“Once, you would have seen fields, canals, and the most spectacular architecture. By the time Mars started to lose its atmosphere, its people had achieved a level of society far in advance of our own.”
“Good lord,” Lamont exclaimed as he hastily secured the extra harness. “What sort of a car is this?”
“I told you,” Carter reminded him. “A company car.”
Suddenly, Lamont was pressed into his seat, with a sensation as if someone had unexpectedly tossed a sandbag on his lap. It was more due to the suddenness of the acceleration than its sheer speed, since Lamont quickly assessed that they were leveling out high over the planet’s surface rather than rocketing toward the atmosphere at escape velocity.
“Was that necessary?” The newspaperman complained.
“I like the feeling,” Carter admitted.
With steady confidence, the astronaut guided the vehicle into a sharp turn. Lamont’s stomach rolled with the motion. As they banked, he could look down to see the large airlock closing like a camera lens beneath them, apparently the size of a Munit. In a moment, it had disappeared. He realized that its cover was designed to blend seamlessly with the rocky red surface of the planet, unnoticeable unless one knew what to look for. They leveled with the horizon, and Lamont was looking out into a seemingly endless expanse of rocky desert and sharp mountains. The car’s canopy had automatically darkened to shield them from the harsh Martian daylight. The surface of the planet looked like a deep, sullen red, while the sky above its horizon was a dusky purple. The place where the two met was hazy with dust.
“It looks like a dead world,” Lamont remarked in an attempt to distract himself from the queasiness in his stomach. “Difficult to believe that there’s so much happening beneath the surface.”
“Once, you would have seen fields, canals, something not unlike forests, and the most spectacular architecture,” Carter explained. “By the time Mars started to lose its atmosphere, its people had achieved a level of society far in advance of our own.”
“How long ago was that?” Lamont asked.
“About a billion and a half years,” Carter answered simply. “When you remember that a great civilization on earth can be swallowed by nature in only centuries, it’s easy to see why nothing remains of what they built.”
“But there are records?” Lamont asked, “Going back that far?”
Carter nodded. “I only have the barest inkling of it, but Mars forgets nothing.”
“You speak of the planet as a person,” Lamont observed.
“A mind,” Carter corrected. “A dynamo of thought and memory, always processing, always evolving.”
“But it failed,” Lamont observed. “Didn’t it?”
Carter glanced at him with a sharp expression. “How do you mean?”
“The purpose of that great mass of infrastructure beneath the surface was to keep the Martians alive. But they died out eons ago—at least, that’s what we’ve been told.”
Carter chuckled, shaking his head, “If Mars has only one lesson to teach us, it’s this: If you want the truth, you’ve got to look beneath the surface.”
“So what is the truth?” Lamont prodded him.
Rather than answering, Carter toggled a switch next to the one he had used for the telephone. Immediately, a crisp, male voice emanated from the speaker: “Central offices.”
“This is Francis Carter,” The astronaut replied. “Please let Mr. Schultz know that I’m on my way to see him.”
“But, sir,” the voice replied, stammering slightly, “Mr. Schultz’s day is already fully scheduled.”
“Yes, yes,” Carter sighed. “Tell him that our ETA is—” He paused to check the chronometer on the dashboard, “Sixteen minutes.”
“Did you say, ‘Our,’ sir?” The voice responded. “Do you have a guest?”
“One guest,” Francis confirmed. “Carter out.”
He quickly switched off the radio.
Lamont looked at him with surprise. “Joseph Schultz is on Mars?”
Carter shook his head. “No, he’s still headquartered in Tomorrow, on Earth. Martian operations are overseen by his son, Benjamin.”
“Benjamin,” Lamont muttered. “I was half sure that he didn’t actually exist, or was such a disgrace that he had been kept out of the picture.”
“He’s shaping up to be at least as secretive as his father,” Carter admitted.
“But you can see him whenever you want?” Lamont asked.
“If it’s important. A new operation is about to be launched, and he’s convinced that he needs me.”
“Fair enough,” said Lamont, straightening his tie beneath his harness. “But why bring me to see him?”
Carter smiled. “Because I intend to convince him that he needs you, too.”
Monday: Secret Garden
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Author’s Note: Page of Pulp will publish on a staggered schedule to accommodate the conclusion of Hollow World. Publication will resume every weekday starting February 15. -ETT
You are proving that your keyboard is far mightier than your pen. And I liked your pen.