“That’s true,” agreed Harrison.
“Well,” resumed Jarvis, “this city was one of the relay stations to boost the flow. Their power plant was the only one of the giant buildings that seemed to serve any useful purpose, and that was worth seeing. I wish you’d seen it, Karl; you’ll have to make what you can from our pictures. It’s a sun-power plant!”
Harrison and Putz stared. “Sun-power!” grunted the captain. “That’s primitive!” And the engineer added an emphatic “Ja!” of agreement.
“Not as primitive as all that,” corrected Jarvis. “The sunlight focused on a queer cylinder in the center of a big concave mirror, and they drew an electric current from it. The juice worked the pumps.”
“A t’ermocouple!” ejaculated Putz.
“That sounds reasonable; you can judge by the pictures. But the power-plant had some queer things about it. The queerest was that the machinery was tended, not by Tweel’s people, but by some of the barrel-shaped creatures like the ones in Xanthus!” He gazed around at the faces of his auditors; there was no comment.
“Get it?” he resumed. At their silence, he proceeded, “I see you don’t. Leroy figured it out, but whether rightly or wrongly, I don’t know. He thinks that the barrels and Tweel’s race have a reciprocal arrangement like—well, like bees and flowers on earth. The flowers give honey for the bees; the bees carry the pollen for the flowers. See? The barrels tend the works and Tweel’s people build the canal system. The Xanthus city must have been a boosting station; that explains the mysterious machines I saw. And Leroy believes further that it isn’t an intelligent arrangement—not on the part of the barrels, at least—but that it’s been done for so many thousands of generations that it’s become instinctive—a tropism—just like the actions of ants and bees. The creatures have been bred to it!”
“Nuts!” observed Harrison. “Let’s hear you explain the reason for that big empty city, then.”
“Sure. Tweel’s civilization is decadent, that’s the reason. It’s a dying race, and out of all the millions that must once have lived there, Tweel’s couple of hundred companions are the remnant. They’re an outpost, left to tend the source of the water at the polar cap; probably there are still a few respectable cities left somewhere on the canal system, most likely near the tropics. It’s the last gasp of a race—and a race that reached a higher peak of culture than Man!”
“Huh?” said Harrison. “Then why are they dying? Lack of water?”
“I don’t think so,” responded the chemist. “If my guess at the city’s age is right, fifteen thousand years wouldn’t make enough difference in the water supply—nor a hundred thousand, for that matter. It’s something else, though the water’s doubtless a factor.”
“Das wasser,” cut in Putz. “Vere goes dot?”
“Even a chemist knows that!” scoffed Jarvis. “At least on earth. Here I’m not so sure, but on earth, every time there’s a lightning flash, it electrolyzes some water vapor into hydrogen and oxygen, and then the hydrogen escapes into space, because terrestrial gravitation won’t hold it permanently. And every time there’s an earthquake, some water is lost to the interior. Slow—but damned certain.” He turned to Harrison. “Right, Cap?”
“Right,” conceded the captain. “But here, of course—no earthquakes, no thunderstorms—the loss must be very slow. Then why is the race dying?”
“The sun-power plant answers that,” countered Jarvis. “Lack of fuel! Lack of power! No oil left, no coal left—if Mars ever had a Carboniferous Age—and no waterpower—just the driblets of energy they can get from the sun. That’s why they’re dying.”
“With the limitless energy of the atom?” exploded Harrison.
“They don’t know about atomic energy. Probably never did. Must have used some other principle in their spaceship.”
“Then,” snapped the captain, “what makes you rate their intelligence above the human? We’ve finally cracked open the atom!”
“Sure we have. We had a clue, didn’t we? Radium and uranium. Do you think we’d ever have learned how without those elements? We’d never even have suspected that atomic energy existed!”
“Well? Haven’t they—?”
“No, they haven’t. You’ve told me yourself that Mars has only 73 percent of the earth’s density. Even a chemist can see that that means a lack of heavy metals—no osmium, no uranium, no radium. They didn’t have the clue.”
“Even so, that doesn’t prove they’re more advanced than we are. If they were more advanced, they’d have discovered it anyway.”
“Maybe,” conceded Jarvis. “I’m not claiming that we don’t surpass them in some ways. But in others, they’re far ahead of us.”
“In what, for instance?”
“Well—socially, for one thing.”
“Huh? How do you mean?”
Jarvis glanced in turn at each of the three that faced him. He hesitated. “I wonder how you chaps will take this,” he muttered. “Naturally, everybody likes his own system best.” He frowned. “Look here—on the earth we have three types of society, haven’t we? And there’s a member of each type right here. Putz lives under a dictatorship—an autocracy. Leroy’s a citizen of the Sixth Commune in France. Harrison and I are Americans, members of a democracy. There you are—autocracy, democracy, communism—the three types of terrestrial societies. Tweel’s people have a different system from any of us.”
“Different? What is it?”
“The one no earthly nation has tried. Anarchy!”
“Anarchy!” the captain and Putz burst out together.
“That’s right.”
“But—” Harrison was sputtering. “What do you mean—they’re ahead of us? Anarchy! Bah!”
“All right—bah!” retorted Jarvis. “I’m not saying it would work for us, or for any race of men. But it works for them.”
“But—anarchy!” The captain was indignant.
“Well, when you come right down to it,” argued Jarvis defensively, “anarchy is the ideal form of government, if it works. Emerson said that the best government was that which governs least, and so did Wendell Phillips, and I think George Washington. And you can’t have any form of government which governs less than anarchy, which is no government at all!”
The captain was sputtering. “But—it’s unnatural! Even savage tribes
