MARTIAN TERROR
A Novelet of Revolution Among the Venusians
By ED EARL REPP
Lolan, the Martian Sub-Commander, had no
choice. He sorrowed for Princess Mora's beaten,
X-ray starved subjects. But when the desperate
Venusians raised their empty fists, duty
commanded him to cut loose his force-bolts.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Lolan's pen made the only sound in the stuffy barracks room. The wordstook shape reluctantly beneath the official army letterhead, even ashis mind had fought against framing them. He sat alone at his desk, theopen window behind him crowding in the dank heat of a Venusian summernight. The collar of his ornate, iridite-crusted uniform was open, buta dark ring of perspiration stained its top.
Lolan laid the pen down and looked at what he had written. Hisviolet-gray eyes became stony. This letter might mean demotion to theranks, or even court-martial, but the things in him had festered theretoo long.
"Herewith I tender my resignation as Sub-Commander of the Martian Armyof Occupation on the planet Venus," he read. "If it is the wish of theCouncil-Royal, I desire immediate transfer to some post on Mars. I canno longer blind my conscience to the brutal treatment Venusians arereceiving at the hands of us, their conquerors.
"When I accepted this post two years ago, I understood that, underCommander Arzt, I would be endeavoring to control a savage, half-wildpeople scarcely more intelligent than beasts. I found them gentle,intelligent, cheerful, demanding only the treatment we accord ourslaves at home. But do they receive it? No! We dole them food not fitfor swine. We work them fifteen hours a day in their own iriditemines, in the sulphur holes, at whatever other work is beneath aMartian soldier. Their population has been reduced twenty percentduring the twenty years since Mars conquered them. Disease isprevalent in their poorer quarters—little better than the 'improved'sections—to such an extent that few officers ever venture into thesepestilential streets except to put down an occasional uprising.
"Because I feel that to continue in this post would demean—"
Lolan scowled at the unfinished sentence. He went to the window andstood staring out, his eyes not seeing the low clouds brushing thebarracks roofs, nor the jagged tracery of lights a half-mile below,where Areeba sprawled in miserable squalor over the foothills. Beforehim was the vision of a girl's sober face—the face of a Venusian,high-caste woman. Princess Mora ... princess only in name, but belovedof her people—and of Lolan.
But for her, that letter would have been written and handed in a yearago. But somehow the young Martian could not leave Venus while she andher father, old ex-Emperor Atarkus, were still here and under continualthreat of death. There could never be any more intimate relationbetween them than that of master and slave—yet Lolan kept a forlornflame of hope guttering in his heart.
There were two good reasons why he was a fool to let Mora be a factorin his staying on Venus. In the first place, inter-marriage wasstrictly forbidden by Arzt, high commander of the army. Second—andmore important to Lolan—biology entered in. Years ago, a few Martiansoldiers had taken native wives, with tragic results. Although the tworaces were almost alike in appearance, except for the deeper coloringof the invaders, the children re