Red Planet

CHAPTER SIX

Flight

JIM SHOOK HIM by the shoulder. "Snap out of it and help me. I'm going to be late."

"That fat slug," Frank said softly, "I wonder how he would like to tackle a winter at Charax? Maybe he'd like to stay inside for eleven or twelve months at a time-or go outside when it's a hundred below. I'd like to see him freeze to death -slowly."

"Sure, sure," agreed Jim. "But give me a hand."

Frank turned suddenly and took down Jim's outdoors suit. He flung it at him, then took down his own and started climbing rapidly into it. Jim stared. "Hey-what yuh doin'?"

"I'm going with you."

"Huh?"

"Think I'm going to sit here and do lessons when somebody is planning to trick my mother into being forced to last out a high-latitude winter? My own mother? Mom's got a bad heart; it would kill her." He turned and started digging things out of the locker. "Let's get moving."

Jim hesitated, then said, "Sure, Frank, but how about your plans? If you quit school now you'll never be a rocket pilot."

"The deuce with that! This is more important."

"I can warn everybody of what's up just as well as two of us can."

"The matter is settled, I tell you."

"Okay. Just wanted to be sure you knew your own mind. Let's go." Jim climbed into his own suit, zipped it up, tightened the straps, and then started picking over his belongings. He was forced to throw away a large part, as-he wanted Willis to travel in his bag.

He picked up Willis. "Look, fellow," he said, "we're going home. I want you to ride inside here, where it's nice and warm."

"Willis go for ride?"

"Willis go for ride. But I want you to stay inside and not say one word until I take you out. Understand?"

"Willis not talk?"

"Willis not talk at all, not till Jim takes him out."

"Okay, Jim boy." Willis thought about it and added,

"Willis play music?"

"No! Not a sound, not a word. No music. Willis close up and stay closed up."

"Okay, Jim boy," Willis answered in aggrieved tones and promptly made a smooth ball of himself. Jim dropped him into the bag and zipped it.

"Come on," said Frank. "Let's find Smitty, get our guns, and get going."

"The Sun won't be up for nearly an hour."

"We'll have to risk it. Say, how much money have you got?"

"Not much. Why?"

"Our fare home, dope."

"Oh-" Jim had been so preoccupied with other matters that he had not thought about the price of a ticket. The trip to the school had been free, of course, but they had no travel authorization for this trip; cash would be required.

They pooled resources-not enough for one ticket, much less than enough for two. "What'll we do?" asked Jim.

"We'll get it out of Smitty."

"How?"

"We'll get it. I'll tear off his arm and beat him over the head with it if I have to. Let's go."

"Don't forget your ice skates."

Smythe roomed alone, a tribute to his winning personality. When they shook him, he wakened quickly and said, "Very well, officer, I'll go quietly."

"Smitty," said Jim, "we want our-we want those packages."

"I'm closed for the night. Come back in the morning."

"We got to have them now."

Smythe got out of bed. "There's an extra charge for night service, of course." He stood on his bunk, removed the grille from his air intake, reached far inside, and hauled out the wrapped guns.

Jim and Frank tore off the wrappings and belted their guns on. Smythe watched them with raised eyebrows. Frank added, "We've got to have some money." He named the amount.

"Why come to me?"

"Because I know you've got it."

"So? And what do I get in return? A sweet smile?"

"No." Frank got out his slide rule, a beautiful circular instrument with twenty-one scales."How much for that?"

"Mmm-six credits."

"Don't be silly! It cost my father twenty-five."

"Eight, then. I won't be able to get more than ten for it."

"Take it as security for fifteen."

'Ten, cash. I don't run a pawn shop." Jim's slide rule went for a smaller amount, then both their watches, followed by lesser items at lower prices.

At last they had nothing left to sell but their skates, and both boys refused the suggestion although they were still twelve credits short of what they needed. "You've just got to trust us for the rest, Smitty," Frank told him.

Smythe studied the ceiling. "Well, seeing what good customers you've been, I might add that I also collect autographs."

"Huh?"

"I'll have both of yours, on one I.O.U., at six per centper month. The security will be the pound of flesh nearest your heart."

"Take it," said Jim.

Finished, they started to leave. Smythe said, "My crystal ball tells me that you gentlemen are about to fade away. How?"

"Just walk out," Jim told him.

"Hmm... it does not seem to have come to your attention that the front door is now locked at nights. Our friend and mentor, Mr. Howe, unlocks it himself when he arrives in the morning."

