The 22nd Golden Age of Science Fiction Read online

  “When you talk about it, it sounds very beautiful,” he said.

  “Why don’t you go see for yourself?” she asked.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to, some day, but first I have a job to do here on Mars.”

  “Oh.”

  As they walked along, he was aware that she was almost flirting with him. At least, she was being very nice. Since the world began women have had ways to show men that they like them. Harden knew that this girl liked him. And he liked her. But—

  “Good night,” he said, at the door of her hotel.

  Smiling, she thanked him for escorting her. He watched her as she went out of sight into the building, then turned away. There was a job waiting to be done here, a most difficult job. It involved rescuing the girl he had loved for years from what the Martians called the land of serenity.

  Earthmen who had been long enough on Mars to know anything about the real conditions there had many names for what the Willies called the land of serenity. There was no touch of serenity about any of the names. Earthmen who knew called the land of serenity, the world of lost hopes, never-never land, or more simply, hell.

  The land of serenity was a vast walled-off area, shut off from the rest of the planet by a most cunningly contrived barrier. There was no capital punishment on Mars. There were no prisons on the planet. Murderers, thieves, robbers, those convicted of breaking any of the more serious Martian laws, were sentenced to the land of serenity. Kicked through the barrier, dumped beyond the walls, those sentenced to this place were permitted to live out their lives in any way they saw fit. In the land of serenity the murderer could kill, the robber rob, the arsonist burn, to his heart’s content. It was a place where the only law was the strength of the strong.

  Harden knew all about the land of serenity.

  He had escaped from it.

  Now he had returned to Mars to rescue the girl he loved from it.

  * * * *

  Harden had not been sentenced to the land of serenity because of any crime he had committed. He had been born in the place. His parents had also been born there. His grandparents had made the mistake that sentenced them and their descendants forever—in accordance with strict Martian law—to the world of forgotten men. His grandparents—his grandfather as an atomic engineer and his grandmother as a dietician—had been members of the crew of the first space ship from Earth to Mars. Their mistake had been two-fold. One, in coming down they had made the error of damaging the ship beyond repair. Their, second error had been in landing in the land of serenity.

  Because they had landed there, they had had to stay. Their ship had been damaged beyond repair so they couldn’t fly away. The fact that they were the first visitors from another planet did not matter a damn to the Martians. Immemorial custom dictated that no one should be permitted to leave the land of serenity. Once there, you stayed there, or else. Later arrivals from Earth had made strong protests to the Martian government, with no results. Earthmen might have discovered space travel but the Red Planet was ruled by the Martians; the strict laws of Mars did not permit anyone to leave the land of serenity. If the prisoner had gotten there by accident, that was his tough luck. He had to stay there. Eventually the unhappy explorers had been forgotten. Finding escape almost impossible, they had made the best of the situation.

  Harden had grown up in the land of serenity. With him always, his faithful shadow and constant companion, had been a yellow-headed, freckle-faced girl—Marcia Groner. At the age of seventeen Harden had been lucky enough to escape and because he did not want the Martians to have any clue to his identity, he had assumed the name of Harden. He had fled Mars, stowing away on the first outbound spaceship. He had been discovered and kicked off at the first port of call—Venus. He was safe there but always there had remained with him the memory of Marcia Groner, still living in the Martian equivalent of hell.

  To rescue her, he had returned to Mars. He had gone to Keogh because underworld rumor had advised him that Keogh had discovered a way to escape from the land beyond the barrier, and, for a price, was aiding Martian criminals to escape. Keogh had been his big hope of rescuing Marcia. He had not known this was the same Keogh he had known on Ganymede.

  “Damn Keogh!” he thought. “I’ll rescue Marcia in spite of him.”

  In his heart he knew he had set himself an almost impossible task.

  His task speedily became more nearly impossible. He did not hear the ping of the needle gun in the dark alley but he felt the sting of the needle in his arm. He knew instantly what had happened. His hand dived for his own gun.

  When one of those needles struck you, it was ten seconds to oblivion. Harden drew his own gun, fired blindly up the alley. He tried to run. Waves of blackness swept over him. He staggered, fell, got up, fell again. This time he did not get up. Vaguely he saw the dark figures swarm out of the alley but he was completely unconscious before they dragged him off the street and back into the alley from which they had come.

  CHAPTER III

  The Land of Serenity

  Harden’s first dazed impression was that of extreme cold. He was freezing to death. An icy wind was blowing over him, chilling him to the bone. He thought he was in bed and the covers had slipped off. He reached for them, intending to pull them up. The covers evaded his grasp. He reached for them again. No blankets, no wooly fur quilts, no nothing. He got a handful of sand for his pains. Not until then did he remember the dart from the needle gun that had struck him. He sat up.

  Dawn, cold, windy, and bitter, was breaking on Mars. The sun was just peeping over the edge of the horizon, but its rays, shining across the sand, had no warmth in them.

  “Where the hell am I?” Harden thought.

  Then he saw the wall. It told him where he was. There was only one wall like this on the Red Planet. Something like the wall of ancient China, it stretched away and away into the distance, a wall of solid stone fifty feet high, its top broken at regular intervals by guard houses.

  “Where the hell am I?” Harden thought. “Where else but in hell?”

