WEST O' MARS
By CHARLES L. FONTENAY
Illustrated by JOHN SCHOENHERR
Peache believed that behind
every man lies the influence
of a woman. Influence, though,
can take odd forms....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity April 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Of all the planets, Peache liked Mars best. Peache was a salesman, andhis territory was the inhabited planets and moons. There were thingshe liked about each one, even Earth, but he particularly enjoyed thegentle gravity of Mars—a gravity that made him feel as though he wereflying when he walked in long, easy leaps, and yet didn't frighten himby letting him shoot halfway out to space.
His stop at Mars in 2081 added an experience which Peache consideredan extraordinary piece of luck. Having supper with Samlaan Britt inWest o' Mars was comparable to having tea with Shah Jehan in the TajMahal.
The supper had been incomparable. Now the two of them sat in theDice Room of the tower, warmed by a green and orange blaze in thehuge fireplace, and smoked the sweet, strong, foot-long cigars thatare produced only in the Hadriacum Lowlands of Mars. Beyond thedouble-thick glass of the window-wall, the sun was setting behind thefantastic dunes of the Aeolia Desert.
Around them in the dim-lit room, the air was thick with cigar smoke,haunted by the aura of legend. The tales of the founding of West o'Mars were vague: Peache had heard the vast wealth that built it hadbeen won on a single throw of the dice, that Britt had been driven tobuild it by the hatred of a woman he loved, that he had built it abovethe bones of a man who had stolen his wife, that it was a memorial tohis wife. While he was here, Peache hoped to sift truth from fancy, forhe was a man of romantic bent.
Below them the tower dropped down the side of the cliff to a cleardome on the now-shadowed lowland of Lacus Lucrinus. The dome enclosedmost of the majestic building and its exotic gardens from thethin, oxygen-poor Martian air. It was a daring conception, nowhereduplicated—an air-tight building that projected high above itsplasticene dome.
Peache inhaled a long sweet draft of smoke and blessed the fact thathis product was the latest in weather-control units. Only for such amajor purchase would Samlaan Britt have invited him here.
"You aren't married, Mr. Britt," said Peache when the conversationprovided him with an opening. "Don't you get lonesome out here,hundreds of miles from the nearest city, with no one around but robots?"
"I have many tapes and films, Mr. Peache," replied Britt, smiling.He was a short, slight man with close-cropped gray hair and round,guileless eyes. "I have my gardens, and the lowland of Lacus Lucrinus,and the desert."
"Even so, I'm surprised you haven't found a woman to share all thisbeauty and wealth with you. I'm sure there are many of them who'd bewilling."
"No doubt," replied Britt drily. "But I am a man of peculiar tastes.I enjoy my own thoughts, and generally I prefer my own viewpointunalloyed by the differing outlook of someone else. I find your companyinteresting for an evening, Mr. Peache, but few women could share thisisolation without becoming bored and, consequently, a nuisance."
Then Peache told Britt of his theory: that behind the accomplishmentsof every successful man, somewhere, lies