Red Planet Read Free

between the legs of the double canal Strymon. Again we follow colonial custom in using the name assigned by the immortal Dr Percival Lowell.
    Francis accompanied Jim and Doctor MacRae as far as the junction of the tunnels under city hall, then turned down his own tunnel. A few minutes later the doctor and Jim—and Willis—ascended into the Marlowe home. Jim's mother met them; Doctor MacRae bowed. ‘Madame, I am again imposing on your good nature.’
    'Fiddlesticks, Doctor. You are always welcome at our table.’
    'I would that I had the character to wish that you were not so superlative a cook, that you might know the certain truth: it is yourself, my dear, that brings me here.’
    Jim's mother blushed. She changed the subject. ‘Jim, hang up your pistol. Don't leave it on the sofa where Oliver can get it.’
    Jim's baby brother, hearing his name, immediately made a dash for the pistol. Jim and his sister Phyllis both saw this, both yelled, ‘Ollie!’—and were immediately mimicked by Willis, who performed the difficult trick, possible only to an atonal diaphragm, of duplicating both voices simultaneously.
    Phyllis was nearer; she grabbed the gun and slapped the child's hands. Oliver began to cry, reinforced by Willis. ‘Children!’ said Mrs Marlowe, just as Mr Marlowe appeared in the door.
    'What's all the ruckus?’ he inquired mildly.
    Doctor MacRae picked up Oliver, turned him upside down, and sat him on his shoulders. Oliver forgot that he was crying. Mrs Marlowe turned to her husband. ‘Nothing, darling. I'm glad you're home. Children, go wash for dinner, all of you.’
    The second generation trooped out. ‘What was the trouble?’ Mr Marlowe repeated.
    A few moments later Mr Marlowe joined Jim in his son's room. ‘Jim?’
    'Yes, Dad.’
    'What's this about your leaving your gun where the baby could reach it?’
    Jim flushed. ‘It wasn't charged, Dad.’
    'If all the people who had been killed with unloaded guns were laid end to end it would make quite a line up. You are proud of being a licensed gun wearer, aren't you?’
    'Uh, yes, sir.’
    'And I'm proud to have you be one. It means you are a responsible, trusted adult. But when I sponsored you before the Council and stood up with you when you took your oath, I guaranteed that you would obey the regulations and follow the code, wholeheartedly and all the time—not just most of the time. Understand me?’
    'Yes, sir. I think I do.’
    'Good. Let's go in to dinner.’
    Doctor MacRae dominated the dinner table talk, as he always did, with a soft rumble of salty comments and outrageous observations. Presently he turned to Mr Marlowe and said, ‘You said something earlier about another twenty years and we could throw away our respirators; tell me: is there news about the Project?’
    The colony had dozens of projects, all intended to make Mars more livable for human beings, but the Project always meant the atmosphere, or oxygen, project. The pioneers of the Harvard-Carnegie expedition reported Mars suitable for colonization except for the all-important fact that the air was so thin that a normal man would suffocate. However they reported also that many, many billions of tons of oxygen were locked in the Martian desert sands, the red iron oxides that give Mars its ruddy color. The Project proposed to free this oxygen for humans to breathe.
    'Didn't you hear the Deimos newscast this afternoon?’ Mr Marlowe answered.
    'Never listen to newscasts. Saves wear and tear on the nervous system.’
    'No doubt. But this was good news. The pilot plant in Libya is in operation, successful operation. The first day's run restored nearly four million tons mass of oxygen to the air—and no breakdowns.’
    Mrs Marlowe looked startled. ‘Four million tons? That seems a tremendous lot.’
    Her husband grinned. ‘Any idea how long it would take that one plant at that rate to do the job, that is, increase the oxygen pressure by five mass-pounds per square inch?’
    'Of course