the city of Skar. I don’t know why they put me there, but they did. I was locked in. And then for a long time they didn’t bring me food, and I got so hungry that I worked a stone loose from the floor and started to scrape my way through the door. I was starving. It took me three days—Martian days, about six Earth days—to get through, and I staggered around until I found the food quarters of the building I was in. There was no one there and I ate. And then—”
“Go on,” I said. “I’m listening.”
“I went out of the building and everyone was lying in the open, in the streets, dead. Rotting.” He put his hands over his eyes. “I looked in some houses, other buildings. I don’t know why or what I was looking for, but nobody had died indoors. Everybody was lying dead in the open, and none of the bodies were withered, so it wasn’t kryl that killed them.”
“Then, as I told you, I stole the targan—or I guess I really didn’t steal it, because there was no one to steal it from—and flew around looking for someone alive. Out in the country it was the same way—everybody lying in the open, near the houses, dead. And Undanel and Zandar, the same.”
“Did I tell you Zandar’s the biggest city, the capital? In the middle of Zandar there’s a big open space, the Games Field, that’s more than an Earth-mile square. And all the people in Zandar were there, or it looked like all. Three million bodies, all lying together, like they’d gathered there to die, out in the open. Like they’d known. Like everyone, everywhere else, was out in the open, but here they were all together, the whole three million of them.”
“I saw it from the air, as I flew over the city. And there was something in the middle of the field, on a platform. I went down and hovered the targan—it’s a little like your helicopters, I forgot to mention—I hovered over the platform to see what was there. It was some kind of a column made of solid copper. Copper on Mars is like gold is on Earth. There was a push-button set with precious stones set in the column. And a Martian in a blue robe lay dead at the foot of the column, right under the button. As though he’d pushed it—and then died. And everybody else had died, too, with him. Everybody on Mars, except me.”
“And I lowered the targan onto the platform and got out and I pushed the button. I wanted to die, too; everybody else was dead and I wanted to die, too. But I didn’t. I was riding on a streetcar on Earth, on my way home from work, and my name was—”
I signaled Barney.
“Listen, Howard,” I said. “We’ll have one more beer and then you’d better get home to your wife. You’ll catch hell from her, even now, and the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be. And if you’re smart, you’ll take some candy or flowers along and think up a really good story on the way home. And not the one you just told me.”
He said, “Well—”
I said, “Well me no wells. Your name is Howard Wilcox and you’d better get home to your wife. I’ll tell you what may have happened. We know little about the human mind, and many strange things happen to it. Maybe the medieval people had something when they believed in possession. Do you want to know what I think happened to you?”
“What? For Heaven’s sake, if you can give me any explanation—except tell me that I’m crazy—”
“I think you can drive yourself batty if you let yourself think about it, Howard. Assume there’s some natural explanation and then forget it. I can make a random guess what may have happened.”
Barney came with the beers and I waited until he’d gone back to the bar. I said, “Howard, just possibly a man—I mean a Martian—named Yangan Dal did die this afternoon on Mars. Maybe he really was the last Martian. And maybe, somehow, his mind got mixed up with yours at the moment of his death. I’m not saying that’s what happened, but it isn’t impossible to believe. Assume it was that, Howard, and fight it off. Just act as though you are Howard Wilcox—and look in a mirror if you doubt it. Go home and square things with your wife, and then go to work tomorrow morning and forget it. Don’t you think that’s the best idea?”
“Well, maybe you’re right. The evidence of my senses—”
“Accept it. Until and unless you get better evidence.”
We finished off our beers and I put him into a taxi. I reminded him to stop for candy or flowers and to work up a good and reasonable alibi, instead of thinking about what he’d been telling me.
I went back upstairs in the Trib building and into Cargan’s office and closed the door behind me.
I said, “It’s all right, Cargan. I straightened him out.”
“What had happened?”
“He’s a Martian, all right. And he was the last Martian left on Mars. Only he didn’t know we’d come here; he thought we were all dead.”
“But how—How could he have been overlooked? How could he not have known?”
I said, “He’s an imbecile. He was in a mental institution in Skar and somebody slipped up and left him in his room when the button was pushed that sent us here. He wasn’t out in the open, so he didn’t get the mentaport rays that carried our psyches across space. He escaped from his room and found the platform in Zandar, where the ceremony was, and pushed the button himself. There must have been enough juice left to send him after us.”
Cargan whistled softly. “Did you tell him the truth? And is he smart enough to keep his trap shut?”
I shook my head. “No, to both questions. His I. Q. is about fifteen, at a guess. But that’s as smart as the average Earthman, so he’ll get by here all right. I convinced him he really was the Earthman his psyche happened to get into.”
“Lucky thing he went into Barney’s. I’ll phone Barney in a minute and let him know it’s taken care of. I’m surprised he didn’t give the guy a mickey before he phoned us.”
I said, “Barney’s one of us. He wouldn’t have let the guy get out of there. He’d have held him till we got there.”
“But you let him go. Are you sure it’s safe? Shouldn’t you have—”
“He’ll be all right,” I said. “I’ll assume responsibility to keep an eye on him until we take over. I suppose we’ll have to institutionalize him again after that. But I’m glad I didn’t have to kill him. After all, he is one of us, imbecile or not. And he’ll probably be so glad to learn he isn’t the last Martian that he won’t mind having to return to an asylum.”
I went back into the city room and to my desk. Slepper was gone, sent out somewhere on something. Johnny Hale looked up from the magazine he was reading. “Get a story?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said. “Just a drunk being the life of the party. I’m surprised at Barney for calling.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию
