"I think so. We'll call him." They went back inside and dug MacRae out of a cluster of excited humans. "Doc," said Frank, "they want to talk with you-the Martians."
"Eh?" said MacRae. "Why me?"
"I don't know."
The doctor turned to Marlowe. "How about it. Skipper? Do you want to sit in on this?"
Mr. Marlowe rubbed his forehead. "No, I'm too confused to try to handle the language. You take it."
"Okay." MacRae went for his suit and mask, let me boys help dress him, and then did not deny them when they tagged along. However, once outside, they held back and watched from a distance.
MacRae walked down to me group standing on the ramp and addressed them. Voices boomed back at him. He entered the group and the boys could see him talking, answering, gesticulating with his hands. The conference continued quite a long time.
Finally MacRae dropped his arms to his sides and looked tired. Martian voices boomed in what was plainly farewell, then the whole party set out at a rapid, leisurely pace for the bridge and their own city. MacRae plodded back up the ramp.
In the lock Jim demanded, "What was it all about. Doc?"
"Eh? Hold your peace, son."
Inside MacRae took Marlowe's arm and led him toward the office they had pre-empted. "You, too, Rawlings. The rest of you get about your business." Nevertheless the boys tagged along and MacRae let them come in. "You might as well hear it; you're in it up to your ears. Mind that door, Jim. Don't let anyone open it."
"Now what is it?" asked Jim's father. "What are you looking so grim about?"
"They want us to leave."
"Leave?"
"Get off Mars, go away, go back to Earth."
'^What? Why do they suggest that?"
"It's not a suggestion; it's an order, an ultimatum. They aren't even anxious to give us time enough to get ships here from Earth. They want us to leave, every man jack, woman, and child; they want us to leave right away-and they aren't fooling!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Willis
FOUR DAYS LATER Doctor MacRae stumbled into the same office. Marlowe still looked tired, but this time it was MacRae who looked exhausted. "Get these other people out of here. Skipper."
Marlowe dismissed them and closed the door. "Well?"
"You got my message?"
"Yes."
"Is the Proclamation of Autonomy written? Did the folks go for it?"
"Yes, it's written-we cribbed a good deal from the American Declaration of Independence I'm afraid, but we wrote one."
"I'm not interested in the rhetoric of the thing! How about it?"
"It's ratified. Easily enough here. We had quite a few startled queries from the Project camps, but it was accepted. I guess we owe Beecher a vote of thanks on that; he made independence seem like a fine idea."
"We owe Beecher nothing! He nearly got us all killed."
"Just how do you mean that?"
"I'll tell you-but I want to know about the Declaration. I had to make some promises. It's gone off?"
"Radioed to Chicago last night. No answer yet. But let me
ask the questions: were you successful?"
"Yes." MacRae rubbed his eyes wearily. "We can stay. 'It was a great fight. Maw, but I won.' They'll let us stay."
Marlowe got up and started to set up a wire recorder. "Do you want to talk it into the record and save having to go over it again?"
MacRae waved it away. "No. Whatever formal report I make will have to be very carefully edited. I'll try to tell you about it first." He paused and looked thoughtful. "Jamie, how long has it been since men first landed on Mars? More than fifty Earth years, isn't it? I believe I have teamed more about Martians in the past few hours than was learned in all that time. And yet I don't know anything about them. We kept trying to think of them as human, trying to force them into our molds. But they aren't human; they aren't anything like us at all."
He added, "They had interplanetary flight millions of years back... had it and gave it up."
"What?" said Marlowe.
"It doesn't matter. It's not important. It's just one of the things I happened to find out while I was talking with the old one, the same old one with whom Jim talked. By the way, Jim was seeing things; he's not a Martian at all."
"Wait a minute-what is he, then?"
"Oh, I guess he's a native of Mars all right, but he isn't what you and I mean by a Martian. At least he didn't look like one to me."
"What did he look like? Describe him."
MacRae looked puzzled. "Uh, I can't. Maybe Jim and I each saw what he wanted us to see. Never mind. Willis has to go back to the Martians and rather soon."
"I'm sorry," Marlowe answered. "Jim won't like that, but it's not a high price to pay if it pleases them."
"You don't understand, you don't understand at all. Willis is the key to the whole thing."
"Certainly he's been mixed up in it," agreed Marlowe, "but why the key?"
"Don't call Willis 'he'; call him 'she.' There-1 did it myself. Habit."
"I don't care what sex the little beast is. Go on."
MacRae rubbed his temples. "That's the trouble. It's very complicated and I don't know where to start. Willis is important and it does matter that he's a she. Look, Jamie, you'll go down in history as the father of your country, no doubt, but, between ourselves, Jim should be credited for being the savior of it. It was directly due to Jim and Willis-Willis's love for Jim and Jim's staunch befriending of him-that the colonists are alive today instead of pushing up daisies. The ultimatum to get off this globe represented a concession made to Jim; they had intended to exterminate us."
Marlowe's mouth dropped open. "But that's impossible! Martians wouldn't do anything like that!"
"Could and would," MacRae stated flatly. "They've been having doubts about us for a long time. Beecher's notion of shipping Willis off to a zoo pushed them over the edge-but Jim's relationship to Willis pulled them back again. They compromised."
"I can't believe that they would," protested Marlowe, "nor can I see how they could."
"Where's Beecher?" MacRae said bluntly.
"Mmm... yes."
"So don't talk about what they can or can't do. We don't know anything about them... not anything."
"I can't argue with you. But can you clear up some of this mystery about Jim and Willis? Why do they care? After all, Willis is just a bouncer."
"I don't think I can clear it up," MacRae admitted, "but I can sure lace it around with some theories. Do you know Willis's Martian name? Do you know what it means?"
"I didn't know he had one-I mean 'she'."
"It reads: 'In whom the hopes of a world are joined.' That suggest anything to you?"
"Gracious, no! Sounds like a name for a messiah, not a bouncer."
"Maybe you aren't joking. On the other hand, I may have translated it badly. Maybe it means 'Young Hopeful,' or merely 'Hope.' Maybe Martians go in for poetical meanings, like we do. Take my name, 'Donald.' Means 'World Ruler.' My parents sure muffed that one. Or maybe Martians enjoy giving bouncers fancy names. I once knew a Pekinese called, believe it or not, 'Grand Champion Manchu Prince of Belvedere.'" MacRae looked suddenly startled. "Do you know, I just remembered that dog's family-and-fireside name was Willis!"
"You don't say!"
"I do say." The doctor scratched the stubble on his chin and reflected that he should shave one of these weeks. "But it's not even a coincidence. I suggested the name 'Willis' to Jim in the first place; I was probably thinking of the Peke. Engaging little devil, with a pop-eyed way of looking at you just like Willis-our Willis. Which is to say that neither one of Willis's names necessarily means anything."