THE FIRST MARTIAN

A E Van Vogt

Taken from the short story collection ‘The Far Out Worlds of A E Van Vogt’

v0.9 by the N.E.R.D’s. This is a pre-proof release. Scanned, page numbers removed, paragraphs joined, formatted and common OCR errors have been largely removed. Full spell check and read-through still required.

I had put on my pressure suit, and was walking through the roundhouse at Eastport, the Martian rail center, when I saw the stocky, big-chested guy with the purplish, mahogany-colored face come toward me. I knew at a glance that he was an Indian of some kind.

‘Sefior!’ he said.

I stopped politely, and faced him.

‘Sefior, I am your new engineer-relief.’

That hit me. On Mars, I had run into every creed and race at one time or another. But white men operated the big steam-atomics across the endless plains, and through the mountains, and along the frozen canals. The reason was very simple. White supremacy was taken for granted.

I tried to hide my surprise. ‘Glad to have you along,’ I said. ‘Better get into your pressure suit. We go out in thirty minutes. What’s your name? Mine’s Hecton. Bill Hecton.’

‘Jose Incuhana. I don’t wear a pressure suit.’

‘Sounds like South America,’ I began - and stopped. ‘Look, Joe,’ I said finally, ‘be a good fellow and go over to the equipment room and ask for an HA-2. Make it snappy, pal. It takes a little while to get into those things. Be seeing you in about twenty minutes.’

I turned away awkwardly in my own bulky HA-2. I never did care for pressure suits, but on Mars, with its thin, thin atmosphere, they’re essential to ordinary human beings who leave the shelters.

I had walked about five feet when I grew aware that Jos6 was still with me. He said, ‘You can see me right now, Sefior Hecton.’ He sounded puzzled.<p>

I turned and faced him, holding in my impatience. ‘Joe, when did you get to Mars?’

He looked at me soberly with his soft brown eyes. ‘Two days, sefior.’ He held up two fingers.

‘Have you been out there yet?’ I pointed at the desolation visible through the asbesglas window.

He nodded. ‘Yesterday.’

His eyes were bright and intelligent looking, and they stared at me as if he was still waiting for the punch line. Baffled, I glanced around, and saw Roundhouse Superintendent Manet. ‘Hey, Charles!’ I called.

Manet, a big Frenchman with a twinkle in his black eyes, came over. He said, ‘Glad to see you two have been getting acquainted.’

‘Charles,’ I said, ‘tell Joe about Mars. That the oxygen content of the air is about what we have five miles up back home. Tell him about high altitude suits.’

Manet shook his head. ‘Bill, Sefior Incuhana is from the Andes Mountains. He was born in a town eighteen thousand feet above sea level. Mars is just another mountaintop to him.’

He broke off. ‘Oh, there’s Frank. Hey, Frank, come over here!’

Frank Gray was rod-man on the engine’s atomic-heated boiler unit. He strode over, a lean, tense man looking huge in his suit. He was introduced to Sefior Incuhana, started to put out his hand, and then drew back with a frown.

‘What’s going on here?’ he said. ‘I’m near the head of the list to become engineer. Who is bringing in outsiders?’

He didn’t wait for a reply, but went on angrily, ‘I remember now. I’ve heard of this Indian idea. It’s an insult to a good technician. What are they trying to do? Make us think we’re just a bunch of day laborers?’

Manet said placatingly, ‘Frank, you are a good enough scientist to realize that if we can get people who can actually live - ‘

He stopped. Frank had turned away. We stood silent, watching him walk off. I glanced at Jose, but his face was impassive. Manet took out his watch.

‘Better get aboard,’ he said. ‘There will be a few gadgets to show Jose, and you check out in exactly sixteen minutes.’

On the dot, the steam-atomic locomotive, Desert Rat, was eased by an electric mule into the huge chamber which served as an airlock between the roundhouse and the Martian outdoors. A few moments later, I edged open her throttle. Sliding forward under her own thunderous power, she moved onto the frozen tracks of ‘outside’.

In the east, the sun was just tipping the horizon.

I pointed, and called to Jose through the walkie-talkie in my head globe. He came over from his seat, and followed my finger with his eyes.

‘Ice, seftor?’ he said.

‘Ice,’ I agreed.