"You're kidding!"

"Go see for yourself."

Frank tugged Jim's arm. "Come on. We'll bust it down if we have to."

"Why do things the hard way?" inquired Smythe. "Go out through the kitchen."

"You mean the back door's not locked?" demanded Frank.

"Oh, it's locked all right."

"Then quit making silly suggestions."

"I should be offended at that," Smythe answered, "but I consider the source. While the back door is locked, it did not occur to brother Howe to install a lock on the garbage dump."

"The garbage dump," exploded Jim.

"Take it or leave it. It's your only way to sneak out."

"We'll take it, " decided Frank. "Come on, Jim."

"Hold on," put in Smythe. "One of you can operate the dump for the other, but who's going to do it for the second man? He's stuck."

"Oh, I see. " Frank looked at him. "You are."

"And what am I offered?"

"Confound you, Smitty how would you like a lump on the head? You've already taken us for everything but our eyeteeth."

Smythe shrugged. "Did I refuse? After all, I told you about it. Very well, I'll chalk it up to overhead-good will, full measure, advertising. Besides, I don't like to see my clients fall afoul of the law."

They went quickly to the school's large kitchen. Smythe's cautious progress through the corridors showed long familiarity with casual disregard of rules. Once there, Smythe said,

"All right, who goes first?"

Jim eyed the dump with distaste. It was a metal cylinder, barrel-size, laid on its side in the wall. It could be rotated on its main axis by means of a lever set in the wall; a large opening in it permitted refuse to be placed in it from inside the building, then removed from the outside, without disturbing the pressurization of the building-the simplest sort of a pressure lock. The interior showed ample signs of the use for which it was intended. "I'll go first," he volunteered and settled his mask over his face. "Wait a second," said Frank. He had been eyeing the stocks of canned foods racked around the room. Now he dumped spare clothing from his bag and started replacing it with cans.

"Hurry up," Smythe insisted. "I want to get back to my beddy-bye before the morning bell rings."

"Yes, why bother?" protested Jim. "We'll be home in a few hours."

"Just a hunch. Okay, I'm ready."

Jim climbed into the dump, drawing up his knees and clutching his bag to his chest. The cylinder rotated around him; he felt a sudden drop in pressure and a bitter cold draft. Then he was picking himself up from the pavement of the

alley behind the school.

The cylinder creaked back to the loading position; in a moment Frank landed beside him. Jim helped him up. "Boy, are you a mess!" he said, brushing at a bit of mashed potato that clung to his chum's suit.

"So are you, but there's no time to worry about it. Gee, but it's cold!"

"It'll be warmer soon. Let's go." The pink glow of the coming Sun was already lighting the eastern sky, even though the air was still midnight cold. They hurried down the alley to the street in back of the school and along it to the right. This portion of the city was entirely terrestrial and could have been a city in Alaska or Norway, but beyond them, etched against the lightening sky, were the ancient towers of Syrtis Minor, denying the Earthlike appearance of the street.

They came, as they had planned, to a tributary canal and sat down to put on their skates. They were racers, with 22inch razoriike blades, intended for speed alone. Jim finished first and lowered himself to the ice. "Better hurry," he said. "I almost froze my behind."

"You're telling me!"

"This ice is almost too hard to take an edge."

Frank joined him; they picked up their bags and set out. A few hundred yards away the little waterway gave into the Grand Canal of the city; they turned into it and made speed for (he scooter station. Despite the exercise they were tingling with cold by the time they got to it.

They went through the pressure door and inside. A single clerk was on duty there. He looked up and Frank went to him. "Is there a scooter to South Colony today?"

"In about twenty minutes," said the clerk. "You want to ship those bags?"

"No, we want tickets." Frank handed over their joint funds.

Silently the clerk attended to the transaction. Jim heaved a sigh of relief; scooters to the colony did not run every day. The chance that they might have to keep out of sight for a day or more and then try to get away without encountering Howe had been eating at him.

They took seats in the back of the station and waited. Presently Jim said, "Frank, is Deimos up?"

"I didn't notice. Why?"

"Maybe I can get a call through to home."

"No money."

"I'll put it through collect." He went to the booth opposite the clerk's desk; the clerk looked up but said nothing. Inside, he signalled the operator. Subconsciously he had been worrying about getting word to his father ever since Willis had spilled the secret of the so-called non-migration policy.

