Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Amazing Stories August 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
They didn't think of themselves as
pioneers. They simply had a job to
do. And if they had to give up
money, or power, or love—or life
itself—that was the
FEE OF THE
FRONTIER
By H. B. FYFE
ILLUSTRATOR EMSH
rom inside the dome, the night sky is a beautiful thing, even thoughDeimos and Phobos are nothing to brag about. If you walk outside,maybe as far as the rocket field, you notice a difference.
Past the narrow developed strip around the dome, the desert land liesas chilled and brittle as it did for eons before Earthmen reachedMars. The sky is suddenly raw and cruel. You pull your furs aroundyour nose and check your oxygen mask, and wish you were insidesomething, even a thin wall of clear plastic.
I like to stand here, though, and look out at it, just thinking abouthow far those ships grope out into the dark nowadays, and about themen who have gone out there on a few jets and a lot of guts. I knew abunch of them ... some still out there, I guess.
There was a time when nearly everything had to be rocketed out fromEarth, before they organized all those chemical tricks that change theMartian crops to real food. Domes weren't fancy then. Adequate, ofcourse; no sense in taking chances with lives that cost so much fuelto bring here. Still, the colonies kept growing. Where people go,others follow to live off them, one way or another. It began to looklike time for the next step outward.
Oh, the Asteroids ... sure. Not them. I did a bit of hopping there inmy own time. In fact—on account of conditions beyond my choice andcontrol—I spent too much time on the wrong side of the hull shields.One fine day, the medics told me I'd have to be a Martian for the restof my life. Even the one-way hop back to Earth was "not recommended."
So I used to watch the ships go out. I still remember one that almostmissed leaving. The Martian Merchant. What joker thought that wouldbe a good name for an exploring ship I can't imagine, but it alwayshappens that way.
I was starting my cross-country tractor line then, and had just madethe run from Schiaparelli to Asaph Dome, which was not as nice as itis now but still pretty civilized for the time. They had eight or tenbars, taverns, and other amusements, and were already getting to bequite a city.
One of the taverns near the western airlock was named the Stardust,and I was approaching, measuring the sand in my throat, when thesespacers came out. The first one in sight was a blocky, dark-hairedfellow. He came rolling through the door with a man under each arm.
Just as I got there, he made it to his feet somehow and cracked theirheads together exactly hard enough to bring peace. He acted like a manused to handling things with precision. He glanced quickly at me outof a square, serious face, then plunged back through the splintereddoor toward the breakup inside.
In a moment, he came out again, with two friends who looked the worsefor wear. The tall, lean youngster wore a junior pilot's bands on thesleeves of his blue uniform. His untidy hair was r