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Read Ebook: The Silver Lining: A Guernsey Story by Roussel John
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Ebook has 1654 lines and 52877 words, and 34 pages
communication
BY CHARLES FONTENAY
The first terrestrial expedition to Mars didn't find any Martians. Neither did the second. Since there are so few Martians left, those facts are less surprising than that the third did.
For many years before space flight was accomplished, there had been discussions and theories about how to communicate with Martians, if any existed. But, of course, nobody was ready when the time came.
They fell back on that antiquated gimmick.
Von Frisch, Riley and Smith watched the half dozen Martians approach, and their watching was not without some trepidation. Except that they were about twenty miles away from their G-boat--the planetary landing craft--they probably would have fled. Except that they had their orders, they probably would have shot first and asked questions later.
"Sir, this is Von Frisch," said the engineer into the microphone of his helmet. He was a little breathless about it. "We're being approached by Martians!"
"How do they act?" asked Captains Powers back at the G-boat, immediately.
"They don't act hostile, sir."
"Stand by, then, but don't take any chances. What do they look like?"
"They're quite a bit taller than we are, but their bodies are round and not much bigger than a child's. They've got real long legs and arms, and big heads with big eyes and ears."
"Are they intelligent? Are they civilized? How do they breathe?"
"Wait a minute, Captain," protested Von Frisch. "You're going a little too fast, sir. They've just come up to us. I don't know whether that's fur on them or whether they're wearing clothes."
"Well, try to communicate with them, man!" exclaimed Powers excitedly.
Von Frisch did his best. The Martians appeared friendly enough, and interested. Von Frisch tried to communicate in the only method he had heard about.
Then he stepped back and looked questioningly at the Martians.
One of the Martians squatted in a tangle of pipestem arms and legs, and with a long finger drew five lines beside the triangle's hypotenuse.
"They understand the Pythagorean theorem, sir!" exclaimed Von Frisch.
"Good! They undoubtedly know some astronomy, then. Go on."
Von Frisch hesitated a moment, then erased the triangle. He drew a small circle with rays from it, for the sun. He drew four larger concentric circles around it, with small circles for planets on the rim of each one.
He pointed to the third planet, then at himself, then at his companions, one by one. Then he pointed at the fourth planet and at the Martians, one by one. To complete the matter, he pointed at the sky.
"We are Earthmen," he said. "You are Martians."
The trouble was that the Earthmen didn't realize the things the Martians had were weapons until they used them. They didn't realize it then, as a matter of fact, because the Earthmen were dead, all three of them.
Biggs and Golden were working near the G-boat. Their helmet radios were set to a different channel from that used by the exploring party, so they were unable to hear Captain Powers shouting frantically into his microphone and getting no answer. It was just after sunset, and Biggs was looking into the west.
"We ought to see it now, but it ain't there," commented Biggs.
"What ain't there?" demanded Golden.
"Mercury," said Biggs, who prided himself on being an amateur astronomer. "I reckon you can't see it from Mars without a telescope. Too close to the sun."
He chuckled.
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"Seat yourself; here is a chair for you," said her aunt.
Ad?le took the preferred chair, and her aunt began to question her.
"So you are going to a boarding school," she said; and Ad?le felt that there was something sarcastic in her tone.
"Papa wants me to," she mumbled timidly.
Near her sat a young boy who looked a little older than Ad?le. He was mischievously occupied in knotting the skein of thread which his grandmother was using.
Ad?le resented what she knew to be a slight cast upon her dead mother's memory, but she did not speak. Her aunt had always been hostile to her, she knew not why.
Old Mrs. Soher raised her hoary head and remarked: "In my time, young girls like Ad?le used to learn to read and write,--and work."
Ad?le felt very uncomfortable. She wished her uncle would make haste and write his reply; but he sat at his desk, passing his fingers through his hair; a method with which he was familiar when puzzled. Then he rose and cast a significant glance at his wife who followed him out of the room.
The old woman espied her prankish grandson. She immediately broke out into a violent fit of scolding: too animated to be serious. "Ah! but what next, you wicked little rascal. Knotting my thread; but I'm sure. I have a mind to slap your face. Just look at what you have done. Why did you do it?"
Tommy--the little boy--giggled. "I was tired of sitting here doing nothing," he answered impudently; "why don't you tell me a story."
"Well, now, be a good boy; do you know where the bad boys will go?"
"With the devil."
"Quite right; now, you will be good."
"Tell me a tale; you know, something about the old witches," said Tommy. "How do they make people ill?" he questioned pulling impatiently at his grandmother's shawl.
"They give themselves to Satan," answered the grandmother.
"How?"
"They sign their name, writing it backwards with their own blood."
Ad?le shuddered; although she was a country girl, she had never heard anything of the sort before. She listened attentively.
"You told me they were given books; did you not?" questioned the lad.
"Yes they receive one or two infamous books, which they cannot destroy after they have taken them, neither can anyone else do away with these bad books. Yet, I remember quite well when there was one completely annihilated.
"It was when one of my aunt's died. She was a terrible witch; alas, the chairs; and all the cups and saucers, bowls and plates on the dresser danced when they carried her body out of the house."
Ad?le laughed.
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