Frozen rivulets streaked the metal outer walls. I ran my gaze backward from the bulging front-cab. The door of the decompression chamber was just closing behind us, yet everywhere I looked the long, streamlined locomotive already glistened where moisture had condensed and instantly solidified.

Seventy below. A typical winter dawn in the temperate zone of Mars. Ahead of us, bleak and glittery on the flat plain, was the small Earth settlement of Eastport, center of a great mining area. We glided past the interconnected domes, inside which people lived in apartment units. Lines of railway tracks led into the principal domes, but the cars that were going with us - including a pressure-type passenger car - had already been coupled to the head of a long train of ore dumps.

I backed till we connected; then I slid open the door, and climbed down to the ground. The sun shone directly into my eyes from a sky that was a deep blue-black. Above, the stars were still visible. They’d be with us all day.

I looked back. Jose was at the door. I called up, ‘Better shut the door!’

I heaved myself into the passenger car, went through the airlock inside, and into the comfortable interior. I took a quick glance at the men who were sitting in the bar, and realized I was piloting an important train. There were four top rail executives whom I knew, and one man who was introduced as Philip Barron, just arrived from Earth. He was a heavily built man with curly brown hair and blue-gray eyes that looked as hard as agates.

Vice-president Henry Wade began: ‘Bill, our head offices back home have gotten hold of this Andean Indian notion, see it as a cheap way of doing business; and so they’re going to populate Mars with them. It’s a blind man’s deal. In a few years, they’ll stage a revolution and claim Mars as their private precinct, including expropriation of all the priceless equipment we’ve brought here.’

Another man broke in: ‘How did he strike you, Bill?’

‘Joe seems to be all right.’ I spoke carefully.

‘Think he can live in this climate?’

I hesitated. ‘Seems to be able to breathe the air,’ I said finally.

A third executive laughed ironically: ‘One of the new men,’ he said. ‘The true Martian human. Hundreds more being technically trained. Women, too. Soon people like you and me, Bill, will just be memories in the Martian rail history.’

‘Like hell we will,’ said Vice-president Wade.

But the other man’s words made me uneasy. There were times when I cursed this route and this life, but more often I couldn’t imagine anything I’d rather do. Besides, the pay was terrific.

Wade looked at me soberly. ‘You’re going to be asked to give your estimate of him. Our idea is that he should be made to stack up to a high standard.’

I said with a shrug, T can’t see this deal depending on my say-so.’

Wade replied earnestly, ‘It’ll depend on many things. Superficially, the notion appears to have merit. It’s only when you examine it as a whole that you perceive the danger.’

Barron, the only Earthside executive present, stood up and offered me his hand. He said, ‘It’s not so bad as they make it sound.. We’re starting off with eighteen Indians in different types of work. I admit in the long run it’s going to save money. Fewer dome shelters, an easing of compression costs, perhaps even a little profit for the shareholders. Is that bad? I don’t think so.’

As I climbed into the cab a few minutes later, I saw Frank Gray disappear into his section. I looked questioningly at Jose, but his face told me nothing. I hesitated, but Frank was a friend of mine and Jose wasn’t; I decided to ask no questions. ‘Start her off!’ I said curtly.

The train began to move, and I looked at my watch. We were eight minutes late. We had about five hundred miles to go before dark, not a great distance unless something went wrong. On Mars in winter, trains didn’t run on night schedules. Extreme low temperatures made the rails dangerously brittle.

‘Keep her down to twenty miles per hour,’ I said presently.

Jose nodded, but looked puzzled. Seeing him sitting there, warmly clothed but not in a pressure suit, I began to feel something of the tension that had been in the other men. ‘Joe,’ I said suddenly, ‘what kind of lungs have you got?’

He was no dumb Indian. He had been told about himself, and he gave. Andean man has lungs bigger than normal with more blood vessels in them. His heart can do at least an eighth more work than the heart of sea level man. His blood vessels carry a greater volume of blood, and his nerve cells are less sensitive to oxygen starvation.

When the Spaniards first came to places like Peru and Bolivia, they discovered that neither pigs nor birds, cattle nor Spaniards could breed above ten thousand feet. It was only after a generation had lived at about eight thousand feet that the descendants were able to reproduce at fourteen thousand. The Indians had been there before them from time immemorial.