The screen lighted up and a pleasant-appearing young woman with the fashionable striped hair appeared therein. "I'd like to call South Colony," he said.

"No relay until later this morning," she informed him.

"Would you like to record a delayed message?"

He was stopped; delayed messages were not accepted on a collect basis. "No, thank you, I'll try later," he fibbed and switched off.

The clerk was tapping on the booth's door. "The driver is ready for you," he told Jim. Jim hurriedly settled his mask in place and followed Frank out through the pressure door. The driver was just closing the baggage compartment of the scooter. He took their tickets and the two boys got aboard. Again they were the only passengers; they claimed the observation seats.

Ten minutes later, tired of staring almost into a rising Sun, Jim announced, "I'm sleepy. I think I'll go down."

"I think I'll ask the driver to turn on the radio," said Frank.

"Oh, the heck with that. We've both had a hard night.

Come on."

"Well-all right." They went into the lower compartment, found bunks, and crawled in. In a few minutes they both were snoring.

The scooter, leaving Syrtis Minor at sunrise, kept ahead of the daily thaw and did not have to lay over at Hesperidum. It continued south and reached Cynia about noon. So far advanced was the season that there was no worry about the ice holding from Cynia south to Charax; Strymon canal would not thaw again until the following spring.

The driver was pleased to have kept his schedule. When Deimos rose toward the end of the morning's run he relaxed and switched on his radio. What he heard caused him to make a quick check of his passengers. They were still asleep; he decided not to do anything about it until he reached Cynia station.

On reaching there he hurried inside. Jim and Frank were awakened by the scooter stopping but did not get out. Presently the driver came back and said, "Meal stop. Everybody out."

Frank answered, "We're not hungry."

The driver looked disconcerted. "Better come in anyhow," he insisted. "It gets pretty cold in the car when she's standing still."

"We don't mind." Frank was thinking that he would dig a can of something out of his bag as soon as the driver had left; from suppertime the night before until noon today seemed a long time to his stomach.

"What's the trouble?" the driver continued. "Broke?" Something in their expressions caused him to continue, "I'll stake you to a sandwich each."

Frank refused but Jim interceded. "Don't be silly. Frank. Thank you, sir. We accept."

George, the agent and factotum of Cynia station, looked at them speculatively and served them sandwiches without comment. The driver bolted his food and was quickly through. When he got up, the boys did so, too. "Just take it easy," he advised them. "I've got twenty, thirty minutes' work, loading and checking."

"Can't we help you?" asked Jim.

"Nope. You'd just be in the way. I'll call you when I'm ready."

"Well-thanks for the sandwich."

"Don't mention it." He went out.

Less than ten minutes later there came faintly to their ears the sound of the scooter starting up. Frank looked startled and rushed to the traffic-checking window. The car was already disappearing to the south. Frank turned to the agent. "Hey, he didn't wait for us!"

"Nope."

"But he said he'd call us."

"Yep." The agent resumed reading.

"Butbut why," insisted Frank. "He told us to wait."

The agent put down his newspaper. "It's like this," he said, "Clem is a peaceable man and he told me that he wasn't a cop. He said he would have no part in trying to arrest two strapping, able-bodied boys, both wearing guns."

"What!"

"That's what I said. And don't go to fiddling around with those heaters. You'll notice I ain't wearing my gun; you can take the station apart for all of me."

Jim had joined Frank at the counter. "What's this all

about?" he asked.

"You tell me. All I know is, there's a call out to pick you up. You're charged with burglary, theft, truancy, destruction of company property-pretty near everything but committing a nuisance in the canal. Seems like you are a couple of desperate characters-though you don't look the part."

"I see," said Frank slowly. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. 'Long about tomorrow morning a special scooter will arrive and I presume there will be force enough aboard her to subdue a couple of outlaws. In the meantime do as you please. Go outside. Wander around. When you get chilly, come back inside." He went back to his reading.

"I see. Come along, Jim." They retreated to the far comer of the room for a war conference. The agent's attitude was easily understood. Cynia station was almost literally a thousand miles from anywhere; the station itself was the only human habitation against the deadly cold of night.

Jim was almost in tears. "I'm sorry. Frank. If I hadn't been so darned anxious to eat, this wouldn't have happened."

"Don't be so tragic about it," Frank advised him. "Can you imagine us shooting it out with a couple of innocent bystanders and hijacking the scooter? I can't." "Uh-no. I guess you're right."

"Certainly I am. What we've got to decide is what to do next."

