Under Two Moons

V

Step, and step. In Mars’s easy grasp a man can lift much, jump high. But to slog through desert sands is little easier than on Earth; the sliding grains underfoot rob him of strength and clutch at his stride. They were near exhaustion, Gull knew with clarity; and for the past half mile the girl had been calling to him.

Gull closed his ears to her. He kept his eyes on his own lengthening shadow before him, even when he heard her sobbing. They had no strength to spare for conversation.

“Meesta Gull,” she whispered brokenly. “Wait, please.”

He kept on grimly, head down, feet moving like pendulums.

“Meesta Gull! But I must ask you something.”

Over his shoulder he murmured, “No time for that, old girl. Keep walking.”

“But I ‘ave to know.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he said, and waited for her to catch up. “What is it now?”

“Only this, Meesta Gull. If we are ‘eading west, why is the sun behind us?”

“Really, Sandy! I swear you have no consideration at all!”

“I am most sorry, Meesta Gull. I only asked.”

“You only asked,” he repeated bitterly. “You only asked! And now you know what I have to do? I have to stop and take out the maps and waste all kinds of time just to satisfy your damned curiosity. Of course we’re heading west!”

“I really am very sorry.”

“And the reason the sun’s behind us— Well, if you knew geometry— Look here. I’ll show you on the map.”

She fell to the ground again as he pored over the charts, frowning at the horizon, returning to his grid lines. At length his expression cleared.

“I thought so,” he said triumphantly. “Perfectly simple, my dear. Up you get.”

With rough tenderness he helped her to her feet and set off again, smiling. She did not speak at first, but presently she ventured: “Meesta Gull, we are ‘eading toward the sun now. And these seem to be our, own footprints we are retracing.”

Gull patted her good-humoredly. “Don’t worry, Sandy.”

“But, Meesta Gull—”

“Will you for God’s sake shut up?” Confounded women, thought Gull. How they did go on! And he might have said something harsh to the poor girl, except that that occurred which drove all thoughts of compass headings from both their minds.

There was a terrible thunder of many hooves.

Alessandra whimpered and clutched his arm. Gull stopped short, waiting; and over a rise in the ochre sands came a monstrous gray-green creature with six legs. It was huge as an elephant and its look was deadly; and it bore a rider, a huge, manlike, green-skinned creature with four arms, holding a murderous-looking lance.

The thoat, for such it was, skidded to a stop before them. Its monstrous rider dismounted with a single leap.

For an endless second the creature glared at them through narrowed, crimson eyes. Then it laughed with a sound of harsh and distant thunder.

“Ho!” it cried, tossing the lance away. “I won’t need this for such as you! Prepare to defend yourself, Earthling—and know that you face the mightiest warrior of the dead sea bottoms, Tars Tarkas of Thark!”

The girl cried out in terror. Johan Gull gripped her shoulder, trying to will strength and courage into her.

It was damnably bad luck, he thought, that they should somehow have taken the wrong turn. Clearly they had blundered into private property… and he had a rather good idea of just whose property they had blundered into.

He stepped forward and said, “Wait! I believe I can settle this to everybody’s satisfaction. It’s true that we don’t have tickets, Tars Tarkas, but you see, we were torpedoed in the Sinus Sabaeus and had no opportunity to pass the usual admission gate.”

“Wretched Earthling!” roared the monster. “If I issue you tickets there is a ten per cent surcharge; I don’t make Barsoomland policy, I only work here. What say you to that?”

“Done!” cried Gull, and amended it swiftly. “Provided you’ll accept my American Express card—otherwise, you see, I have the devil of a time with the old expense account.”

The creature bared yellow fangs in a great, silent laugh. But it interposed no objection, and the card was quickly validated by comparison with the Barsoomian’s built-in magnetic file. Tars Tarkas nodded his enormous head, swiftly wrote them out two lavender slips and roared: “Here you are, sir. If you wish to exchange them for regular family-plan tickets at the gate there will be a small refund… I am assuming the lady is your wife,” he twinkled. “And now, welcome to Barsoomland. Be sure to visit the Giant Sky Ride from the Twin Towers of Helium, in the base of which are several excellent restaurants where delicious sandwiches and beverages may be obtained at reasonable prices. Farewell!”

“I think not,” said Gull at once. “Don’t go. We need transportation.”

“By the hour or contract price?” parried the Martian.

“Direct to Heliopolis. And no tricks,” warned Gull. “I’ve taken this ride fifty times. I know what the meter should show.”

Muttering to himself, the creature leaped up on his thoat and allowed them to clamber behind. And they were off.

The motion of the thoat was vaguely disconcerting to the sense of balance, like a well trained camel or a very clumsy horse. But it ate up the miles. And for a nominal fee Tarkas consented to supply them with food and drink.

Gull ate quickly, glanced at the girl to make sure she was all right—which she was, though a trifle green and apparently not greatly interested in food—and set to work to question the Thark. “You’ve had some interesting goings-on,” he yelled up towards the enormous head.

“It is even so, Earthling,” tolled Tars Tarkas’s great voice.

“Flying saucers and that sort of thing.”

The bright red eyes regarded him. “Evil things!” roared the Thark somberly. “May Iss bear them away!”

“Oh, I certainly hope that too,” agreed Gull. He was hanging on to the Barsoomian’s back, his face at about the level of the creature’s lower left-hand armpit, and carrying on a conversation presented difficulties. But he persevered. “Have you seen any of it yourself?” he asked. “Psionics or any of that? UFOs? Little green monsters?”

“Watch your mouth!” cried the Barsoomian, enraged.

“No, no. Little green monsters. Nothing personal.”

The Thark glared at him with suspicion and hostility for a moment. Then the huge, reptilian face relaxed. The Thark muttered. “Not now. When we get to Heliopolis, go to the—”

The voice broke off. Tars Tarkas cocked a pointed ear, and stared about.

With a whirring, whining sound, something appeared over the dunes. The girl cried out and clutched at Gull, who had little comfort to give her. Whatever it was, it was not of this planet—or of any other that Johan Gull had ever seen. It had the shape of a flying saucer. It glittered in the blood-red, lowering sun, arrowing straight toward them. As it drew near they could see the markings on its stern:

U.F.O. Cumrovin 2nd

Giant Rock, Earth

“Blood of Issus!” shouted the Barsoomian. “It’s one of them!”

Tars Tarkas bellowed animal hatred to the dark Martian sky and raised his lance. Fierce white fires leaped from its tip, struck the alien vessel, clung and dropped away. The craft was unharmed.

It soared mockingly, tantalizingly overhead for a moment, seeming to dare them to fire on it again. Then a single needle of ruby light darted out of its side, reached down and touched Tars Tarkas between his bright red eyes.

The Barsoomian seemed to explode.

The concussion flung them from the thoat. Dazed, stunned, aching in every bone, Johan Gull managed to drag himself to his feet and look around.

The alien spacecraft was gone. The girl lay stunned and half unconscious at his feet. Yards away Tars Tarkas was a giant mound of gray-green flesh and bright metal parts, writhing faintly.

Gull staggered over to the creature and cradled the ravaged head in his lap.

The scarlet eyes stared sightlessly into his. The ruin of a mouth opened.

“We… are property,” whispered Tars Tarkas thickly, and died.