The facts and figures gave me a sinking sensation. I looked at Jose’s purplish-red complexion, and realized that he could be a Martian. But it was obvious that I couldn’t.

I saw the pile beside the tracks far ahead before Jos6 did. I expected it, of course; and so I waited, wondering how long it would take him to spot the object. Twenty seconds went by, and then he pointed. ,

I sighed. No sign of oxygen starvation with that kind of vision.

‘Start braking her!’ I ordered.

He looked at me with some surprise, and I know he was thinking it was too soon. He was not making due allowance for the fact that it took a lot longer to stop a train on Mars. Same mass as on Earth, but less weight, less friction. We came to a halt, the wheels grinding on the rails, the engine panting and shuddering.

There was no one in sight, only the huge bag lying beside the tracks. I guessed there was about two tons of rock inside the bag. ‘I’ll go outside,’ I told Joe. ‘Then you drive forward till I wave for you to stop.’

He nodded his acceptance of my instructions. As I slid the door open, he pulled his big collar up over his ears; and, when I had climbed to the ground, he came over and shut the door.

It was not quite as cold as it had been. I guessed the temperature had come up to fifty below. The long train started as I motioned Jos6 - and stopped when I waved. I used the ‘claw’, a small crane which we carried for the purpose of lifting such bundles into an ore car. And presently I was back inside the engine cab.

I said, ‘You can speed up now.’

The speedometer climbed. At seventy, Jos6 leveled her off. He explained: T don’t know enough about this terrain, senor, to go any faster.’

I nodded, and took control. The speedometer needle edged higher. Jose said, ‘That bag of stuff, Bill’ - he almost said it ‘BeeP - ‘who puts it beside the track?’

I’d been wondering if he would show any curiosity. ‘A race of small, furry creatures,’ I answered. ‘They’re very shy. They live underground, and dig ore for us.’ I grinned at his puzzled expression. ‘We don’t want the ore, because it’s usually only rock. We’re interested in the material of the bags. It’s as thin as paper, completely transparent, and yet it can withstand the weight of tons of rock. They manufacture it from their own bodies, much the way spiders produce webs. We can’t seem to make them understand that we want only the bags.’

We did the next fifty miles at an average of eighty-four miles per hour. It was a straight run, and it was like gliding along on ice. On every side was a flat waste of sand that had not changed in all the years since I had first seen it. The sun was climbing in a sky that was bluer now^he stars faint but still visible. We plunged through that barren world to the hiss of the high speed steam turbines, and the hum of the gears that transmitted their power to the wheels. I felt more than human. I was the master of a juggernaut that violated the ancient silences of a planet millions of miles remote from the planet Earth.

As I saw the hills in the distance rearing up like low mounds, I began to slow. On the panel a red light blinked. Eight miles, the indicator said. I applied the brakes.

Jose pointed questioningly at the winking light.

‘Sand on the tracks,’ I said.

Dune country. Sand so fine that even the thin winds of Mars could lift it. In motion, it looked like trailing smoke. As far as the eye could see there were gusts of it blowing, and here and there the rails had completely disappeared under the drifting sand.

We moved in fits and starts, swiftly when the track looked clear, and very slowly, with our blowers whining and hissing, where there was sand. Altogether, about an hour and a half went by before, once again, the roadbed belonged to us.

Halfway. And only a few minutes after ten o’clock. We were first. Jose slid open the door.

‘Go out?’ he asked.

‘Sure.’

We were on a rocky plain that was as crinkled as an old man’s face, and almost the same grayish color. I watched Jose scramble over the rocks and head for a prominence a hundred yards away. It took stiff climbing in places, but he made it with apparent ease.

I grew aware that Frank had come into the cab. I glanced at him; and he said with a sneer, ‘Showing off to the big shots.’

I hadn’t thought of that. It could be true. Jose kenw that he was being tested, and that there was hostility toward him, not only from Frank Gray.

There was a faint rumble in the distance, and then a shrill whistle. The Prairie Dog rounded the bend and bore down on us. Glittering in the sun, the long engine roared past, its thunder somewhat muffled by the thin air, as was the trailing clatter of its empty ore cars. When the train had passed, I saw that Frank was going back into the rod room, and Jose was climbing into the engine.

