Red Planet by Robert A. Heinlein
“The only hypothesis I've got on that point is so wildly fantastic that I'll keep it to myself, thank you. But on the point of time, Jim—can you think of any way to photograph a person's memories?”
“Uh, no.”
“I'll go further and state flatly that it is impossible. Yet you described seeing what Willis remembered. That suggest anything to you?”
“No,” admitted Jim, “it's got me stumped. But I did see it.”
“Sure, you did—because seeing takes place in the brain and not in the eye. I can close my eyes and ‘see’ the Great Pyramid shimmering in the desert heat. I can see the donkeys and hear the porters yelling at the tourists. See ‘em? Shucks, I can smell ‘em— but it's just my memory.”
Jim looked thoughtful but Frank looked incredulous. “Say, Doc, what are you talking about? You never saw the Great Pyramid; it was blown up in World War III.” Frank was, of course, correct as to his historical facts; the eastern allies should never have used the Pyramid of Cheops as a place to stockpile atom bombs.
Doctor MacRae looked annoyed. “Can't you permit a man a figure of speech? You tend to your own business. Now back to what I was saying, Jim. When only one hypothesis covers the facts, you've got to accept it. You saw what the old Martian wanted you to see. Call it hypnosis.”
“But—But—” Jim was wildly indignant; it felt like an attack on his very inner being. “But I did see it, I tell you. I was there.”
“I'll string along with Doc,” Frank told him. “You were still seeing things on the trip back.”
“How would you like a punch in the nose? The old boy did so make the trip back with us; if you had kept your eyes open, you would have seen him.”
“Easy, there,” cautioned Doc,”ifyou lugs want to fight, go outside. Has it occurred to you that both of you might be right?”
“What? How could we be?” objected Frank.
“I don't like to put words to it, but I can tell you this: Fve lived long enough to know that man does not live by bread alone and that the cadaver I perform an autopsy on is not the man himself. The most wildly impossible philosophy of all is materialism. We'll leave it at that.”
Frank was about to object again when the lock signaled visitors; the boys’ parents were back. “Come in, come in, gentlemen,” the doctor roared. “You're just in time. We were having a go at solipsism. Pull up a pulpit and take part. Coffee?”
“Solipsism, is it?” said Mr. Sutton. “Francis, pay no mind to the old heathen. You listen to what Father Cleary tells you.”
“He'll pay no mind to me anyhow,” MacRae answered.”That's the healthy thing about kids. How did you make out with the Lord High Executioner?”
Mr. Marlowe chuckled. “Kruger was fit to be tied.”
THE CALLED MEETING OF THE COLONISTS TOOK PLACE THAT evening in the town hall, central building of the star-shaped group. Mr. Marlowe and Mr. Sutton, having sponsored the meeting, arrived early. They found the meeting-room doors closed and Kruger's two proctors posted outside. Mr. Marlowe ignored the fact that they had been attempting to arrest Frank and Jim only a few hours ago; he offered them a civil good evening and said, “Let's get the place opened up. People will be arriving any minute now.”
The proctors did not move. The senior of them, a man named Dumont, announced,”There'll be no meeting tonight.”
“What? Why not?”
“Mr. Kruger's orders.”
“Did he say why?”
“No.”
“This meeting,” Mr. Marlowe told him, “has been properly called and will be held. Stand aside.”
“Now, Mr. Marlowe, don't make things tough for yourself. I've got my orders and—”
Mr. Sutton crowded forward. “Let me handle him, Jamie.” He hitched at his belt. Behind the men, Frank glanced at Jim with a grin and hitched at his belt. All four of them were armed, as were the proctors; the two fathers had decided not to depend on Kruger's self-restraint while waiting for instructions from Syr-tis Minor about the warrant.
Dumont looked nervously at Sutton. The colony had no real police force; these two were clerks in the Company's office and proctors only by Kruger's deputization. “You people have got no call to be running around armed to the teeth, inside the colony,” he complained.