"I know one thing; I'm not going to let them drag me back to school."

"Neither am I. What's more important, we've got to get word to our folks about the deal that's being cooked up against them."

"Say, look-maybe we can phone now!"

"Do you think he-" Frank nodded toward the agent

"-would let us?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. We've still got our guns-and I can be pushed just so far." Jim got up and went to the agent. "Any objection to us using the phone?"

The agent did not even glance up. "Not a bit. Help yourself."

Jim went into the booth. There was no local exchange; me instrument was simply a radio link to the relay station on the outer moon. A transparency announced that Deimos was above the horizon; seeing this, Jim punched the call button and asked for linkage to South Colony.

There was an unusually long delay, then a sweetly impersonal voice announced, "Due to circumstances beyond our control calls are not being accepted from Cynia station to South Colony."

Jim started to ask if Deimos were visible at South Colony, since he knew that line-of-sight was essential to radio transmission on Mars-indeed, it was the only sort of radio transmission he was familiar with-but the relay station had switched off and made no answer when he again punched the call button. He left the booth and told Frank about it.

"Sounds like Howe has fixed us," Frank commented. "I don't believe there is a breakdown. Unless-"

"Unless what?"

"Unless there is more to it than that. Beecher may be rigging things to interfere with messages getting through until he's put over his scheme."

"Frank, we've got to get word to our folks. See here, I bet we could hole up with the Martians over at Cynia. After all, they offered us water and-"

"Suppose we could. Where does that get us?"

"Let me finish. We can mail a letter from here, giving our folks all the details and telling them where we are hiding. Then we could wait for them to come and get us."

Frank shook his head. "If we mail a letter from here, old frozen face over there is bound to know it. Then, when the cops show up and we are gone, he turns it over to them. Instead of our folks getting it, it goes back to Howe and Beecher."

"You really think so? Nobody has any right to touch private mail."

"Don't be a little innocent. Howe didn't have any right to order us to give up our guns-but he did. No, Jim, we've got to carry this message ourselves."

On the wall opposite them was a map of the area served by Cynia station. Frank had been studying it idly while they talked. Suddenly he said, "Jim, what's that new station south of Cynia?"

"Huh? Where do you mean?"

"There." Frank pointed. Inked on the original map was a station on west Strymon, south of them.

"That?" said Jim. "That must be one of the shelters for the Project." The grand plan for restoring oxygen to Mars called for setting up, the following spring, a string of processing plants in the desert between Cynia and Charax. Some of the shelters had been completed in anticipation of the success of plant number one in Libya.

"It can't be much over a hundred miles away."

"A hundred and ten, maybe," Jim commented, looking at the scale.

Frank got a far-away look in his eyes. "I think I can skate that far before dark. Are you game?"

"What? Are you crazy? We'd still be better than seven hundred miles from home."

"We can skate better than two hundred miles a day," answered Frank. "Aren't there more shelters?"

"The map doesn't show any." Jim thought. "I know they've finished more than one; I've heard Dad talking about it."

"If we had to, we could skate all night and sleep in the daytime. That way we wouldn't freeze."

"Hmm... I think you're kidding yourself. I saw a man once who was caught out at night. He was stiff as a board. All right, when do we start?"

"Right now."

They picked up their bags and headed for the door The agent looked up and said, "Going somewhere?"

"For a walk."

"Might as well leave your bags. You'll be back."

They did not answer but went on out the door. Five minutes later they were skating south on west Strymon.

"Hey, Jim!"

"Yeah?"

"Let's stop for a minute. I want to sling my bag."

"Just what I was thinking." Their travel bags unbalanced them and prevented proper arm motion and any real speed. But skating was a common form of locomotion; the bags bad straps which permitted them to be slung as haversacks. Jim opened his before he put it on; Willis extended his eye stalks and looked at him reproachfully. "Jim boy gone long time."

"Sorry, old fellow."

"Willis not talk."

"Willis can talk all he wants to now. Look, if I leave the bag open a little bit so that you can see, will you manage not to fall out?"

"Willis want out."

"Can't do that; I'm going to take you for a fine ride. You won't fall out?"

"Willis not fall out."

"Okay." He slung the bag and they set out again.

They picked up speed. With fast ice, little air resistance, and the low Martian gravity the speed of a skater on Mars is limited by his skill in stroking. Both of the boys were able. Willis let out a "Whee!" and they settled down to putting miles behind them.

