Red Planet

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Don't Shoot!"

THE REST OF the day passed wearily for Jim and Frank. There was nothing they could do about their own plan until after dark. In the meantime discussions were taking place among colonial leaders, but they were held behind closed doors and the boys were definitely not invited.'

Supper was a welcome diversion, both because they were hungry and because it meant that the kitchen would presently be deserted and the way left open to the garbage dump. Or so they thought. They found that, in practice, the womenfolk running the kitchen first took a leisurely time to clean the place up, then seemed disposed to sit around all night, drinking coffee and talking.

The boys found excuses to come into the kitchen, excuses that got thinner every trip and which began to arouse Mrs. Palmer's suspicions.

Finally Jim followed another boy in, wondering what he would say this time, when he heard the other boy say, "Mrs. Palmer, Captain Marlowe sends his regards and wants to know if it would be too much trouble to keep a night watch for coffee and sandwiches for the men on guard."

"Why, no," Jim heard her say, "we'll be glad to do that. Henrietta, will you go out and find some volunteers? I'll take the first stint."

Jim backed out and went to where Frank awaited him. "What's the chances?" asked Frank. "Does it look like they're going to break up any time soon?"

Jim told him what the chances were-or, rather, were not. Frank swore, using a couple of words that Jim had not heard before, and noted down for future use. "What'U we do, Jim?"

"I don't know. Maybe when it's down to just one of them on duty, she'll go out occasionally."

"Maybe we could get her out with some song and dance."

"Maybe. Maybe we could tell her that she's wanted in the headquarters room. That ought to do it."

They were still discussing it when the lights went out.

The place was suddenly completely dark, as dark as the inside of a rock. Worse than that, there was a disturbing utter silence. Jim had just realized that the complete emptiness of sound resulted from the ending of the noise of circulating air, from the stopping of the supercharger on the roof, when a woman began to scream.

She was joined by another, in a higher key. Then there were voices everywhere in the darkness, questioning, complaining, soothing.

Down the hall from where the boys loitered a light sprang out and Jim heard his father's voice. "Quiet, everybody. Don't get excited. It's just a power failure. Be patient."

The light moved toward them, suddenly hit them. "You boys get to bed." Jim's father moved on. Down the passage in the other direction they could hear Doc's bellow, ordering people to shut up and calm down.

Jim's father came back. This time he was saying, "Into your suits, everybody. Have your respirators on your head. We hope to correct this in a few minutes, but we don't want anybody hurt. Now don't get excited; this building will hold pressure for half an hour at least. There's plenty of time to get ready for thin air, even if it takes a while to correct the trouble."

Other lights sprang up here and there; shortly the passageways throughout the building, if not the rooms, were adequately lighted. The corridors were crowded with dim shapes, struggling into their outdoors suits. Jim and Frank, planning as they were to attempt to go outside, had long been in their suits, armed, and with respirators at the ready. "Maybe this is a good time," suggested Frank.

"Nope," Jim answered. "They're still in the kitchen. I can see a light."

MacRae came down the corridor; Jim stopped him. "Doc, how long do you think it will be until they get the lights on?"

MacRae said, "Are you kidding?"

"What do you mean. Doc?"

"The lights aren't coming on. This is one of Beecher's stunts. He's pulled the switch on us, at the power house."

"Are you sure?"

"There's no failure-we've checked it. I'm surprised Beecher didn't do it hours ago-in his shoes, I would have done it five minutes after we moved in. But don't you birds go blabbing, Jim; your Pop has his hands full keeping the custard heads from blowing thentops." He moved on.

In spite of Captain Marlowe's reassuring words the true state of things was soon common knowledge. The pressure dropped slowly, so slowly that it was necessary to warn everyone to adjust their respirators, lest oxygen starvation sneak up on the unwary. After that it was hardly possible to maintain the fiction that the power loss was temporary, to be corrected any minute now. The temperature in the building fell Slowly;

there was no danger of them freezing in the closed and insulated building-but the night chill penetrated.

Marlowe set up headquarters in the entrance hall in a circle of light cast by a single torch. Jim and Frank loitered there, discreetly back in the shadows, unwilling to miss what might be going on and quite unwilling to go to bed as ordered.... as Frank pointed out to Jim, the only beds they had were occupied, by Mrs. Marlowe, Phyllis, and Oliver. Neither of them had given up the idea of attempting the garbage chute route, but they knew in their hearts that the place was too stirred up to give them the privacy they would require.