“Oh, so that's it?” Mr. Sutton said sweetly. “Well, this job calls for no gun. Here, Francis—hold my heater.” With empty holster he advanced on them. “Now would you like to be tossed out gently or would you prefer to bounce?”
For years before coming to Mars Mr. Sutton had used something other than his engineering degree to dominate tough construction gangs. He was not much bigger than Dumont but immeasurably tougher. Dumont backed into his cohort and stepped on his toes. “Now see here, Mr. Sutton, you've no— Hey! Mr. Kruger!”
They all looked around. The Resident was approaching. He took in the scene and said briskly, “What's this? Sutton, are you interfering with my men?”
“Not a bit of it,” denied Mr. Sutton. “They were interfering with me. Tell them to stand aside.”
Kruger shook his head. “The meeting is canceled.”
Mr. Marlowe stepped forward. “By whom?”
“I canceled it.”
“By what authority? I have the approval of all councilors and will, if necessary, get you the names of twenty colonists.” Twenty colonists could call a meeting without permission from the council, under the colony's rules.
“That's beside the point. The rule reads that meetings are to consider matters ‘of public interest’; it cannot be construed as ‘of public interest’ to agitate about criminal indictments in advance of trial—and I won't let you take advantage of the rules to do so. After all, I have the final word. I do not intend to surrender to mob rule and agitation.”
A crowd was forming, colonists come to the meeting. Marlowe said, “Are you through?”
“Yes, except to say that these others and you yourself should return to your quarters.”
“They will do as they please—and so will I. Mr. Kruger, I am amazed to hear you say that a civil-rights case is not of public interest. Our neighbors here have boys who are still under the care, if you call it that, of Headmaster Howe; they are interested in how their sons are treated. However, that is not the purpose of the meeting. I give you my word that neither Mr. Sutton nor I intend to ask the colony to take any action about the charges against our sons. Will you accept that and withdraw your proctors?”
“What is the purpose, then?”
“It's a matter of urgent interest to every member of the colony. I'll discuss it inside.”
“Hummph!”
By this time several councilors were in the crowd. One of them, Mr. Juan Montez, stepped forward. “Just a minute. Mr. Marlowe, when you called me about this meeting, I had no notion that the Resident objected.”
“The Resident has no option in the matter.”
“Well, that's never come up before. He does have a veto over actions of meetings. Why don't you tell us what the meeting is for?”
“Don't give in, Jamie!” It was Doctor MacRae; he shouldered forward. “What kind of nincompoop are you, Montez? I'm sorry I voted for you. We meet when it suits us, not when Kruger says we may. How about it, folks?”
There was a murmur of approval. Mr. Marlowe said, “I wasn't going to tell him, Doc. I want everybody here and the doors closed when I talk.”
Montez went into a huddle with other councilors. Out of it came Hendrix, the chairman. “Mr. Marlowe, just to keep things regular, will you tell the council why you want this meeting?”
Jim's father shook his head. “You okayed the meeting. Otherwise I would have collected twenty signatures and forced a meeting. Can't you stand up to Kruger?”
“We don't need them, Jamie,” MacRae assured him. He turned to the crowd, now growing fast. “Who wants a meeting? Who wants to hear what Marlowe has to tell us?”
“I do!” came a shout.
“Who's that? Oh—Kelly. All right, Kelly and
There was another shout and another. “That's three—and four.” Seconds later MacRae called off the twentieth; he turned to the Resident. “Get your stooges out of that doorway, Kruger.”
Kruger sputtered. Hendrix whispered with him, then motioned the two proctors away. They were only too happy to treat this as a relayed order from Kruger; the crowd poured into the hall.
Kruger took a seat in the rear; ordinarily he sat on the platform.
Jim's father found that none of the councilors cared to preside; he stepped to the platform himself. “Let's elect a chairman,” he announced.
“You run it, Jamie.” It was Doc MacRae.
“Let's have order, please. Do I hear a nomination?”
“Mr. Chairman—”
“Yes, Mr. Konski?”
“I nominate you.”
“Very well. Now let's have some others.” But there were none; he kept the gavel by unanimous consent.