The desert plateau between Cynia and Charax is higher than the dead sea bottom between Cynia and the equator. This drop is used to move the waters of the southern polar cap across the desert to the great green belt near the equator, hi midwinter the southern ice cap reaches to Charax; the double canal of Strymon, which starts at Charax, is one of the principal discharge points for the polar cap when it melts in the spring.

The boys were starting at the lower end of the canal's drop; the walls of the canal reached high above their heads. Furthermore the water level-or ice level-was low because the season was late autumn; the water level would be much higher during spring flood. There was nothing to see but the banks of the canal converging ahead of them, the blue sky beyond, and the purple-black sky overhead. The Sun was behind them and a bit west of meridian; it was moving north toward northern summer solstice. Seasons do not lag on Mars as much as they do on Earth; there are no oceans to hold the heat and the only "flywheel" of the climate is the freezing and melting of the polar caps.

With nothing to see the boys concentrated on skating, heads down and shoulders swinging.

After many miles of monotonous speed Jim grew careless; the toe of his right runner caught on some minor obstruction in the ice. He went down. His suit saved him from ice bums and he knew how to fall safely, but Willis popped out of his bag like a cork from a bottle.

The bouncer, true to instinct, hauled in all excrescences at once. He hit as a ball and rolled; he traveled over the ice for several hundred yards. Frank threw himself into a hockey stop as soon as he saw Jim tumble. He stopped in a shower of ice particles and went back to help Jim up. "You all right?"

"Sure. Where's Willis?"

They skated on and recovered the bouncer who was now standing on his tiny legs and waiting for them. "Whoopee!" yelled Willis as they came up. "Do it again!"

"Not if I can help it," Jim assured him and stuffed him back in the bag. "Say, Frank how long have we been traveling?"

"Not over three hours," Frank decided, after a glance at the

Sun.

"I wish I had my watch," complained Jim. "We don't want to overrun the shelter."

"Oh, we won't come to it for another couple of hours, at least."

"But what's to keep us from passing right by it? We can't see over these banks."

"Want to turn around and go back?"

"No."

"Then quit worrying."

Jim shut up but continued to worry. Perhaps that was why he noticed the only indication of the shelter when they came to it, for Frank skated on past it. It was merely a ramp down the bank. There were such ramps every few miles, as ancient as the canals themselves, but this one had set above it an overhanging beam, as if to support a hoist. Jim spotted it as terrestrial workmanship.

He stopped. Frank skated on ahead, noticed presently that Jim was not following him and came back. "What's up?" he called out.

"I thnk this is it."

"Hmm... could be." They removed their skates and climbed the ramp. At the top, set back a short distance from the bank, was one of the bubble-shaped buildings which are the sign anywhere on Mars of the alien from Earth. Beyond it a foundation had been started for the reducing plant. Jim heaved a big sigh. Frank nodded and said, "Just about where we expected to find it."

"And none too soon," added Jim. The Sun was close to the western horizon and dropping closer as they watched.

There was, of course, no one in the shelter; no further work would be done at this latitude until the following spring. The shelter was unpressurized; they simply unlatched the outer door, walked through the inner door without delay. Frank groped for the light switch, found it, and lighted up the place -the lighting circuit was powered by the building's atomicfuel power pack and did not require the presence of men.

It was a simple shelter, lined with bunks except for the space occupied by the kitchen unit. Frank looked around happily. "Looks like we've found a home from home, Jim."

"Yep." Jim looked around, located the shelter's thermostat, and cut it in. Shortly the room became warmer and with it there was a soft sighing sound as the building's pressure regulator, hooked in with the thermostat, started the building's supercharger, hi a few minutes the boys were able to remove their masks and finally their outdoors suits as well.

Jim poked around the kitchen unit, opening cupboards and peering into shelves. "Find anything?" asked Frank.

"Nary a thing. Seems like they could have left at least a can of beans."

"Now maybe you're glad I raided the kitchen before we left. Supper in five minutes."

"Okay, so you've got a real talent for crime," acknowledged Jim. "I salute you." He tried the water tap. "Plenty of water in the tanks," he announced.

"Good!" Frank answered. "That saves me having to go down and chip ice. I need to fill my mask. I was dry the last few miles." The high coxcomb structure on a Mars mask is not only a little supercharger with its power pack, needed to pressurize the mask; it is also a small water reservoir. A nipple in the mask permits me wearer to take a drink outdoors, but this is a secondary function. The prime need for water in a Mars mask is to wet a wick through which the air is forced before it reaches the wearer's nose.