Joseph Hartley, one of the colony's hydroponists, came up to Marlowe. His wife was behind him, carrying their baby daughter in a pressurized crib, its supercharger sticking up above the clear plastic shell of it like a chimney. "Mr. Marlowe-I mean Captain Marlowe-"

"Yes?"

"You've got to do something. Our kid can't stand this. She's coming down with croup and we can't get at her to help her."

MacRae crowded forward. "You should have brought her to me, Joe." He looked the baby over, through the plastic, then announced, "The kid seems to be doing all right."

"She's sick, I tell you."

"Hnim-I can't make much of an examination when I can't get at her. Can't take her temperature, but she doesn't seem to be in any real danger."

"You're just trying to soothe me down," Hartley said angrily. "You can't tell anything about it when she is in a sealed crib."

"Sony, son," the doctor answered.

"A fat lot of good it does to be sorry! Somebody's got to do something. This can't-" His wife plucked at his sleeve; he turned away and they went into a huddle. Shortly he turned back. "Captain Marlowe!"

"Yes, Mr. Hartley."

"The rest of you can do as you like. I've had enough. I've got my wife and baby to think about."

"The decision is yours," Marlowe said stiffly and turned away in abrupt dismissal.

"But-" said Hartley and stopped, aware that Marlowe was no longer paying any attention to him. He looked uncertain, like a man who wants someone to argue him out of his resolution. His wife touched has arm; he turned then and they went together to the front entrance.

Marlowe said to MacRae, "What do they expect of me? Miracles?"

MacRae answered, "Exactly, boy. Most people never grow up. They expect papa to get 'em the pretty Moon." The doctor went on, "Just the same, Joe accidentally told the truth. We've got to do something."

"I don't see what we can do until Sutton and Toland get some results."

"You can't wait any longer for them, son. We've got to crush out of here anyway. Theoretically a man can live for days in a respirator. Practically, it won't work and that is what Beecher is counting on. You can't keep several hundred people crouching here in the dark and the cold, wearing masks to stay alive, not indefinitely. You're going to have a panic on your hands."

Marlowe looked weary, even through his mask. "We can't tunnel out. We can't get out at all, except through the doors. And they've got those doors zeroed. It's suicide."

"It's got to be done, son. I'll lead the rush."

Marlowe sighed. "No, I will."

"m a pig's eye! You've got a wife and kids. I've got nobody and I've been living on borrowed time so long I've lost track."

"It's my privilege. That's settles it."

"We'll see."

"I said that settles it, sir!"

The argument was left unfinished; the inner door to the pressure lock opened again and Mrs. Hartley stumbled inside. She was clutching the tiny crib and sobbing wildly.

It was the case of the Pottles and Gibbs all over again. When MacRae was able to make something out of her sobs, it appeared that they had been very cautious, had waited, had shouted their intention to surrender, and had displayed a light. There had been no answer, so they had shouted again, then Hartley had stepped off the threshold with his hands up and his wife shining the light on him.

He had been struck down as soon as he stepped out the door.

MacRae turned her over to the women, then went out to reconnoiter. He came back in almost at once. "Somebody get me a chair," he demanded, and looked around. "You, Jimskedaddle."

"What's up?" asked Marlowe.

"Let you know in a moment. I suspect something."

"Be careful."

"That's why I want the chair."

Jim came back with one; the doctor went through the pressure lock again. He came back in about five minutes later. "It's a booby trap," he stated.

"What do you mean?"

"Beecher didn't try to keep men outdoors all night-at least I don't think so. It's automatic. They've put an electriceye grid across the door. When you break it, a bolt comes across, right where you'd be if you walked through it." He displayed half a dozen deep bums through the chair.

Marlowe examined them. "But that's not the important point," MacRae went on. "It's automatic but it's inflexible. It hits about two feet above the step and about four feet. A man could crawl through it-if his nerves were steady."

Marlowe straightened up. "Show me."

They came back, with the chair still more burned, in a few minutes. "Kelly," Marlowe said briskly, "I want twenty volunteers to make a sortie. Pass the word around."

There were at least two hundred volunteers; the problem was to weed them down. Both Frank and Jim tried to get in on it; Jim's father refused to take any but grown, unmarried men -except himself. MacRae he refused.

The doctor pulled Jim back and whispered to him. "Hold your horses. In a few minutes I'll be boss."

The raiding party started into the lock. Marlowe turned to MacRae. "We'll head for me power plant. If we are gone more than two hours, you are on your own." He went into the lock and closed the door.

