The First Martian

  A. E. van Vogt

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

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  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.

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  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.

  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?

 

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