"You were? Well, for crying out loud-don't you know better than to drink yourself dry?"

"I forgot to fill it before we left."

"Tourist!"

"Well, we left in kind of a hurry, you know."

"How long were you dry?"

"I don't know exactly," Frank evaded.

"How's your throat?"

"All right. A little dry, maybe."

"Let me see it," Jim persisted, coming closer.

Frank pushed him away. "I tell you it's all right. Let's eat."

"Well-okay."

They dined off canned corned beef hash and went promptly to bed. Willis snuggled up against Jim's stomach and imitated his snores.

Breakfast was more of the same, since there was some hash left and Frank insisted that they not waste anything. Willis had no breakfast since he had eaten only two weeks before, but he absorbed nearly a quart of water. As they were about to leave Jim held up a flashlight. "Look what I found."

"Well, put it back and let's go."

"I think I'll keep it," Jim answered, stuffing it in his bag. "We might have a use for it."

"We won't and it's not yours."

"For criminy's sake, I'm not swiping it; I'm just borrowing it. This is an emergency."

Frank shrugged. "Okay, let's get moving." A few minutes later they were on the ice and again headed south. It was a beautiful day, as Martian days almost always are; when the Sun was high enough to fill the slot of die canal it was almost balmy, despite the late season. Frank spotted the tell-tale hoisting beam of a Project shelter around midday and they were able to lunch inside, which saved them the tedious, messy, and unsatisfactory chore of trying to eat through the mouth valve of a respirator mask. The shelter was a twin of the first but no foundation for the plant had as yet been built near it.

As they were preparing to leave the shelter Jim said, "You look sort of flushed, Frank. Got a fever?"

"That's just the bloom of health," Frank insisted. "I'm fine." Nevertheless he coughed as he put on his mask. "Mars throat," Jim thought but said nothing as there was nothing that he could do for Frank.

Mars throat is not a disease in itself; it is simply an extremely dry condition of the nose and throat which arises from direct exposure to Martian air. The humidity on Mars is usually effectively zero; a throat dehydrated by it is wide open to whatever disease organisms there may be present in the human throat at the time. The result is usually a virulent sore throat.

The afternoon passed without incident. As the Sun began to drop toward the skyline it seemed possible that home was not much more than five hundred miles away. Jim had watched Frank closely all afternoon. His chum seemed to be skating as strongly as ever; perhaps, he decided, the cough was just a false alarm. He skated up alongside Frank. "I guess we had better start watching for a shelter."

"Suits me."

Soon they passed another of the ramps built by long-dead Martians, but there was no hoisting beam above it nor any other sign of terrestrial activity. The banks, though somewhat lower now, were still too high to see over. Jim stepped up the stroke a bit; they hurried on.

They came to another ramp, but again there was nothing to suggest that a shelter might be above it. Jim stopped. "I vote we take a look up on the bank," he said. "We know they build the shelters by the ramps and they may have taken the hoist down for some reason."

"It would just be wasting valuable time," Frank protested. "If we hurry, we can get to another ramp before dark."

"Well, if you say so-" Jim shoved off and picked up speed.

The next ramp was the same story; Jim stopped again. "Let's take a look," he pleaded. "We can't possibly reach the next one before sundown."

"Okay." Frank stopped over and tugged at his skates.

They hurried up the bank and reached the top. The slanting rays of the Sun showed nothing but the vegetation bordering the canal.

Jim felt ready to bawl through sheer weariness and disappointment. "Well, what do we do now?" he said.

"We go back down," Frank answered, "and keep going until we find it."

"I don't think we could spot one of those hoist beams in the dark."

"Then we keep going," Frank said grimly, "until we fall flat on our faces."

"More likely we'll freeze."

"Well, if you want my opinion," Frank replied, "I think we're washed up. I, for one, can't keep going all night, even if we don't freeze."

"You don't feel good?"

"That's putting it mildly. Come on."

"All right."

Willis had climbed out of the bag and up on Jim's shoulder, in order to see better. Now he bounced to the ground and rolled away. Jim snatched at him and missed. "Hey! Willis! Come back here!"

Willis did not answer. Jim started after him. His progress was difficult. Ordinarily he would have gone under the canal plants, but, late in the day as it was, most of them had lowered almost to knee height preparatory to withdrawing into the ground for the night. Some of the less hardy plants were already out of sight, leaving bare patches of ground.