Mr. Marlowe told them that news had come to him which vitally affected the colony. He then gave the bald facts about how Willis had come into Howe's hands. Kruger stood up. “Marlowe!”
“Address the chair, please.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Kruger acceded sourly, “you said this meeting was not to stir up sympathy for your son. You are simply trying to keep him from having to take his medicine. You—”
Mr. Marlowe pounded his gavel. “You're out of order. Sit down.”
“I won't sit down. You had the bare-faced gall to—”
“Mr. Kelly, I appoint you sergeant-at-arms. Keep order. Pick your own deputies.”
Kruger sat down. Mr. Marlowe went on, “This meeting has nothing to do with the charges against my son and Pat Sutton's boy, but the news I have came through them. You've all seen Martian roundheads—bouncers, the kids call them, and you know their amazing ability to repeat sounds. Probably most of you have heard my son's pet perform. It happened that this particular roundhead was within hearing when some things were discussed that we all need to know about. Jim—bring your pet here.”
Jim, feeling self-conscious, mounted the platform and sat Willis on the speaker's table. Willis looked around and promptly battened down all hatches. “Jim,” his father whispered urgently, “snap him out of it.”
“I'll try,” agreed Jim. “Come on, boy. Nobody's going to hurt Willis. Come out; Jim wants to talk to you.”
His father said to the audience, “These creatures are timid. Please be very quiet,” then, “How about it, Jim?”
“I'm trying.”
“Confound it, we should have made a recording.”
Willis chose this minute to come out of hiding. “Look, Willis boy,” Jim went on, “Jim wants you to talk. Everybody is waiting for Willis to talk. Come on, now. ‘Good afternoon. Good afternoon, Mark.’
“Willis picked it up.” ‘Sit down, my boy. Always happy to see you.’ “ He went on, reeling off the words of Howe and Beecher.
Somebody recognized Beecher's voice; there was a muffled exclamation as he passed his knowledge on. Mr. Marlowe made frantic shushing signs.
Presently, as Beecher was expounding by proxy his theory of “legitimate graft,” Kruger got up. Kelly placed hands on his shoulders and pushed him down. Kruger started to protest; Kelly placed a hand over Kruger's mouth. He then smiled; it was something he had been wanting to do ever since Kruger had first been assigned to the colony.
The audience got restless between the two significant conversations; Mr. Marlowe promised by pantomime that the best was yet to come. He need not have worried; Willis, once wound up, was as hard to stop as an after-dinner speaker.
There was amazed silence when he had finished, then a murmur that became a growl. It changed to uproar as everyone tried to talk at once. Marlowe pounded for order and Willis closed up. Presently Andrews, a young technician, got the floor.
“Mr. Chairman … we know how important this is, if it's true—but how reliable is that beastie?”
“Eh? I don't think it's possible for one of them to repeat other than verbatim. Is there a psychological expert present who might give us an opinion? How about you, Dr. Ibafiez?”
“I agree, Mr. Marlowe. A roundhead can originate speech on its mental level, but a speech such as we just heard is something it has listened to. It repeats parrot-fashion exactly what it has heard. I doubt if such a ‘recording,’ if I may call it that, may be modified after it has been impressed on the animal's nervous system; it's an involuntary reflex—complicated and beautiful, but reflex nevertheless.”
“Does that satisfy you, Andy?”
“Uh, no. Everybody knows that a bouncer is just a super-parrot and not smart enough to lie. But is that the Resident General's voice? It sounds like it, but I've only heard him over the radio.”
Someone called out, “It's Beecher. I had to listen to his drivel often enough, when I was stationed at Syrtis.”
Andrews shook his head. “Sure, it sounds like him, but we've got to know. It could be a clever actor.”
Kruger had been quiet, in a condition resembling shock. The revelation had come as a surprise to him, too, as Beecher had not dared trust anyone on the spot. But Kruger's conscience was not easy; there were tell-tale signs in his own dispatch file that Willis's report was correct; migration required a number of routine orders from the planet office. He was uncomfortably aware that none of the proper groundwork had been laid if, as was the official claim, migration were to take place in less than two weeks.
