MARTIAN NIGHTMARE
A novelet by BRYCE WALTON
Three tough, cynical fighting-men of
Earth—Danton, Keith, Van Ness—rose
from their tomb of forgetfulness ... to
find themselves space-wrecked on Mars,
the last hope of mankind against the
evil and immortal Oligarchs. It was
weird, incredible, it was a horrible
dream ... but it was real. Or was it?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories January 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
His name was Burton. John R. Burton.
He was as happy as anyone could expect to be. His wife loved him andhe loved his wife. Their children were very well adjusted, as waseveryone of course in the New World system.
Burton worked ten hours a week in a coal mine, though the job wasmerely one demanding the overseeing of machines. The rest of the weekwas one of leisure devoted to gardening, hobbies, play, music. Therewas no more hate, no violence, no feelings of insecurity. It wasn'tthat everyone loved everyone else particularly. It was just that no onewas afraid of the future anymore.
Sometimes though, Burton had bad dreams. Sometimes they were very bad.In these dreams it seemed that he was somebody else. Someone who—
But after he woke up he never remembered the dreams, so, he thought,maybe they didn't matter.
Burton guessed that what he was in the dreams was too horrible toremember.
Danton sat in the chair before the control bank and stared at his handsuntil they seemed to stop shaking. It had been a long, long way toMars. A long, long time in which to think.
Of, for example, who had he been for the last hundred years? He hadbeen someone, someone with a name, a job, a ritual, a wife, kids,everything. A valuable worker, a nice round peg in one of countlessmillions of nice round holes. Who and what you had been for the pasthundred years was certainly a question that could bother you, hethought.
He glanced at Keith and Van Ness. It wasn't bothering them now. Theyhad been two other people for a century also—but they weren't botherednow. They had passed out cold on pre-New World bourbon.
They had better snap out of it, Danton thought a little desperately.The ship had about reached Mars. They had better get up from there.
His hands started shaking again. He got a cigarette lighted andthe opiate stuff crawling in his throat. He closed his eyes. Foran instant it felt better, hiding in there behind the darkness ofhis closed lids. But then the thoughts came faster, like schools ofirritated fish.
A final war like the last one, destructive beyond memory anyway, wasone most of the survivors had been more than happy to forget. They hadwelcomed reconditioning, the moving into the PLAN, into the New Worldsystem of non-violence. People became, largely, depending on the amountof reconditioning necessary, someone else. You can't change solidlylaid foundations of thought and still be the same person.
So it was a New World. In it the people were New. Everything startingover again from scratch. A small decentralized population. Beneficentleaders, masters of psychology. No weapons, not even in museums, noconception of war, no fears of tomorrow. There were no enemies onEarth. In fact, the mind was conditioned so that the concept of anenemy was impossible. Outer space was merely a region of lovely starson clear nights.
Of the few New System soldiers left, most were willing to bereconditioned. Three of them hadn't been willing. Richard Danton, DonKeith, Dwight Van Ness. They had degenerated into drunken pariahs,people without