Like pioneers in Earth's past, Terry and
his wife came to the red planet seeking their
fortune. But others came too, ready to prove—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1958
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
There was death above. The Martian Sand Vulture swooped and hissed andtwitched its barbed, poisonous tail in the thin air.
There was death below. The man lay cradled in the pebbly sand. Red sandthat matched the color of his hair and the color of the blood oozingslowly from the hole in his forehead and trickling greasily along theinside of his punctured head-bubble. The air whistled thinly throughthe corresponding hole in the bubble as the oxygen converter triedvainly to maintain the proper breathing mixture.
There was death in the muzzle of the gun dangling nonchalantly fromthe tall man's gloved hand. It grinned from his face, etched in thesardonic twist that the purple scar gave to his right cheek. It dancedin the emotionless distances of his eyes.
There was death in every beat of Leeda Carson's heart. With theadaptability of a pioneer she accepted the fact of death; even that ofher husband's. The last two long Martian years had tested Terry's andher love; refined it with hardships and discouragement. The menacinggun was an easy way to rejoin him. But it was too easy; too soft aresponse to unwarranted killing. With unrelenting determination, shekindled and fanned to life a fierce resolve that the three men beforeher would pay, as slowly and as painfully as possible, for what theyhad done.
Through lips necessarily stiff with the effort of controlled emotion,she asked, "Why did you kill him?"
"Didn't have anything against him, Ma'am. Had to do it. Showed we meantbusiness. Easier to handle one than two of you anyway." The eyes of thetubby man who answered her kept flickering anxiously upward towardthe Sand Vulture. "That thing as dangerous as they say?"
Leeda turned to the third and youngest man. His glance was fixedhypnotically on the death on the ground. His skin was pale and hisforehead beaded with sweat. She repeated, "What did you do it for?"
"Got into trouble at Canalport. Heard a rumor that you and your husbandhad struck a pocket of Martian Sunbursts. Fixed up a deal with a ship'scargo master to smuggle us back to Earth if we turned your stuff overto him. He jetted us out here. Left a while ago." The fat man itchedfrantically as he answered her. They all itched, Leeda noticed. Ittook a long time on Mars before anyone became used to the dust thatpenetrated even the Protecto-suits. It produced an agony that demandedattention; followed by festering sores.
"You talk too much, Fatso," the tall one said angrily.
"What's the difference, Rick?" Fatso said philosophically. "Won't doher any good."
Rick turned to Leeda. "At least you know the score. Do you want to tellus where the stuff is, or are you going to make it tough on yourself?"
Eyes like a Razor-back Sand Lizard, Leeda thought. "Out by ourdiggings," she answered readily. His eyes moved to the plasticbubble-house that she and Terry had called home when they weren'tdigging. "Search the place if you don't believe me," she suggested. "Wenever brought any of them back here with us. We cached them in the caveuntil we were ready to go home."
"Then you did strike it?" the young man interrupted eagerly.
She nodded.
Rick turned to the young man. "Search the house, Jocco. She may belying."
The Sand Vulture wheeled and made a few low exploratory