I looked him over sharply. He was breathing heavily, and his cheeks were mottled. I wondered if it was entirely “from exertion. Our eyes met; -and he must have guessed why I was watching him, for he said quickly, ‘It’s all right, sefior. I feel fine.’

I thought I detected a note of irony in his voice. I walked to the door, opened it, and then turned to him. ‘Jose,’ I said, ‘you’ll get an honest deal from me; I’m going back to the passenger car. You’re on your own from now on in.’

Jose looked startled. Then his strong jaw set and he said gravely, ‘Thank you, sefior.’

Wade and the other executives were astonished when I explained what I had done. But Barron, Earthside executive, nodded approval. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘it’s a fair test. Can he run a train on his own, or can’t he?’ He finished, ‘We can always phone him to stop, and then send Bill back up to the engine.’

His words were received in silence, and from the sullen expressions of the others I guessed that my action was unpopular. The silence continued while the train accelerated. I must have dozed in my chair, because I wakened with a start to realize that the car was shuddering and swaying. I took a look out of the window, and felt alarm as I saw how swiftly the desert was speeding by.

I glanced around quickly. Three of the men were talking together in low tones; Wade was dozing, and Barron sat placidly smoking a cigar. He looked preoccupied.

I climbed casually to my feet, walked to the phone and called the engine cab. After it had rung five times, I got an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I returned to my chair; and it seemed to me, as I glanced again out of the window, that the train had actually gained speed. I groaned inwardly, and, glancing up, saw that Wade;s shrewd brown eyes were studying me.

‘Isn’t your man going a little fast?’ he said.

His assistant snapped angrily, ‘Irresponsible, if you ask me!’

Barron sighed, and looked at me gloomily. ‘Ask him to slow down.’

I went to the phone, and called Frank Gray. The phone rang three times, and then Frank’s voice said lazily, ‘Hello.’

‘Frank,’ I said in a low tone, ‘will you go up to the cab and ask Jose to slow down?’

T can’t hear you,’ he said. ‘What do you wan’t?’ I repeated my request, emphasizing the words but still trying to keep my voice down.

Frank said irritably, ‘Stop mumbling. I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’

I had been feeling both sorry for, and angry with, Jose. But there’s only so much you can do to help a man who’s got himself into a difficult situation. Clearly, and without worrying about being overheard, I told Frank what I wanted. There was silence when I had finished. Then:

‘Go to hell’ said Frank. ‘It’s not up to me.’ He stuck to that, despite my arguments. I said finally, ‘Just a minute!’ And went back to the group. They listened in silence, and then Wade whirled on Barron. ‘Look what you’ve done to us with that Indian of yours!’ Barron chewed his cigar savagely, turned and stared out at the spinning landscape, and then said, ‘Better order that rod-man to do what Bill said.’

Wade came back presently from the phone. T had to give him permission to use force if necessary.’

A few minutes later, we began to slow down. By that time, Barron was climbing into a pressure suit, and Wade had sent his executive assistant to get a suit for him. They exchanged caustic comments until the train finally came to a halt, Barron stubbornly clinging to the attitude that the defection of one Andean Indian didn’t condemn all others. I led the way to the engine, and all I could think about was: What could have got into Jose?

Frank opened the cab door for us. There was no sign of Jose as we climbed in. Frank explained, T found him lying on the floor here gasping for breath, so I put him in the rod room and built up a little pressure.’ He added complacently, ‘Nothing wrong with him that a little oxygen won’t cure.’

I looked at him for a long moment, fighting the suspicion in my mind. I said nothing, however, but made the necessary adjustments in pressure, and went into the rod room. I found Jose sitting on a chair. He looked at me miserably, but shrugged at my question. I said earnestly, ‘Jose, I want you to forget that pride of yours, and tell me exactly what happened.’

He said unhappily, ‘I became dizzy, and I had a feeling like bursting. Then I do not know what happened.’

‘Why did you speed up the train?’

He blinked at me, his dark eyes wide and uncomprehending. ‘Senor,’ he said at last, ‘I do not remember.’

‘My guess,’ said Frank from behind me, ‘is that we ran into a low pressure area, and as far as he was concerned it was the last straw.’

I shook my head. I was remembering how Jose had matched my vision early that morning, and remembering also the way he had climbed the hill at Halfway. The stamina he had displayed in those two incidents wouldn’t have yielded to a slight change in atmospheric pressure. Also, the cab doors were closed. Since they were nearly airtight, the pressure inside the cab would hardly be that sensitive to temporary changes outside.

I turned and looked at Frank. He stared back at me defiantly. Twice, I started to speak, but each time I remembered how long we’d been friends, and remained silent. Over his shoulder, I saw that Barron was examining the air pressure gauges and controls for the inside of the engine. He walked over to Wade and spoke in a low voice that sounded grim. The vice-president kept shaking his head, and ended the conversation by going over to Frank. He held out his hand.

‘Mr Gray,’ he said in a too-loud voice, T want to thank you for saving us from being wrecked. Just remember, I’m behind you all the way.’

Barron was tugging at my arm. I went with him out into the cab. He said quietly, ‘Is it possible to control the air pressure in the cab from the rod room?’

Since he could have obtained that information from other sources, I didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes,’ I said.

Barron went on, ‘Did the Indian show any signs of oxygen starvation in your presence?’

‘None.’

‘Have you any idea whether your rod-man is hostile to this notion of bringing in the Indians?’

T have no idea,’ I said. I looked at my watch. ‘But I think we’d better get going. We’re forty-three minutes late.’

Underway again, I left Jos6 at the throttle, and stepped into the rod room. Frank was adjusting temperatures, and I waited patiently till the gauge readings balanced. Then he looked at me. I said, ‘Pretty smart.’

He didn’t deny it. ‘It’s now or never,’ he said, ‘Then you admit you reduced the air pressure on Jose?’

His tanned face grinned at me through the transparent visor of his suit. T admit nothing,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to wreck that little buzzard’s plans if it’s the last thing I ever do. And I have an idea I’ll get all the backing I need.’

I tried to make him see that if there were any human beings at all who could live on Mars without artifice, then no one could fairly deny them the right to do so.

‘Call him a human being?’ Frank sneered.

I stared at him, and in that moment my feeling of friendship disappeared. I said very slowly, ‘If you bother him again on duty, I’ll take it out of your hide.’

Frank looked at me sullenly, ‘I’ve been wondering just where you stood,’ he said. ‘Thanks for telling me.’

For an hour we rolled along through a rock-strewn wasteland, and then we came to an area of low hills and green sheets of canal ice. I was telling Jose that the toughest part of the run was over when the red light began to blink.

He looked at me. ‘Sand?’

I shook my head, frowning. ‘Not here. Something must be on the tracks, or crossing them.’

It was a sand lizard, eighteen feet of senseless scarlet and yellow monstrosity. It had caught its leg under the track between two ties. All the beast had to do to free itself was to cease pulling forward, but it was too moronic for that.

Wade phoned me, but lost interest as soon as I explained why we’d stopped. ‘You know how to handle them,’ he said. And rang off.

I knew the technique, all right, but I wasn’t happy about it. I explained to Jose that men who hunted the creature wore an over-suit of the super-resistant material we’d picked up at the beginning of our trip. It provided protection against a casual slash, though even it was not much help in a direct attack. In an emergency, safety lay behind the creature. Out of sight with it was out of mind.

Frank Gray sauntered out into the cab. He shook his head when I suggested that he and I help the lizard to free itself. He said, ‘That thing lives off a particularly tough cactus. It’s got teeth you could cut rock with.’ He finished satirically, ‘Joe’s the man to do the job. If his suit gets torn, it won’t do him any harm ‘

Jose picked up a crowbar. ‘Where is this over-suit, senor?’

‘We carry extras,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I’ll go with you.’

The over-suits covered us completely up to the neck. Above that, my own rigid vitrolite helmet offered me further protection. Jose had only his thickly insulated cap. If his people became permanent fixtures hereabouts, they’d have to make provision for such encounters as this.

I took a long oil gun from the tool box, and we climbed out of the cab. As it saw us approaching, the lizard turned its fiery head, and watched us. But it kept straining steadily forward.

I squirted oil into its fathomless blue eyes. Then the two of us prodded it from its left side, its right side and from behind. In response, the lizard hissed with its tongue, and made a rattling sound with its throat. But it continued to tug forward in that idiotic fashion.

The sun sagged toward mid-afternoon. Patiently Jose and I kept poking at the beast until, finally, some mental circuit seemed to close inside its brain. It ceased its forward movement. Hissing, it turned as if to come after us.

Its leg slipped easily and naturally from under the track. And it was free.

‘Jose!’ I yelled. ‘Get behind it.’

The footing wasn’t too good in the shifting sand, and Jose moved a little awkwardly. Four inch talons whipped the air so close to his cheek that I held my breath. Then he was behind the creature, which stopped turning, evidently having forgotten his existence.

The last we saw of it, it was laboriously climbing over a rock - instead of around it - and heading away from the tracks.

As we turned back toward the engine, there was a swish and a clank, and the long train moved toward us. I caught sight of Frank Gray high in the cab sitting at the controls. He waved mockingly as the powerful locomotive glided past us, gathering speed with every yard.

I grabbed at the handrail as it swept by, caught hold, and hung on with everything I had. Grimly, I reached for the next rung - just as the cab door above me slid open. Frank bent down and with a long wrench banged me on the fingers. Despite the protection of my heavy gloves, the instant pain and numbness broke my hold. Wildly, I grabbed at the rung below with my other hand.

Frank knelt, and swung his wrench again. This time he missed, but he drew sparks from the metal. I’d had enough, however. I couldn’t let him cripple my other hand. It might send me under the wheels. Before he could strike again, I lowered my feet to the ground, started running, and let go.

I pitched headlong into the gravel of the roadbed. The cushion of air in my pressure suit saved me from serious injury. But I was gasping as I scrambled shakily to my feet. My plan was to swing aboard the ore car, but as I fell in beside the train, running as swiftly in my bulky clothing as I could, I realized the train was going too fast. I was about to give up when a hand like iron grabbed the scruff of my neck.

‘Seftor, run!’

I ran till the salt of my exhaustion was in my mouth, until I could hardly see because of the tears in my eyes. I fumbled blindly for a rung of the ore car ladder to which Jos6 was clinging.

With his clutch supporting most of my weight, I caught the rung; and presently we lay on top of the car gasping for breath.

I stood up, still shaky. T don’t know what that buzzard is up to,’ I said, when I could speak again, ‘but we’re going into the passenger car, and sit it out.’

Our sudden appearance caused a minor sensation. I explained briefly what had happened, then picked up the phone and called the engine. It rang three times, and the line went dead. Since all power on the train was supplied by the locomotive, it seemed evident that Frank had cut the telephone system. His purpose was obvious - to prevent us from calling Marsopolis, our destination.

Silently, I cursed my stupidity for not having called there first. Frank might not have thought of it in time to stop me.

An official was shrugging. ‘He’s behaving very foolishly. He can hardly wreck the train without danger to himself. All we have to do is sit tight.’

A sudden thought struck me. I went to the gauge panel. The pressure was a full pound low, and the temperature was down slightly. I turned to the others, frowning.

T hate to say this, but I’m afraid he’s cut the power for our air conditioning.’

Philip Barron looked pale, but his eyes were steady. ‘How long?’

‘Not more than an hour,’ I said. ‘We could stand the cold, but we’ll all pass out if the pressure drops much more than half - all except Jose, that it.’

There was a grim silence. Then Barron glanced at Jose musingly, and said, ‘Yes, there is you. I suppose Gray figures it’ll be his word against that of an Indian. The arrogant fool! Of course we could all sign a statement as to what actually happened, and leave it with you - ‘

‘To hell with that!’ said another official. ‘That might help Jose, and it might help justice, but what about us?’

I broke in at that point. ‘You’re overlooking one thing. Jose can stand low pressure, but he can’t breathe poisoned air, and he wouldn’t last long outside after dark. We have only one chance.’ I turned. ‘Come on, Jose, let’s get aboard that engine.’ There was a fire ax in each of two emergency cases at opposite ends of the car. We armed ourselves with them, and a minute later climbed up to the top of the train and started forward. I could see the glistening blue and red locomotive with its bulging cab, and the figure of Frank Gray sitting in it.

