Pied Piper of Mars
By FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER, Jr.
Elath Taen made mad music for the men of Mars.
The red planet lived and would die to the
soul-tearing tunes of his fiendish piping.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
In all the solar system there is no city quite like Mercis, capitalof Mars. Solis, on Venus, is perhaps more beautiful, some cities ofEarth certainly have more drive and dynamitism, but there is a strangeinscrutable air about Mercis which even terrestials of twenty years'residence cannot explain. Outwardly a tourists' mecca, with whiteplastoid buildings, rich gardens, and whispering canals, it has anotherand darker side, ever present, ever hidden. While earthmen work andplan, building, repairing, bringing their vast energy and progressto decadent Mars, the silent little reddies go their devious ways,following ancient laws which no amount of terrestial logic can shake.Time-bound ritual, mysterious passions and hates, torturous, deviouslogic ... all these, like dark winding underground streams run beneaththe tall fair city that brings such thrilled superlatives to the lipsof the terrestial tourists.
Steve Ranson, mounting the steps of the old house facing the Hancanal, was in no mood for the bizarre beauties of Martian scenery. Forone thing, Mercis was an old story to him; his work with TerrestialIntelligence had brought him here often in the past, on other strangecases. And for another thing, his mission concerned more vital matters.Jared Haller, as head of the state-owned Martian Broadcasting System,was next in importance to the august Governor Winship himself. Asfar back as the Hitlerian wars on earth it had been known that hewho controls propaganda, controls the nation ... or planet. MartianBroadcasting was an important factor in controlling the fierce warlikelittle reddies, keeping the terrestial-imposed peace on the redplanet. And when Jared Haller sent to Earth for one of the TerrestialIntelligence, that silent efficient corps of trouble-shooters,something was definitely up.
The house was provided with double doors as protection against thesudden fierce sandstorms which so often, in the month of Tol, sweepin from the plains of Psidis to engulf Mercis in a red choking haze.Ranson passed the conventional electric eye and a polite robot voiceasked his name. He gave it, and the inner door opened.
A smiling little Martian butler met him in the hall, showed him intoHaller's study. The head of M.B.C. stood at one end of the big library,the walls of which were lined with vivavox rolls and old-fashionedbooks. As Ranson entered, he swung about, frowning, one hand droppingto a pocket that bulged unmistakably.
"Ranson, Terrestial Intelligence." The special agent offered his card."You sent to Earth a while ago for an operator?"
Jared Haller nodded. He was a big, rough-featured individual with grayleonine hair. A battering-ram of a man, one would think, who hammeredhis way through life by sheer force and drive. But as Ranson lookedcloser, he could see lines of worry, of fear, etched about the strongmouth, and a species of terror within the shaggy-browed eyes.
"Yes," said Jared Haller. "I sent for an operator. You got herequickly, Mr. Ranson!"
"Seven days out of earth on the express-liner Arrow." Ranson wonderedwhy Haller didn't come to the point. Even Terrestial Intelligenceheadquarters in New York hadn't k