appear there must have felt that belief waver and diminish as the
plane swooped and flares lit the sky and people hurried past on their way
to the park. The grim watchers must have panicked at the thought: Some
of these people must be going to Mars. And here we are watching them go!
We heard the plane actually land. That, I thought, must break the last
resistance of anyone who must now guess he had no chance of life on Mars.
We stepped boldly into the square. It was getting dark -- deceptively dark.
Even we, expecting it, didn't see the helicopter until it dropped in
the square.
There were bodies in the square. It settled among them. I saw Mortenson
lying outstretched, his hand straining for a gun he had never reached.
He might have lived fifty years more, on another world.
Then shadows moved. We rushed for the helicopter, and I saw Harry Phillips
carrying Bessie in his arms, Betty and Morgan running hand in hand.
Then Pat screamed.
Whether Mortenson had been all but dead or merely stunned didn't matter.
He wasn't dead, and he had the gun. I saw Sammy go for his to make
another try, and knew he would be just too late. Mortenson knew the
time he had, and took careful aim. He could have had any of us -- Sammy,
who had shot him; or me, without whom no one from Simsville would live,
and all would be brought down with Mortenson, who couldn't go himself.
But he chose Pat. Something in his twisted mind made him go for the girl
who had loved him.
Mortenson and Pat died together. They were both good, clean shots. There
were no last-breath speeches. Pat fell and Mortenson lay still.
I can't explain what I did. I never thought of Pat at all. I merely worked
out that Leslie wouldn't be watching the plane, but at home, and I darted
across to a phone booth. I dialed and got her at once. "The square, quick,"
I said, and slammed the phone down. That was all.
9
We didn't see much at Detroit. The organization was magńificent. The whole
area was a vast clearing house, the few people who were running things
there handling us like so many cans of beans. We had no gear; someone
else was looking after that. There was a supply organization which took
care of not only the essentials, like the problem of how we were going
to live on Mars, but also the comparative luxuries, like how much of
our literature and history and art we could afford to take along. But
that wasn't our affair.
We got to Detroit late on Thursday night, were given a meal, and swept
into cots, all in the same room. We were then cheerfully informed that
our meal had been drugged. We saw only two people. Two who would handle
. . . how many lifeships' complements? Presumably the people who were
keeping things running at Detroit would be collected later by a regular
ship.
We slept until eleven in the morning -- Friday morning. When we awoke,
the world was still the same. We all wondered -- I expect everyone did who
looked at the sun that morning -- whether the whole thing wasn't a mistake
after all and life wouldn't go on the same as ever. But the fact was, of
course, that we were approaching the last second that scientists knew was safe. Nothing would happen, if they knew what they were talking about,
for quite a while after that -- minutes, hours, even a day or two. Even
when it did happen at last, on the sun, it would still be eight minutes
before Earth knew anything about it. . . .
We had breakfast together, and then with no more than a glimpse of
the feverish activity in the hundreds of square miles about us, and
the thousands of tiny, gleaming lifeships in the State Fair grounds,
Palmer Park, and wherever else there was an open space or one could
conveniently be blasted clear, we were aboard. One after another the
ships got the signal.
At last it was our turn. I grinned at Sammy as we came
plane swooped and flares lit the sky and people hurried past on their way
to the park. The grim watchers must have panicked at the thought: Some
of these people must be going to Mars. And here we are watching them go!
We heard the plane actually land. That, I thought, must break the last
resistance of anyone who must now guess he had no chance of life on Mars.
We stepped boldly into the square. It was getting dark -- deceptively dark.
Even we, expecting it, didn't see the helicopter until it dropped in
the square.
There were bodies in the square. It settled among them. I saw Mortenson
lying outstretched, his hand straining for a gun he had never reached.
He might have lived fifty years more, on another world.
Then shadows moved. We rushed for the helicopter, and I saw Harry Phillips
carrying Bessie in his arms, Betty and Morgan running hand in hand.
Then Pat screamed.
Whether Mortenson had been all but dead or merely stunned didn't matter.
He wasn't dead, and he had the gun. I saw Sammy go for his to make
another try, and knew he would be just too late. Mortenson knew the
time he had, and took careful aim. He could have had any of us -- Sammy,
who had shot him; or me, without whom no one from Simsville would live,
and all would be brought down with Mortenson, who couldn't go himself.
But he chose Pat. Something in his twisted mind made him go for the girl
who had loved him.
Mortenson and Pat died together. They were both good, clean shots. There
were no last-breath speeches. Pat fell and Mortenson lay still.
I can't explain what I did. I never thought of Pat at all. I merely worked
out that Leslie wouldn't be watching the plane, but at home, and I darted
across to a phone booth. I dialed and got her at once. "The square, quick,"
I said, and slammed the phone down. That was all.
9
We didn't see much at Detroit. The organization was magńificent. The whole
area was a vast clearing house, the few people who were running things
there handling us like so many cans of beans. We had no gear; someone
else was looking after that. There was a supply organization which took
care of not only the essentials, like the problem of how we were going
to live on Mars, but also the comparative luxuries, like how much of
our literature and history and art we could afford to take along. But
that wasn't our affair.
We got to Detroit late on Thursday night, were given a meal, and swept
into cots, all in the same room. We were then cheerfully informed that
our meal had been drugged. We saw only two people. Two who would handle
. . . how many lifeships' complements? Presumably the people who were
keeping things running at Detroit would be collected later by a regular
ship.
We slept until eleven in the morning -- Friday morning. When we awoke,
the world was still the same. We all wondered -- I expect everyone did who
looked at the sun that morning -- whether the whole thing wasn't a mistake
after all and life wouldn't go on the same as ever. But the fact was, of
course, that we were approaching the last second that scientists knew was safe. Nothing would happen, if they knew what they were talking about,
for quite a while after that -- minutes, hours, even a day or two. Even
when it did happen at last, on the sun, it would still be eight minutes
before Earth knew anything about it. . . .
We had breakfast together, and then with no more than a glimpse of
the feverish activity in the hundreds of square miles about us, and
the thousands of tiny, gleaming lifeships in the State Fair grounds,
Palmer Park, and wherever else there was an open space or one could
conveniently be blasted clear, we were aboard. One after another the
ships got the signal.
At last it was our turn. I grinned at Sammy as we came
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