‘Are there many of them?“ Regan asked.
‘Oh, maybe a hundred in this cave. There are some other caves, of course. We guess there’s an Old Martian population of maybe ten thousand all told. Most of them keep well out of sight.“
‘I don’t blame them,“ Regan said. ”How do they take to you people coming up here and colonizing their planet?“
‘They don’t seem to mind that. It isn’t really theirs any more, you see. There are so few of them left that they think of themselves as a dead race, and so we’re welcome to the place, if we’ll only be kind enough to leave them alone. Best as we can figure, there was a total Martian population of a couple of million, ten or twenty thousand years ago. It was never what you’d call crowded up here. But then the birth rate went into a tailspin, and as best as we can figure it they’ve never recovered from that. At their present rate of decline they’ll probably be gone in another few hundred years.“
‘Can’t something be done to make them increase instead of decrease?“ Regan asked.
Curtis looked amused. “We can’t breed them, Factor. They aren’t cattle. They’re people.”
‘Do they speak English?“ Nola wanted to know.
‘A few of them do,“ Curtis said. ”They aren’t terribly interested in learning, most of them.“
‘Can you speak their language?“
‘In a way. They aren’t terribly interested in teaching us, either. I’d say that generally they aren’t terribly interested in us at all. They just sort of tolerate us, more or less. Mostly less.“
The country grew hillier. Gaping caverns were visible in the mica-flecked sandstone hills. The sand-crawler whirred to a halt.
‘We’re here,“ Curtis announced.
ELEVEN
Helmeted, carrying their atmosphere on their backs, the three intruders entered the cave. Regan’s flesh crawled. He had a sensation of being an archaeologist, of entering Tut-Ankh-Amen’s tomb only to find the Pharaoh alive and waiting for him.
The mustiness of the tomb hung over the cave. It had the stillness and the dryness of death. Regan had seen films of these caves-the world had gone wild over the Old Martians, of course, when they had been discovered less than two years back. The first known extraterrestrial life! It had been the greatest scientific sensation since the beginning of the space age. But the films were nothing like the creepy reality. Regan stood at the cave mouth, narrowing his eyes and squinting into the dimness, and the millennia seemed to roll back as the Old Martians came out to view the visitors.
There were six of them. They looked like gnomes, no more than three feet high, their gray skins dry and leathery, their arms and legs fragile, pipestem-thin. Large hairless globular heads seemed to be on the verge of toppling right off the flimsy necks. Two enormous eyes, a tiny nose, and a slit of a mouth comprised the Martian features.
They stared impassively, showing little sign of interest. Curtis advanced and said something in a clicking, guttural language that sounded like the scraping of insect wings. The Martians did not reply for a moment; then one who seemed to be the leader inclined his head and said-in unmistakable English-“We do not mind.”
‘Come on,“ Curtis said. ”They’ll let us look at the cave.“
A row of tiny steps led downward a few feet, and the cave swung around at right angles to go deeper into the rock. Curtis led the way, Regan and Nola following, silent as two babes in Toyland. Small chambers carved from the living rock branched of! from the main passageway. They were furnished simply, with little beds of plant fibers, Japanese-fashion on the floor. Some of the rooms were decorated with wall paintings, the pigment pale, the designs abstract and incomprehensible.
Each room contained a pot in which grew a grayish plant. The broad leaves gave off a faint yellowish glow. “Biolu-minescence,” Curtis whispered. “They don’t have electricity. This is how they light the caves.”
‘And their air and water?“ Nola asked.
Curtis pointed, indicating stubby whitish plants with thick drooping leaves. “The plants give off oxygen. Enough for the Martians, anyway. We’re studying them. We hope to put in big plantations of them all over the surface.” He nodded at another plant, in a different chamber of the cave. A great many ropelike stems grew from the center stem, and at the end of each was a swollen pod, about the size of a child’s fist. One of the Martians nodded to Curtis, who picked up a stem and pinched the pod from its end. Droplets of water ran out. Curtis gave the pod to a Martian, who put it to his thin-lipped mouth and squeezed it.
‘But where does it find water?“ Regan asked.
‘There are underground springs here-a hundred, two hundred feet down. The plant’s roots go right down there. It stores water in the pods. Not much, but the Martians don’t need much. They’re adapted to get along on a couple of ounces of water a day.“
‘And food!“ Nola asked. ”What do they eat?“
‘Other plants. They’re completely self-sufficient. But marginal. They’ve got exactly what they need to survive, no more. It’s probably the only pure Malthusian community that ever existed. They don’t dare expand their numbers, or they’ll die of starvation and thirst.“
Regan glanced at the Martians, who accompanied them unobtrusively, slinking along like phantoms. The wonder of their survival stirred him. This was the counterpart to that other wonder, the growth of the Earth colonies on Mars. Over there was energy, dynamism, all the qualities Regan valued most highly. Here was the resignation, withdrawal, age-incredible age-fragility. Youth and age sharing the same world, the dying race and the coming breed of masters.
The Old Martians fascinated him. And an idea was sprouting in his fertile mind.
‘Curtis?“
‘Sir?“
‘Do you think some of these Martians would mind making a little trip?“
‘Sir? I don’t understand.“
‘We’re having a World’s Fair, Curtis. Perhaps you’ve heard. Next year, to celebrate Columbus’ discovery of the New World.“
‘Yes, sir. But-“
‘You may know that I’m the head of the Fair. I’m trying to make it the greatest show the world has ever seen. A kind of summary of five hundred years of progress in the Western Hemisphere. Now, it just struck me that a Martian pavilion at the Fair would be an extremely desirable thing to have.“
The face behind the helmet sagged in an astonished gasp. “You mean-take Martians to Earth, sir?”
‘Not to Earth. We’re building a special satellite to house the Fair. We’ll set the Martians up there-say, half a dozen of them, in their own little section, duplicating their atmosphere exactly. A little bit of Mars, you might say. We’ll copy this cave down to the nth degree, paintings and all.“
‘Claude, you can’t-“ Nola began.
‘Quiet,“ he said. ”Curtis, would that be feasible?“
The anthropologist stared. “You aren’t serious, sir?”
‘Of course I am.“
‘The Martian’s won’t even leave their caves to visit each other. You don’t think they’ll let themselves be taken from Mars, do you?“
‘It’s worth a try. Can I put it to them? Will they understand me?“
‘The leader will. But-if you’ll pardon me, sir-I don’t think you even ought to bring it up. It’s a pretty fantastic idea. It’ll cost you a mint, first of all-“
‘Let me worry about that.“
‘And it’s not really safe. There are so few of them left that it’s not right to risk them, Factor. Disturbing them, moving them around-even five or six of them, that’s a sizable fraction of the whole Martian population!“
‘We will exercise every precaution,“ Regan said, inflamed by the idea now. ”Listen to me. You can’t understand how interested the people of Earth are in these Martians. It’s the biggest thing to bit Earth since the first space satellites. But it costs thousands of dollars to come to Mars. There isn’t one person in a million who can afford to see these creatures- these people-in their native habitat. On the other hand, if we bring a few Martians down to the Fair, where nearly everyone can see them-why, it may be the only chance humanity will ever get to see them in the flesh!“