As soon as the door was closed, MacRae said, "Okay, twenty more volunteers."

Kelly said, "Aren't you going to wait two hours?"

"You tend to your knitting! When I'm out of here, you're in charge." He turned and nodded to Jim and Frank. "You two come along." MacRae had his party in short order, had apparently selected them in his mind before Marlowe left. They filed into the lock.

Once the outer door was open MacRae flashed his torch into the street. The Pottles and the unfortunate Joseph Hartley lay where they had fallen, but no other bodies littered the street. MacRae turned around and said, "Ginune that chair. I'll demonstrate the gimmick." He stuck it out into the door. Instantly two bolts cut across the doorway, parallel to the ground. After they were gone and the eye was still dazzled by their brilliance, two soft violet paths of ionization marked where they had been and then gradually dispersed.

"You will note," said the doctor, as if he were lecturing medical students, "that it does not matter where the chair is inserted." He again shoved the chair into the opening, moved it up and down. The bolts repeated at split-second intervals, but always at the same places, about knee high and chest high.

"I think it is best," continued the doctor, "to maintain the attack. Then you can see where you are. First man!"

Jim gulped and stepped forward-or was shoved, he was not sure which. He eyed the deadly fence, stooped over, and with awkward and infinite care stepped through. He went on out into the street. "Get moving!" the doctor ordered. "Spread out."

Jim ran up the street, feeling very much alone but terribly excited. He paused short of the end of the building and cautiously looked around the comer. Nothing either way-he stopped and waited in the darkness, ready to blast anything that moved.

Ahead of him and to the left he could see the curious structure which had almost cost him the top of his head many hours before. It was clear now that the bolts were coming from it.

Some one came up behind him. He whirled and heard a voice yelp, "Don't shoot! It's me-Frank."

"How about the others?"

"They're coming-I think."

A light flashed at the building ahead, beyond the shield from which the bolts came. Frank said, "I think somebody came out there."

"Can you see him? Do you think we ought to shoot?"

"I don't know."

Someone else was pounding up the street behind them. Up ahead, from near the spot where Frank had thought he had seen a man a heater flashed out in the darkness; the beam passed them.

Jim's gun answered by pure reflex; he nailed the spot from which the flash had come. "You got him," said Frank. "Good boy!"

"I did?" said Jim. "How about the guy behind me?" He found that he was trembling.

"Here he is now."

"Who shot at me?" the newcomer said. "Where are they?"

"Nowhere at the moment," Frank answered. "Jim nailed him." Frank tried to peer into the mask; the night was too dark. "Who is it?"

"Smitty."

Both Frank and Jim gave exclamations of surprise-it was Smythe, the practical man. "Don't look at me like that," Smythe said defensively. "I came along at the last minute-to protect my investment. You guys owe me money."

"I think Jim just paid it off," suggested Frank.

"Not on your life! That's another matter entirely."

"Later, later," said Frank. Others were coming up. Presently MacRae came puffing up and roared, "I told you birdbrains to spread out!" He caught his breath and said, "We tackle the Company main offices. Dogtrot-and don't bunch together."

"Doc," said Jim, "there are some in that building up ahead."

"Some what?"

"Somebody that shoots at us, that's what."

"Oh. Hold it, everybody." MacRae gave them hoarse instructions, then said, "Got it, everybody?"

"Doc," asked Frank, "how about the gun over there? Why don't we wreck it first?"

"I must be getting old," said MacRae. "Anybody here enough of a technician to sneak up on it and pull its teeth?"

A faceless figure in the darkness volunteered. "Go ahead," Doc told him. "We'll cover you from here." The colonial trotted ahead, swung around behind the shield covering the stationary automatic blaster, and stopped. He worked away for several minutes, then there was a white flash, intensely bright. He trotted back. "Shorted it out. Bet I blew every overload breaker in the power house."

"Sure you fixed it?"

"You couldn't dot an T with it now."

"Okay. You-" MacRae grabbed one of his squad by the arm. "-tear back and tell Kelly that allee allee out's in free. You-" He indicated the chap who had wrecked the gun. "-go around in back and see what you can do with the setup back there. You two guys cover him. The rest of you follow me-the building ahead, according to plan."

Jim's assignment called for sneaking along the face of the building and taking a covering position about twenty feet short of the doorway. His way led him over the ground where the man had been at whom he had shot. There was no body on the pavement; he wondered if he had missed. It was too dark to look for blood.

