[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction June 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
First one up this tallest summit in the Solar
System was a rotten egg ... a very rotten egg!
Bruce heard their feet on the gravel outside and got up reluctantly to
open the door for them. He'd been reading some of Byron's poems he'd
sneaked aboard the ship; after that he had been on the point of dozing
off, and now one of those strangely realistic dreams would have to be
postponed for a while. Funny, those dreams. There were faces in them of
human beings, or of ghosts, and other forms that weren't human at all,
but seemed real and alive--except that they were also just parts of a
last unconscious desire to escape death. Maybe that was it.
"'Oh that my young life were a lasting dream, my spirit not awakening
till the beam of an eternity should bring the 'morrow," Bruce said. He
smiled without feeling much of anything and added, "Thanks, Mr. Poe."
Jacobs and Anhauser stood outside. The icy wind cut through and into
Bruce, but he didn't seem to notice. Anhauser's bulk loomed even larger
in the special cold-resisting suiting. Jacobs' thin face frowned slyly
at Bruce.
"Come on in, boys, and get warm," Bruce invited.
"Hey, poet, you're still here!" Anhauser said, looking astonished.
"We thought you'd be running off somewhere," Jacobs said.
Bruce reached for the suit on its hook, started climbing into it.
"Where?" he asked. "Mars looks alike wherever you go. Where did you
think I'd be running to?"
"Any place just so it was away from here and us," Anhauser said.
"I don't have to do that. You are going away from me. That takes care
of that, doesn't it?"
"Ah, come on, get the hell out of there," Jacobs said. He pulled the
revolver from its holster and pointed it at Bruce. "We got to get some
sleep. We're starting up that mountain at five in the morning."
"I know," Bruce said. "I'll be glad to see you climb the mountain."
Outside, in the weird light of the double moons, Bruce looked up at the
gigantic overhang of the mountain. It was unbelievable. The mountain
didn't seem to belong here. He'd thought so when they'd first hit Mars
eight months back and discovered the other four rockets that had never
got back to Earth--all lying side by side under the mountain's shadow,
like little white chalk marks on a tallyboard.
They'd estimated its height at over 45,000 feet, which was a lot higher
than any mountain on Earth. Yet Mars was much older, geologically. The
entire face of the planet was smoothed into soft, undulating red hills
by erosion. And there in the middle of barren nothingness rose that one
incredible mountain. On certain nights when the stars were right, it
had seemed to Bruce as though it were pointing an accusing finger at
Earth--or a warning one.
* * * * *
With Jacobs and Anhauser and the remainder of the crew of the ship,
_Mars V_, seven judges sat in a semi-circle and Bruce stood there in
front of them for the inquest.
In the middle of the half-moon of inquisition, with his long legs
stretched out and his hands folded on his belly, sat Captain Terrence.
His uniform was black. On his arm was the silver fist insignia of the
Conqueror Corps. Marsha Rennels sat on the extreme right and now there
was no emotion at all on her trim, neat face.
He remembered her as she had been years ago, but at the moment he
wasn't looking very hard to see anything on her face. It was too late.
They had gotten her young and it was too late.
Terrence's big, square face frowned a little. Bruce was aware suddenly
of the sound of the bleak, never-ending wind against the plastilene
shelter. He remembered the strange misty shapes that had come to him in
his dreams, the voices that had called to him, and how disappointed he
had been when he woke from them.
"This is a mere formality," Terrence finally said, "since we all know
you killed Lieutenant Doran a few hours ago. Marsha saw you kill him.
Whatever you say goes on the record, of course."
"For whom?" Bruce asked.
"What kind of question is that? For the authorities on Earth when we
get back."
"When you get back? Like the crews of those other four ships out
there?" Bruce laughed without much humor.
Terrence rubbed a palm across his lips, dropped the hand quickly again
to his belly. "You want to make a statement or not? You shot Doran in
the head with a rifle. No provocation for the attack. You've wasted
enough of my time with your damn arguments and anti-social behavior.
This is a democratic group. Everyone has his say. But you've said too
much, and done too much. Freedom doesn't allow you to go around killing
fellow crew-members!"
"Any idea that there was any democracy or freedom left died on Venus,"
Bruce said.
"Now we get another lecture!" Terrence exploded. He leaned forward.
"You're sick, Bruce. They did a bad psych job on you. They should never
have sent you on this trip. We need strength, all the strength we can
find. You don't belong here."
"I know," Bruce agreed indifferently. "I was drafted for this trip. I
told them I shouldn't be brought along. I said I didn't want any part
of it."
"Because you're afraid. You're not Conqueror material. That's why you
backed down when we all voted to climb the mountain. And what the devil
does Venus--?"
Max Drexel's freckles slipped into the creases across his high
forehead. "Haven't you heard him expounding on the injustice done to
the Venusian aborigines, Captain? If you haven't, you aren't thoroughly
educated to the crackpot idealism still infecting certain people."
"I haven't heard it," Terrence admitted. "What injustice?"
Bruce said, "I guess it couldn't really be considered an injustice
any longer. Values have changed too much. Doran and I were part of the
crew of that first ship to hit Venus, five years ago. Remember? One
of the New Era's more infamous dates. Drexel says the Venusians were
aborigines. No one ever got a chance to find out. We ran into this
village. No one knows how old it was. There were intelligent beings
there. One community left on the whole planet, maybe a few thousand
inhabitants. They made their last mistake when they came out to greet
us. Without even an attempt at communication, they were wiped out. The
village was burned and everything alive in it was destroyed."
Bruce felt the old weakness coming into his knees, the sweat beginning
to run down his face. He took a deep breath and stood there before the
cold nihilistic stares of fourteen eyes.
"No," Bruce said. "I apologize. None of you know what I'm talking
about."
Terrence nodded. "You're psycho. It's as simple as that. They pick the
most capable for these conquests. Even the flights are processes of
elimination. Eventually we get the very best, the most resilient, the
real conquering blood. You just don't pass, Bruce. Listen, what do you
think gives you the right to stand here in judgment against the laws
of the whole Solar System?"
"There are plenty on Earth who agree with me," Bruce said. "I can say
what I think now because you can't do more than kill me and you'll do
that regardless...."
He stopped. This was ridiculous, a waste of his time. And theirs. They
had established a kind of final totalitarianism since the New Era. The
psychologists, the Pavlovian Reflex boys, had done that. If you didn't
want to be reconditioned to fit into the social machine like a human
vacuum tube, you kept your mouth shut. And for many, when the mouth was
kept shut long enough, the mind pretty well forgot what it had wanted
to open the mouth for in the first place.
A minority in both segments of a world split into two factions.
Both had been warring diplomatically and sometimes physically, for
centuries, clung to old ideas of freedom, democracy, self-determinism,
individualism. To most, the words had no meaning now. It was a question
of which set of conquering heroes could conquer the most space first.
So far, only Venus had fallen. They had done a good, thorough job
there. Four ships had come to Mars and their crews had disappeared.
This was the fifth attempt--
* * * * *