The vegetation did not seem to slow up Willis but Jim found it troublesome; he could not catch the little scamp. Frank shouted, "'Ware water-seekers! Watch where you put your feet!" Thus warned, Jim proceeded more carefully-and still more slowly. He stopped. "Willis! Oh, Willis! Come back! Come back, dawggone it, or we'll go away and leave you." It was a completely empty threat.

Frank came crashing up and joined him. "We can't hang around up here, Jim."

"I know it. Wouldn't you know that he would pull a stunt like this just at the wrong time?"

"He's a pest, that's what he is. Come on."

Willis's voice-or, rather, Jim's voice as used by Willisreached them from a distance. "Jim boy! Jim! Come here!"

Jim struggled through the shrinking vegetation with Frank after him. They found the bouncer resting at the edge of an enormous plant, a desert cabbage quite fifty yards across. The desert cabbage is not often found near the canals; it is a weed and not tolerated in the green sea bottoms of the lower latitudes, though it may be found in the deserts miles from any surface water. The western half of this specimen was still spread out in a semicircular fan, flat to the ground, but the eastern half was tilted up almost vertically, its flat leaves still reaching greedily for the Sun's rays to fuel the photosynthesis by which plants live. A hardy plant, it would not curl up until the Sun was gone completely, and it would not withdraw into the ground at all. Instead it would curl into a tight ball, thus protecting itself from the cold and incidentally simulating, on giant scale, the Earth plant for which it was named.

Willis sat by the edge of the half that was flat to the ground. Jim reached for him.

Willis bounced up on the edge of the desert cabbage and rolled toward the heart of the plant. Jim stopped and said, "Oh, Willis, dam your eyes, come back here. Please come back."

"Don't go after him," warned Frank. "That thing might close up on you. The Sun is almost down."

"I won't. Willis! Come back!"

Willis called back, "Come here, Jim boy."

"You come here."

"Jim boy come here. Frank come here. Cold there. Warm here."

"Frank, what'U I do?"

Willis called again. "Come, Jim boy. Warm! Stay warm all night."

Jim stared. "You know what, Frank? I think he means to let it close up on him. And he wants us to join him/"

"Sounds that way."

"Come, Jim! Come, Frank!" Willis insisted. "Hurry!"

"Maybe he knows what he's doing," Frank added. "Like Doc says, he's got instincts for Mars and we haven't."

"But we can't go inside a cabbage. It would crush us."

"I wonder."

"Anyhow, we'd suffocate."

"Probably." Frank suddenly added, "Do as you like, Jim. I can't skate any farther." He set one foot on a broad leafwhich flinched under the contact-and strode steadily toward the bouncer. Jim watched him for a moment and then ran after them.

Willis greeted them ecstatically. "Good boy, Frank! Good boy, Jim! Stay nice and warm all night."

The Sun was slipping behind a distant dune; the sunset wind whipped coldly at them. The far edges of the plant lifted and began to curl toward them. "We still could get out if we jumped, Frank," Jim said nervously.

"I'm staying." Nevertheless Frank eyed the approaching leaves apprehensively.

"We'll smother."

"Maybe. That's better than freezing."

The inner leaves were beginning to curl faster than the outer leaves. Such a leaf, four feet wide at its widest and at least ten feet long, raised up back of Jim and curved in until it touched his shoulder. Nervously he struck at it. The leaf snatched itself away, then slowly resumed its steady progress toward him. "Frank," Jim said shrilly, "they'll smother us!"

Frank looked apprehensively at the broad leaves, now curling up all around them. "Jim," he said, "sit down. Spread your legs wide. Then take my hands and make an arch."

"What for?"

"So that we'll take up as much space as possible. Hurry!"

Jim hurried. With elbows and knees and hands the two managed to occupy a roughly spherical space about five feet across and a little less than that high. The leaves closed down on them, seemed to feel them out, then settled firmly against them, but not, however, with sufficient pressure to crush them. Soon the last open space was covered and they were in total darkness. "Frank," Jim demanded, "we can move now, can't we?"

"No! give the outside leaves a chance to settle into place."

Jim kept still for quite a long while. He knew that considerable time had passed for he spent the time counting up to one thousand. He was just starting on his second thousand when Willis stirred in the space between his legs. "Jim boy, Frank boy-nice and warm, huh?"

"Yeah, Willis," he agreed. "Say, how about it. Frank?"

