His mind was a crazy mixture of feelings. Part of him was glad; it would mean that he would no longer be a burden on the crew of the
Then, as suddenly as the desperation of fear had hit him, it was gone. The relief left him weak and shakes, but he was master of himself again. He leaned against the slitted wall, breathing hard.
The valve on the tanks began to click back and forth, trying to turn on a new supply when there was none. He still had two or three minutes of air left—perhaps he could live on the stale air in his suit for a couple of minutes more.
“All right,” he decided aloud. “Here goes nothing.”
He brought his fist up against the slit and kicked at the door where the chirper had entered. He saw the creatures inside stir suddenly, but without any move toward the entrances. He kicked again, harder.
This time he got results. One of them got up and went to the entrance. He did something with his hands and it was open.
Chuck walked in, pushing the Martian aside, before its small round mouth could utter a sound. He stomped across the floor, heading toward the blower that was hanging on the wall. There was a chorus of chirps and shrieks around him, but he paid no attention to that. First things had to come first.
His hand was on the blower before they made a move toward him. Then it was the chirper who stood up and let out one of the soul-jarring shrieks that could tear the nerves out of anyone hearing it for the first time. Chuck shoved him aside and reached for the blower. His other hand was already on the slide that attached the oxygen tanks. He took one deep breath, and started to make the changeover.
The creatures hit him in a single wave that knocked the blower out of his hands and sent him tumbling to the floor. They couldn’t hold him. On hands and knees, he crawled after the source of the oxygen his system demanded. The loosened tanks on his back came off under the pull of the Martians’ hands and the air in the suit whooshed out suddenly.
He reached the blower in spite of them. He jerked to his feet, tossing several of them topsy-turvy. Everything was turning black, but he could feel the blower unit slide home and lock in place.
He pressed the switch and heard the welcome hum of the little unit at work. Then the second assault wave of Martians hit him.
CHAPTER 17
A Dying Race
Chuck was half-unconscious as the Martians swarmed over him, and he was in no mood to struggle with them. The blower unit was purring along, sending air into his starved lungs, and there was no hurry about anything else. Of course, if they insisted on trying to tie him down, he wasn’t going to help them. He…
He snapped out of it quickly, to find himself covered with creatures who were painstakingly trying to make him look like a mummy with something that reminded him of coarse thread. They had wound it wherever they could and were trying to reach new places.
He doubled his knees up sharply, slapping one little creature up against his chest; three others went tumbling backward as his legs snapped out again. It felt like a good way to warm up for better maneuvers, until they dragged out something long and nasty with sharp pointed stones in it. Then he relaxed again, and let them tie him down to the floor. It began to look as if his idea that one human in a space suit was equal to fifty Martians wasn’t as sound as if had seemed.
Chirper was playing an active part—at a safe distance. He jumped up and down, making violent gestures as he got new ideas for the others to follow. He chirped and chattered away with enough noise for a whole company. Now he stopped and surveyed the results, before deciding that Chuck was properly fastened down.
Then he let out a final screech and sprang forward, his hands going toward the blower unit. Chuck brought his arm around sideways and caught the Martian in the chest with his elbow, but the cords hampered him, and the blow-lacked force. Chirper darted in behind him and made another grab for the blower.
The old Martian who had been trying to draw directions on the floor earlier had been watching the whole affair calmly. Now he came forward. One foot lifted from the floor and struck Chirper in the face in a neat stroke that sent the younger creature rolling across the floor. Before he could get to his feet, the old one’s arms reached out and caught him by one leg and the back of his neck. Someone opened the entrance, and Chirper was thrown through it. The entrance closed again.
The old one came behind Chuck and examined the blower unit, making sure it was still seated properly in its slides. Evidently he realized its purpose, and didn’t approve of killing Chuck at once. He walked back in front of the boy and touched his head.
“Sptz-Rrll,” he announced, as nearly as Chuck could hear. It was apparently his name or tide, and Chuck pronounced his own name. The Martian clacked his teeth. “Tchkh!”
Chuck waited hopefully for further sign of friendship, but the old Martian stood quietly, simply staring at him, as if not sure what to do with this clumsy captive. It was an excellent time to use all the study of communication between races Chuck had made—but it couldn’t be done while his hands were tied.
The eyes studied him a moment longer, and then Sptz-Rrll made a peculiar hunching motion of his body that must have been a shrug and turned back to the serious work that had occupied him before.
A maze of crude machinery leaned against the wall and Chuck could see that some of the parts were obviously of still clean and sparkling copper, as if they were tended daily, though most of them were now clearly useless. But the part the old creature was demonstrating now must have functioned more recently, though not in the memory of the younger ones.
Spte-Rrll drew pictures on the dirt again. He picked up the copper gadget, put it down, and finally began taking it apart and reassembling it. Crude as it was in workmanship, the design was sound; it was a hand-tooled rotary impeller, meant to compress the air and drive it up a pipe that Sptz-Rril indicated. Chuck followed the pipe upward to a small pile of stones covered with blackened bits of something.
The Martians had discovered fire, then. By compressing the air and forcing it through some vegetation, they had built themselves a crude forge for handling copper. Now Sptz-Rrll was telling them that it could be made to work again. He even brought out a few bits of metal from equipment that had probably broken or worn out long before.
The casing of the impeller was also ruined, so that the impeller could not work. Sometime in the past, a piece had been cracked open somehow. It had been hammered back into shape, but the crack remained, destroying its usefulness in compressing the thin air for their fire.
Sokolsky would have been interested. Chuck thought He wondered Whether Sokolsky would ever bother to remember that he had first discovered the secret of the canals with Chuck. Would any of them remember the seventh member of the crew if they got back to Moon City by determination and luck?
He’d been a fool to fight for a few hours more of life. What good would it do him? He was captured here, waiting for has battery to run down and lead to the same end, anyhow. Even if he broke free, there was still the maze of the tunnels with no opening from them that he could find. He might as well have gotten it all over with at once.
Then he grimaced at his own self-pity. At least he’d die knowing some of the answers to his questions. He’d wanted to find Martians, and he’d found them. In fact, he was the leading human expert on Martians. And a lot of good if amounted to.
Now activity was going on again, and his eyes followed it as a relief from his own thoughts. One of the younger Martians had pulled one of the bulky welders into the center of the room. With a great deal of manipulation, he managed to get a spark going and start the flame. While Sptz-Rrll watched, he began work on a broken bit of copper—using a stainless steel rod!
Sptz-Rrll studied the work for a minute more, and then jumped forward in disgust, making gestures that ended in the flame being extinguished and the welder returned to its position against the wall. It was easy to see now why the equipment had been stolen.
