statements." He made a gesture toward
the elder who held his metal staff.
Around him Larkin was aware that the other humans were being freed from
the force envelopes that held them powerless. There were clattering
sounds, the noises of weapons being dropped from hands that no longer
chose to use them.
Over the watching throng a sigh was rising, such a sigh as may come
from the lips of those who have seen wonders past the understanding.
* * * * *
At the top of the coliseum, where the vast red deserts stretched away
under a thin harness of tiny canals, they paused.
Roy Larkin had changed. The fear and the terror were gone. A different
enthusiasm was in his voice. "We can still bring minerals here but we
will no longer operate as I had planned. We will operate on a cost-plus
basis, we will deliver them here at a price...."
"The buyer can afford," Boyd Larkin said softly.
"Right," his son said.
Behind them stood Malovar and Seekin. Malovar grunted approvingly.
"Through such men as you, minerals can come to Mars--and with them new
life may come to an old and dying world."
Malovar looked beyond the city to the red deserts. He seemed to be
seeing them as vast stretches of greenery, as interlacing canals with
lush vegetation covering all the land that now was desert but someday
would be something else. His face glowed.
"You also seem to have won a victory here," Boyd Larkin spoke.
"Yes," Malovar answered. "I have blended the laws of my people with
the drive of you humans, made each aware of the other, made each
respect and support the other. The victory will be _there_, in the
years that are to come."
He gestured toward the deserts where in his imagination an old world
was again coming to life. The glow deepened on his face. He was seeing
a lost dream come true.
Boyd Larkin had the fleeting impression that this old Martian ruler had
somehow manipulated and conspired the actions that had taken place in
the arena down below, that he had moved both his own people--and the
humans--like puppets on strings. For an instant the thought startled
the trader. Then he looked again at Malovar's face, saw the glow there,
and knew that even if Malovar had manipulated them like puppets on
strings the purpose of Malovar's manipulations was clear. It was new
life on an old planet, new life for two peoples, the Martians and the
humans.
With that purpose, Boyd Larkin had complete sympathy.
Quietly the four of them moved down from the top of the coliseum,
toward the peaked roofs of the city of Sudal.
Beyond them, the red deserts already seemed to be greening with new
vegetation, new life.