But Andrews's comment gave him a straw to clutch. Standing, he said,”I'm glad somebody has sense enough not to be swindled. How long did it take you to teach him that, Marlowe?”
Kelly said, “Shall I gag him, chief?”
“No. This has to be met. I suppose it's a matter of whether or not you believe my boy and his chum. Do any of you wish to question them?”
A long, lean, lanky individual unfolded himself from a rear seat. “I can settle it.”
“Eh? Very well, Mr. Toland, you have the floor.”
“Got to get some apparatus. Take a few minutes.” Toland was an electronic engineer and sound technician.
“Oh—I think I see what you mean. You'll need a comparison model of Beecher's voice, won't you?”
“Sure. But I've got all I need. Every time Beecher made a speech, Kruger wanted it recorded.”
Volunteers were found to help Toland, then Marlowe suggested that it was time for a stretch. At once Mrs. Pottle stood up. “Mr. Marlowe!”
“Yes, Mrs. Pottle. Quiet, everybody.”
“I for one will not remain here one minute longer and listen to this nonsense! The idea of making such charges against dear Mr. Beecher! To say nothing of what you let that awful man Kelly do to Mr. Kruger! And as for that beast—” She pointed to Willis. “It is utterly unreliable, as I know full well.” She paused to snort, then said, “Come, dear,” to Mr. Pottle, and started to flounce out.
“Stop her, Kelly!” Mr. Marlowe went on quietly,”I had hoped that no one would try to leave until we reached a decision. If the colony decides to act it may be to our advantage to keep it as a surprise. Will the meeting authorize me to take steps to see that no scooter leaves the colony until you have made up your minds about the issue?”
There was just one “no,” from Mrs. Pottle. “Conscript some help, Mr. Kelly,” Marlowe ordered, “and carry out the will of the meeting.”
“Right, chief!”
“You can go now, Mrs. Pottle. Not you, Mr. Kruger.” Mr. Pottle hesitated in bewilderment, then trotted after his wife.
Toland returned and set up his apparatus on the platform. With Jim's help, Willis was persuaded to perform again, this time into a recorder. Shortly Toland held up his hand. “That's enough. Let me find some matching words.” He selected “colony,” “company,” “afternoon,” and “Martian” because they were easy to find in each recording, Willis's and an identified radio s
At last he stood up. “It's Beecher's voice,” he said flatly.
Jim's father again had to pound for order. When he had got it, he said, “Very well—what is your pleasure?”
Someone shouted, “Let's lynch Beecher.” The chairman suggested that they stick to practical objectives.
Someone else called out, “What's Kruger got to say about it?”
Marlowe turned to Kruger. “Mr. Resident Agent, you speak for the Company. What about it?”
Kruger wet his lips. “If one assumes that that beast is actually reporting statements of the Agent General—”
“Quit stalling!”
“Toland proved it!”
Kruger's eyes darted around; he was faced with a decision impossible for a man of his temperament. “Well, it's really no business of mine,” he said angrily. “I'm about to be transferred.”
MacRae got up. “Mr. Kruger, you are custodian of our welfare. You mean to say you won't stand up for our rights?”
“Well, now, Doctor, I work for the Company. If this is its policy—and I'm not admitting it—you can't expect me to go against it.”
“I work for the Company, too,” the Doctor growled, “but I didn't sell myself to it, body and soul.” His eyes swept the crowd. “How about it, folks? Shall we throw him out on his ear?”
Marlowe had to bang for order. “Sit down, Doctor. We haven't time to waste on trivia.”
“Mr. Chairman—”
“Yes, Mrs. Palmer?”
“What do you think we ought to do?”
“I would rather that suggestions came from the floor.”
“Oh, nonsense—you've known about it longer than we have; you must have an opinion. Speak up.”
Marlowe saw that her wish was popular. “Very well, I speak for myself and Mr. Sutton. By contract we are entitled to migrate and the Company is obligated to let us. I say go ahead and do so, at once.”