"I think we can relax now." Frank lowered his arms; the inner leaf forming the ceiling immediately above him at once curled down and brushed him in the dark. He. slapped at it instinctively; it retreated.

Jim said, "It's getting stuffy already."

"Don't worry about it. Take it easy. Breathe shallowly. Don't talk and don't move and you'll use up less oxygen."

"What difference does it make whether we suffocate in ten minutes or an hour? This was a crazy thing to do, Frank; any way you figure it we can't last till morning."

"Why can't we? I read in a book that back in India men have let themselves be buried alive for days and even weeks and were still alive when they were dug up. Fakers, they called them."

"'Fakers' is right! I don't believe it."

"I read it in a book, I tell you."

"I suppose you think that anything that's printed in a book is true?"

Frank hesitated before replying, "It had better be true because it's the only chance we've got. Now will you shut up? If you keep yapping, you'll use up what air there is and kill us both off and it'll be your fault."

Jim shut up. All that he could hear was Frank's breathing. He reached down and touched Willis; the bouncer had withdrawn all his stalks. He was a smooth ball, apparently asleep. Presently Frank's breathing changed to rasping snores.

Jim tried to sleep but could not. The utter darkness and the increasing deadness of the air pressed down on him like a great weight. He wished again for his watch, lost to Smythe's business talent; if he only knew what time it was, how long it was until sunrise, he felt that he could stand it.

He became convinced that the night had passed-or had almost passed. He began to expect the dawn and with it the unrolling of the giant plant. When he had been expecting it "any minute now" for a time that he estimated at two hours, at least, he became panicky. He knew how late in the season it was; he knew also that desert cabbages hibernated by the simple method of remaining closed through the winter.. Apparently Frank and he had had the enormous bad luck to take shelter in a cabbage on the very night on which it started its hibernation.

Twelve long months from now, more man three hundred days in the future, the plant would open to the spring Sun and release them-dead. He was sure of it.

He remembered the flashlight he had picked up in the first Project shelter. The thought of it stimulated him, took his mind off his fears for the moment. He leaned forward, twisted around and tried to get at his bag, still strapped to his shoulders.

The leaves about him closed in; he struck at them and they shrank away. He was able to reach the torch, drag it out, and turn it on. Its rays brightly illuminated me cramped space. Frank stopped snoring, blinked, and said, "What's the matter?"

"I just remembered this. Good thing I brought it, huh?"

"Better put it out and go to sleep."

"It doesn't use up any oxygen. I feel better with it on."

"Maybe you do, but as long as you stay awake you use up more oxygen."

"I suppose so." Jim suddenly recalled what had been terrifying him before he got out the light. "It doesn't make any difference." He explained to Frank his conviction that they were trapped forever in the plant.

"Nonsense!" said Frank.

"Nonsense yourself! Why didn't it open up at dawn?"

"Because," Frank said, "we haven't been in here more than an hour."

"What? Says you."

"Says me. Now shut up and let me sleep. Better put out that light." Frank settled his head again on his knees.

Jim shut up but did not turn out the light. It comforted him. Besides, the inner leaves which had shown an annoying tendency to close in on the tops of their heads now had retreated and flattened themselves firmly against the dense wall formed by the outer layers of leaves. Under the mindless reflex which controlled the movements of the plant they were doing thenbest to present maximum surface to the rays from the flashlight.

Jim did not analyse the matter; his knowledge of photosynthesis and of heliotropism was sketchy. He was simply aware that the place seemed roomier in the light and that he was having less trouble with the clinging leaves. He settled the torch against Willis, who had not stirred, and tried to relax.

It actually seemed less stuffy with the light on. He had the impression that the pressure was up a little. He considered trying to take off his mask but decided against it. Presently, without knowing it, he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed and then dreamt that he was dreaming. Hiding in the desert cabbage had been only a fantastic, impossible dream; school and Headmaster Howe had merely been nightmares; he was home, asleep in his bed, with Willis cuddled against him. Tomorrow Frank and he would start for Syrtis Minor to enter school.

It had simply been a nightmare, caused by the suggestion that Willis be taken away from him. They were planning to take Willis away from him! They couldn't do that; he wouldn't let them!

Again his dream shifted; again he defied Headmaster Howe; again he rescued Willis and fled-and again they were locked away in the heart of a desert plant.

He knew with bitter certainty that it would always end like this. This was the reality, to be trapped and smothering in the core of a hibernating giant weed-to die there.

He choked and muttered, tried to wake up, then slipped into a less intolerable dream.