They too voted Aye or Nay on the laws which were to assure the welfare and safety of all the peoples of Earth. At last the ancient prejudices and selfish insistences upon national sovereignty were no more. A brief ten years had seen the flames of war engulf anew the hopes for peace of uncounted millions, but now no votes could frustrate the decisions of the freely selected Representatives of all the People of the Earth. The President and his
Cabinet faithfully carried out whatever was enacted into law by the Congress of the United States of Earth. And each man knew in his heart that the Government of the United States of Earth no longer lacked the military power to enforce those laws. Fatal indeed had this lack been to the United Nations.
The Parachute Police of the United States of Earth could handle any minor trouble which might boil up in any latitude or longitude. Almost within minutes from the outbreak, Parachute Police would be on the spot to awe into civilized obedience the unruly burghers of the most remote village or hamlet. Trained to a tick and composed of elements drawn from every land and clime, they had at one time been the best soldiers in the world. In the event of more serious and organized trouble, the United States of Earth could reduce to rubble any community which refused to obey the verdict of the Congress.
Enormous submarine cruisers could fire long range rockets thousands of miles inland if the appearance overhead of hundreds of destruction-laden bombers should have failed in its effect. And above it all, invisible yet omnipresent Lunetta, the man-made Moon, circled silently far above the stratosphere.
Lunetta's acid test had taken place in the final World War. During the dread winter of 1974-75, the motorized forces of the Western allies had ground to a solid stop in the vastness of the Asian steppes. The chilling cold had numbed the blood and the courage of the most intrepid soldiers. Air attacks on the industrial centers of Siberia had almost eased by reason of the incredible accuracy and effectiveness of the adverse anti-aircraft rockets. But these rockets could not reach Lunetta in her dizzying heights, and the courageous crew of 440 men and women who manned her directed their atom bombs by remote control at the enemy's manufacturing plants to such good effect that the scales of victory could only incline towards the Allies.
And so Lunetta had become the Goddess of a new, strong peace, which was to deliver mankind from the morass of the foregoing century. But she was also the symbol of the final victory of man over space. She it was who was to point out the paths of the universe to the peoples of the Earth.
History recorded the dawn of 1980. Listen, Holt," said Spencer pulling the picture away from him, "we've had our best men working on this and on a lot of other recent pictures which that new reflector on Lunetta gave us. And they're getting more and more convinced that the old hypothesis — that there's life on Mars — is true! And not only life, but intelligent life. Of course we haven't the faintest idea of what the Martians look like. Probably they're not human like you and me, but from what they've achieved, it seems they're not inferior to us in either intelligence or energy."
"Just look," he continued, "here's a bluish-green area so symmetrical in shape that we've got to take it as a cultivated patch of vegetation, planted in the middle of a desert otherwise as dry as a bone. Look at this dark green strip rimming the polar snow cap! That's a ring of vegetation, and it always appears just below the polar regions in Springtime, when the snow begins to melt. And see these bluish-green streaks, running in straight lines from the areas where the snow is melting, down to the temperate zones near the equator…"
"Those are the Martian canals we've all heard so much about, aren't they?"
"Right you are. But now it seems that they're not canals as we think of canals. Our astronomers have figured out that the Martian canals must be an irrigation system to drive the melted snow at the poles into the desert areas. So what you're looking at isn't open water, it's the vegetation growing along the banks of the waterways."
"But right at this point there seems to be some snow," remarked Holt peering at the photo.
"Sure enough. But you'll note that the canal leading through it suddenly disappears, and then emerges again on the other side. At that point the snow remains unmelted, and its color remains the exact same shade, as does the yellowish-red desert surrounding it."
"Here, at this other point, the canals radiate from a circular disk, like the rays of a star."
"Oh, you'll find those all over the place. Look at 'em. Here, and here, and here. Doesn't take much imagination to figure that they could be centers of civilization, as easy as not."
Spencer's voice was solemn. "Look, Holt," he said, "We've got other intelligent people out there in space, and not so very far away. Not too far, at any rate. The astronomical bunch showed these photos to the President in Greenwich the other day. And, of course, somebody got to talking about going for a look-see. So the President ordered a study made to find out whether the Space Forces could do the thing from a technical standpoint. So they've come to us to do the figuring of the preliminaries. If that figuring comes out positive, we'll get the job of building the ships and the equipment.
What I want you for is the job of military advisor on our planning staff!"
"But…"
"But me no buts, Holt. Confidentially, you're the choice of the Space Forces for leader of the expedition, if it comes off."
Holt rose and stared silently out the window at the vast plant. His confusion at the thought was apparent. Spencer walked up behind him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
"As a retired officer, Holt, you're, of course, under no obligation to take the job. But I know you'll do it, after working with you all these years."
There was assurance and yet pleading in Spencer's voice as he continued. "You've had a long time in the air and outside of it. Among all our people there are only a few who, like you, are equipped technically to take charge of such a job, and who at the same time have the necessary qualities of leadership. Above all, you possess balance without sacrificing a certain amount of zip. We're going to need both of those qualities in a large way." Holt scratched his head reflectively.
"How about a couple of days to think it over?" he answered, "What you've cooked up is no half-hour hop to San Francisco, you know…"
He stood silently, his eyes still riveted on the vast buildings outside the window. Finally he turned to Spencer with a wry smile. "You know perfectly well that a job like that intrigues me no end. But I'd rather not make up my mind until my wife and I have talked it over. I retired from active service two years ago because we didn't see each other, practically at all, for the five years the war lasted, nor for two years after that. She might think it rather unfair of me to go off on a wild Mars chase."
Spencer answered, "Your wife knew when she married you that you were also married to the sky, as men were married to the sea in bygone years. She knows that she'll have to put up with privations and long absences as long as you're any real good to her or to the world…"
"Well," said Holt, "I want to get General Braden's angle on the military and organization side of this thing before I jump, too. This is Tuesday, I'll let you know before Saturday noon."
"Right, I'll expect to hear from you Saturday."
They walked together to the door and there was a meaning in their handclasp as they parted.
With his car headed back towards Laguna Beach and Emerald Bay, Holt drove as in a dream. Passing the tall oil derricks of Huntington Beach, he pulled over to the side of the road where it runs close to the Pacific's sandy shore. Putting the ignition key in his pocket, he wandered off into the sand dunes and towards the ocean. For the moment, he needed solitude. Thoughtfully, he picked up a couple of seashells and gazed at them for a space. With his eyes seaward, he let them fall from his listless fingers.