But should they? It was the old question; she cast it off.
‘Then,’ she said, ‘after they’re cleaned out our memories and taken us back to the right path, they send us up here. To Mars. This is a colony where we can try to get reoriented and -’ She hesitated. And what? ‘And go back to normal life,’ she finished strongly, though there was still the relentless reminder of her memory that no one had ever gone back. ‘It isn’t so bad, Tommy,’ she promised.
He didn’t look convinced.
Someone was calling her name: ‘Joan! Joan, come here, please!’
It was old man Tavares. He was standing in the door, his face blenched a muddy mottled colour in spite of the dark the sun had given it.
She turned and hurried to him. Heat-stroke, she thought at once. It was far from uncommon, especially when a man as old as Tavares had to work in the blinding sun helping to lift boxes and bales.
But he caught her feverishly by the hand and drew her outside into the sunwashed street.
‘Joan,’ he whispered raggedly, terror peeping out of his eyes. ‘Joan, can you borrow a jeep?’
‘Why - I suppose so. But -’
‘Take me to Hardee,’ he begged. His lined old face was quivering with senile worry and fear; his dry, hot hand was crushing hers. ‘Quickly! It will take hours for us to drive there. And we may not have hours, because they can fly in the plane! Quickly, for his sake and your own!’
Joan said reasonably: ‘Now hold on, Dom. You’re excited. Sit down for a minute.’ She tried to lead him back into the recreation room. She’d seen the signs coming on, she reproached herself, when he behaved so queerly at the plane; she should have done something about it at the time. Poor old man! ‘Come on, Dom,’ she coaxed. ‘I’ll get you a nice cool drink of water and-’
‘Quickly!’ He planted his feet firmly, surprisingly strong, and halted her. His eyes were terrified; they flicked past her, out towards the plane. ‘You don’t understand, Joan! The Probation Officer, he has told Griswold about the stranger Hardee found. It is a terrible thing, do you not realize?’
‘Stranger?’ she repeated.
‘The dead man, Joan! I saw them with the coverall, and then I knew. So I came close and listened and, yes, he was telling Griswold. And Griswold was frantic! Of course. Hurry, Joan!’
Doubtfully, she said: ‘Well, let’s see. You want to go out to Hardee’s place? Wakulla’s not far from here. I suppose I can persuade him to take us out, though he’s got that new woman on his mind. It’s a bad time of day, but -’
‘Hurry!’
The panic in his voice finally reached her. All right, she thought, why not? She could handle Wakulla - even in the face of the constant threat of a boiled-out motor and trouble, the natural risk you took in driving across the sand by summer daylight. But Tavares gave her no choice.
Still she protested, half-resisting: ‘Can’t it wait until night, Dom? Surely it can’t be as serious as all that. After all, what’s so dangerous about a stranger? I suppose he’s merely a man who got lost in the desert - at most, perhaps he escaped from another prison camp, somewhere else on Mars, but certainly that doesn’t -’
‘Mars!’ Tavares hissed in a terrible whisper. Convulsively he squeezed her arm. ‘Joan, do you not understand? All these years - and you still think that this is Mars?’
4
Hardee woke groggily to the sound of the boy’s voice calling: ‘Daddy! Somebody’s coming!’
It was only about noon.
Hardee swung himself out of bed, half asleep, his eyes aching. He stumbled over to the window and pushed back the shutters.
Fierce light beat in. He blinked, dazzled. The sun was directly overhead. The boy had been right; there was a jeep coming, still a long way off, but he could hear the faint whine and echo of its motor as the driver shifted gears, coaxing it around the worst of the bumps, trying to keep it from overheating. Someone driving at this time of day!
It must be an urgent errand, he thought, and began to clamber into his clothes. He couldn’t make out who was in it, in the blinding light; but by the time he was into his shirt and pants and ready to come downstairs, he could hear voices. Tavares and Joan Bunnell - and his son, crying out to greet them.
‘Aunt Joan!’ Chuck was babbling excitedly - it was a great day for him when there were visitors. ‘Look at what Daddy got me, Aunt Joan! A tractor. And see, I can make a farm with Alice and Alfie - see? This is my tractor, and Alice and Alfie are the cows!’ Alice and Alfie were his pet skitterbugs Hardee had captured them with the regular bag; but they were undersized, not of legal limit to bring in, so he had given them to the boy to play with for lack of a kitten or a pup.
Hardee nodded without speaking and started down the stairs. The child was pushing the quiescent skitterbugs around on the floor with the tractor, whooping with joy. In the filtered, screened-down light that came inside the prefab, they had just enough energy to try to creep out of its way.
Joan stared up at Hardee, began to speak, then caught herself. She took the boy’s arm lightly. ‘Chuck,’ she said, ‘listen to me. We have to talk to your father. Go outside and play, please.’
He stood up, his eyes wide and disturbed. ‘Oh, let me stay, Aunt Joan! My tractor’s-’
‘Please, Chuck.’
He looked up at his father, hesitated, and started towards the door. Then he paused, looking at Wakulla and Tavares; even in his child’s mind, he knew that it was not usual to see them there.
With a child’s response, an incantation against evil, he summoned up politeness: ‘Hello, Mr. Tavares. Hello, Mr. Wakulla.’ He hesitated, then remembered one more cantrip. ‘Don’t worry, Daddy,’ he piped. ‘I’ll be careful to stay in the shade.’
Joan Bunnell, torn, said:
‘There isn’t any shade. I tell you what.’ She glanced at Wakulla. ‘You’d better play in Mr. Wakulla’s jeep. Make believe you’re driving it all by yourself.’
‘Whee!’ The boy shouted gleefully. He dropped tractor and skitterbugs, flung the door open and leaped out into the sand.
Sunlight flared in.
One of the bugs - it was impossible to tell which; only the boy could tell them apart - lay squarely in the path of the sun’s rays. There was a sudden crinkling snap of sparking energy as the light it fed on struck it like a released spring, the little spidery metal thing spun around, leaped out the door and was gone.
It was like a meteorite flung up into space, so quick and glittering.
Hardee closed the door behind it and turned to face the others. ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded.
Old man Tavares sank into a chair. ‘That stranger,’ he croaked. ‘The Probation Officer told Griswold about him, and now there will be trouble. For there is a lie here, Hardee. This is not the sort of place we are told it is. It is not on Mars; we are not criminals. And there must be a reason for this lie. What reason? I do not know, but whoever is telling the lie will protect it.’
He leaned forward. ‘It may cost your life to protect it, Hardee! Others have died, and I think for the same reason - you are in danger, and, with you, all of us because of the fact that you told us!’
Hardee shook his head. He was still more than half drowsy. The world had not yet come into focus he was drugged from heat and sleep and none of this was making sense.
He said thickly: ‘What the hell are you talking about, Tavares?’
‘I am talking about death!’ said the old man. And then he stopped, and there was sudden fear on his face. ‘Listen!’
Outside, a noise. An engine. No - more than one.
‘Someone coming?’ guessed Hardee. ‘A jeep?’