The choice was Miss Tweedham's. Either a thlat
and freedom—or Malovel and his esse. She chose
the latter. Dangerous, yes. But with them came
Sanderson, man among men on this desert star.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories September 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
L'Sor, the Martian, said, "Why don't you humans go back to Earth?You're too soft to stay alive on Mars." He spoke good English but hisvoice was edged with contempt.
"Maybe you've gone soft in Sandersonville but I haven't," Ed Earlyanswered.
"Bah!" L'Sor said. "You talk big, but Malovel will hold you in thehollow of his hands just as he holds the rest of you humans here. Youhumans are all alike, big talk but no action."
Early looked startled. "I don't know this Malovel," he said.
"You will know him if you are going to stay here," L'Sor said. "Youwill know him, and the esse. But I do not think you will remain. Ithink you will tuck your tail between your legs and go sneaking awaylike a desert jackal."
Listening, John Sanderson, the boss of Sandersonville, made no effortto interfere. Now was a good time to learn what kind of metal wasinside Early and L'Sor was a good instrument for the investigation. TheMartian was completely outspoken. Sanderson waited quietly to see whatEarly would say and do. The woman, Miss Tweedham, was also silent. Shewatched this scene from startled eyes.
Early had come riding a thlat across the desert, a tough, grim, bitterlittle man with bluster a foot thick all over him. Sanderson had notasked him his business here. The woman, Miss Tweedham, had arrived ina rocket taxi from the space port. Both of them had been brought tohim. At first meeting he had rather liked Miss Tweedham. She was a bigwoman tired of her work and had come to Mars to find something that hadbeen missing in her life. At the thought, Sanderson shook his head. Shewould find plenty here!
She would also discover how glad she was that all of it had beenmissing from her life. Of course, they would have to send her backhome, otherwise she would end up running screaming across the desertstoward the space port. In the meantime, she might as well see things asthey really were. It would be something to whisper, in a shocked toneof voice, to her best friends when she got back to Earth. He watchedher out of the corners of his eyes.
"Who's going to make me tuck my tail between my legs, Fiddlefoot?"Early said angrily.
"Fiddlefoot!" At the word, a violent tremor passed over the Martian.He reached for the knife bolstered at his belt. The anger of his raceshowed in his yellow eyes.
"The man is a fool," Sanderson spoke. "Overlook his words."
"Well, Great One—"
"Let him try to use the knife," Early said, his hand in the pocket ofhis ragged coat. "I'll make him eat it."
"I wouldn't advise—"
"No fiddlefooted Martian can run a bluff on me. And that goes for thisMalovel too."
"Maybe he is not bluffing. He is one of Malovel's priests."
"I don't get this Malovel but what I said still goes, for Fiddlefoothere and his boss, too."
Sanderson gestured through a window to a terraced slope. Beyond it,mountains rose into the sky. Along the terraces, following the viaductsthat brought water downward from the reservoirs above, Martian cropsgrew green and luxuriant. On the lowest level were the human fields,with the crops drying to stunted stems and twisted leaves. On top ofthis slope a square structure sprawled. Sanderson gestured toward it.
"Mal