MacRae gave his covering troops time to reach their stations, then made a frontal assault with six to back him up, among them Frank. The doctor himself walked up to the building entrance, tried the outer door. It opened. Motioning the assault group to join him, he went in. The outer door of the building's lock closed on them.

Jim huddled against the icy wall, eyes wide, ready to shoot. It seemed a cold eternity that he waited; he began to fancy that he could see some traces of dawn in the east. At last he saw silhouettes ahead, raised his gun, then identified one as Doc's portly figure.

MacRae had the situation in hand. There were four disarmed prisoners; one was being half carried by two others. 'Take 'em back to the school," Doc ordered one of his group. "Shoot me first one of them who makes a funny move. And tell whoever is in charge back there now to lock 'em up. Come on, men. We've got our real job ahead."

There came a shout behind them; MacRae turned. Kelly's voice called, "Doc! Wait for baby!" He came running up and demanded, "What are the plans?" Behind him, men were pouring out of the school and up the street.

MacRae took a few minutes to recast things on the basis of more guns. One of the platoon leaders, a civil engineer named Alvarez, was left in charge at the school with orders to maintain a guard outside the building and to patrol the neighborhood with scouts. Kelly was assigned the task of capturing the communications building which lay between the settlement and the space port. It was an important key to control of the whole situation, since it housed not only the local telephone exchange but also the radio link to Deimos and thence to all other outposts on Mars-and also the radar beacons and other aids for incoming ships from Earth.

MacRae reserved for himself the job of taking the planet office-the main offices on Mars of the Company, Beecher's own headquarters. The Resident Agent General's personal apartment was part of the same building; the doctor expected to come to grips with Beecher himself.

MacRae sent a squad of men to reinforce Marlowe at the power house, then called out, "Let's go, before we all freeze to death. Chop, chop!" He led the way at a ponderous trot.

Jim located Frank in the group and joined him. "What took you guys so long in that building?" he asked. "Was there a fight?"

"Took so long?" said Frank. "We weren't inside two minutes."

"But you must have-"

"Cut out that chatter back there!" called out Doc. Jim shut up and pondered it.

MacRae had them cross the main canal on ice, avoiding the arching bridge as a possible trap. They crossed in pairs, those behind covering those crossing; in turn they who had crossed spread out and covered those yet to come. The crossing held a nightmarish, slow-motion quality; while on the ice a man was a perfect target-yet it was impossible to hurry. Jim longed for his skates.

On the far side the doctor gathered them together in the shadow of a warehouse. "We'll swing around to the east and avoid the dwellings," he told them in a hoarse whisper. "From here on, quiet!-for your life. We won't split up because I don't want you shooting each other in the dark." He set forth a plan to surround the building and cover all exits, while MacRae himself and about half their numbers tried to force an entrance at the main door.

"When you get around in back and make contact," MacRae warned the two who were to lead the flanking and covering moves, "you may have one deuce of a time telling friend from foe. Be careful. The word is "Mars'; the answer is 'Freedom'."

Jim was in the assault party. Doc stationed six of them in fan shape around the door, at an easy twenty-five yards range, and had them take cover where available. Three of them were on the open ramp in front of the door; he had them lie down and steady their guns. "In case of doubt-shoot," he instructed them. "Come on, the rest of you."

Jim was included in the last order. MacRae walked up to the outer door and tried it; it was locked. He pressed the signal switch and waited.

Nothing happened. MacRae pressed the switch again and called out mildly to the speaker grille, "Let me in. I have an important message for the Resident."

Still nothing happened. MacRae changed his tone to pretended exasperation. "Hurry up, please! I'm freezing to death out here."

The door remained dark and silent. MacRae changed his manner to belligerence. "Okay, Beecher, open up! We've got the place surrounded and we're ready to blast in the door. You have thirty seconds till we set off the charge."

The seconds ticked away. Doc muttered to Jim, "I wish it were the truth," then raised his voice and said, "Time's up, Beecher. This is it."

The door hissed as the compressed air in the lock began to escape to the outside; the lock was starting to cycle. MacRae motioned them back a little; they waited, not breathing, all guns drawn and aimed at the point where the door would begin to open.

Then it was open and a single figure stood in it, the lock's light shining behind him. "Don't shoot!" said a firm, pleasant voice. "It's all right. It's all over."

MacRae peered at the figure. "Why, Doctor Rawlings'" he said. "Bless your ugly face."