What worried me was that there was a high-powered rifle in the cab - and at the moment Jose and I were as exposed as two sitting ducks. I doubted if Frank would fire unless he had to - bodies with bullets in them would be hard to explain away - but the possibility put a tension in me.

The shallow Martian sky was already darkening in the east, and Earth as an evening star shone brightly above the declining sun. There was still about an hour of daylight left, but since we were well over a hundred miles out, the fact gave me no comfort. We were in semi-mountainous country, and the track was too winding for high-speed travel.

I pulled my collar more tightly around my ears, and bent into the freezing wind. I noticed that Jose paused often to clap his hands together as we started forward along the top of the tank-tender, which carried the engine’s water-reserve.

I saw, at this closer range, that Frank was watching us through the glass. The rifle lay on the window-ledge beside him, but he made no move to pick it up. Apparently, he was waiting to see what we were going to do.

I wasn’t sure, myself. Get the cab doors open somehow, and hope to get in without being shot down.

We climbed to the top of the cab, and lay prone just above the doors, Jose on one side, and I on the other. Simultaneously, we swung our fire axes down against the heavy panes of the doors. Though shatterproof, they were hardly built to withstand such blows. On my side, a sizable section of glass broke loose, and fell inside.

That much was easy. Now, we had the ticklish problem of getting down there and reaching inside to unlock the doors.

I slid over the edge, and started down the steel ladder alongside the door. Jose’s face was just disappearing over the other side. And still we were all right, being protected by the metal walls of the cab. To get at us, Frank would have to poke his rifle through the hole in the glass on either side. But he wouldn’t do that. He’d sit there amidships, and try to pot the first hand that reached in. After all, time was in his favor.

The long train glided along into a gathering twilight. The wheels ground and squealed with a steely sound. The engine groaned and shuddered, swaying as it curved past a steep embankment. I was nerving myself for that first, dangerous thrust - when a shot rang out inside the cab. It could only mean one thing: Jose had grabbed first.

Galvanized, I reached through the hole in the glass. And my hope was that Frank’s gun might still be turned the other way.

Familiarity counted. I knew that lock, and I opened it with one quick twist of my fingers. And jerked my arm back.

A hole appeared in an unbroken part of the glass just above where my hand had been. And another shot sounded.

Hastily, I gave the door a strong push from the outside. It rolled back with a bang. And then there was Frank standing in the opening, leveling his rifle at me.

I pressed flat against the cab, but realized the futility of that, and struck at him with the ax. The blow fell short, as he drew back slightly. I could see his face through the transparent visor of his head globe, his lips twisted, his eyes glittering. In pulling away from me, he had let the muzzle of the rifle drop. Now, deliberately, he raised the gun once more.

As his finger tightened on the trigger, I threw my ax at him. He ducked. The handle of it brushed his shoulder.

For a third time, the muzzle of the gun came up; this time it pointed at my helmet. I thought despairingly: We’re proving our weakness, Frank and I. This whole incident, the very arrival of Jose on Mars, had happened because our air supply was so vulnerable.

In some way, I had hoped to drive that fact home to him.

Even as I had the vague thought, I was stooping low, and trying to swing through the door into the cab. The rifle went off practically in my face. And Frank staggered drunkenly.

At least, that was the way things seemed to happen.

What amazed me was that the bullet intended for me went off into the gathering darkness.

And then a fire ax clattered to the floor of the cab out of nowhere - and the truth dawned on me. Jose had thrown it from the other door with enough luck or precision to smash Frank’s head globe.

Frank was reeling. He would have plunged through the open door if I hadn’t grabbed him instinctively. As I pushed him back inside and followed him, closing the door behind me, I saw Jose leaning against the opposite wall. His left arm was dangling, and dripped blood.

The grayness of shock was in his face. But he grinned at me as I dragged the limp body of Frank Gray toward the rod room, where I could apply pressure and save his life - so that a criminal court could decide what to do with it.

These days the story of Jos6 is the part of my Martian life my kids most want to hear about. Which makes me feel hopeful. Living here in retirement in Colorado at eighty-five hundred feet, I’ve managed to work up a community enthusiasm for a long-run scheme of mine.

We’re building a town at seventeen thousand feet; and our children are already spending time up there. We’ve got it all figured out.

Their kids are going to be Martians.