  He was in the land of serenity, the Devil’s Island of Mars. He had spent too many years gazing at that wall, wondering what was on the other side of it, not to recognize it. It was the wall that circled the horrible forbidden world!

  He had come to Mars to rescue a girl from this world. Instead he had been hurled back into it himself.

  “Why didn’t they kill me?”

  He did not doubt that Keogh was responsible for this. The reason why Keogh had not killed him was obvious: murder on Mars was punished by imprisonment here. But there was no penalty for capturing a man and dropping him over the wall. Martian custom held that every man should look out for his own neck. If he was so careless as to let an enemy capture him and drop him over the wall, that was his tough luck. Martian authorities, operating on the theory that it was better to punish ten innocent men than to let one guilty man escape, would do nothing about it.

  Harden heard the footsteps of the guard oh the wall making his regular morning rounds.

  “Hey,” he yelled. “Hey! A mistake has been made. I’m not supposed to be here.”

  The guard looked down. He was a Martian, with a stupid, sadistic face.

  “That’s too bad,” he said with mock sympathy in his voice. “But since you’re there, I guess you’ll just have to stay, unless you can sprout wings and fly over the wall.”

  “But listen,” Harden protested. “I tell you there’s been a mistake—”

  “Sure. And you made it.”

  Laughing he continued his march along the wall. Harden sank down on the sand. He was still weak from the effects of the drug the needle had released into his bloodstream. Worse than anything else was the knowledge that he was again a prisoner behind the barrier. He had tasted freedom. Now that freedom was gone forever.

>   This was the lowest moment of his life. Nothing mattered now. Nothing.

  * * * *

  He was aroused by the sound of footsteps approaching across the sand. Three Willies were coming from a low collection of buildings about a quarter of a mile away. The shout of the guard on the wall had attracted their attention. Seeing them coming, Harden got grimly to his feet. He knew what was going to happen next. The guards on the wall had drawn together to witness it.

  Harden felt in his pockets. The needle gun was gone. He had no weapon of any kind. The Martians broke into a run. Harden kept his hand in his pocket.

  “Well!” he said.

  The three Willies stopped. They eyed him thoughtfully. The hand in the pocket worried them. Clad in odds and ends of clothing, they looked like three grim scarecrows. Each one had a knife ready drawn in his hand.

  “If you come a step closer, there will be three dead Willies,” Harden observed. The hand in the pocket was bluffing them.

  The Martians looked hungrily at him, undecided about what to do. Harden knew what they wanted. He had spent too many years in this land to be uncertain about that. They weren’t going to get what they wanted, if he could help it.

  “We saw you and came to see if we could help you,” one of them said.

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “We mean no harm.”

  “No. We are quite friendly. We really came to welcome you.” They spoke in the Martian language, all nasals and harsh sibilant sounds. Each one added his bit and each one smiled to show his good intentions. The smiles did not extend to their eyes, which remained cold and calculating.

  “Beat it,” Harden said. “Before I start shooting.” He made an aggressive motion with the hand he was holding in his pocket.

  The Willies drew back. They did not understand this man. What they saw of him, they did not like. Usually persons inside the wall were easy prey. Newcomers here did not know the custom’s of the land and by the time they learned the customs, it was usually too late. The Martians fidgeted. On the wall the guards showed signs of disappointment.

  “I’m going to count three,” Harden said. “After that, I’m going to start shooting.”

  “One.

  “Two.”

  He needed to go no farther. The Martians backed hastily away.

  Harden sighed with relief. He had bluffed them. He had won this fight without having to fight.

  “Keep moving,” he said.

  “Hey!” a guard on the wall yelled.

  Harden and the three Martians looked up.

  “He’s bluffing you,” the guard shouted to the three Martians. “He hasn’t got a gun.”

  Harden swore silently. Damn that guard! Damn him anyhow!

  “Are you sure?” one of the Willies called.

  “Of course!” the guard said emphatically. “No one would be fool enough to leave a gun in the possession of a man he was going to drop over the wall, would he? He’s bluffing you. Go get him.”

  Harden knew what would happen now and he knew what he had to do—fast. The only law in this place was the law of the strong and the knives of the Martians made them stronger than he was. Like lightning, he stripped off his jacket, his trousers, shoes and socks, shirt, everything he was wearing, down to his shorts. That was what the Willies wanted—his clothes. They would take anything of value he possessed but they really wanted his clothes.

  “Here,” he said, flinging the garments at them. “You want them so badly. Take them.”

  Clad only in his shorts, he turned and walked away. Would they follow him? He thought not. He had nothing of value left, except his skin, and even a Martian could not use that.

  * * * *

  They didn’t follow him. Dividing his clothes between them, they went back to the cluster of low buildings from which they emerged. Harden followed them. He had no other place to go. In the land of serenity, it did not matter where you went. One place was as bad as any other place.

  The buildings formed a rude village. Here, if anywhere, Harden had to find food, clothing, shelter—and a weapon. Whatever happened from now on was strictly up to him. Whether he lived or died would depend on his wits—and his strength.

  Most of the houses in the village were falling to pieces. Little attempt was ever made at repairs here. What was the point in repairing a house? Somebody would only take it away from you if it looked too good. Only one structure seemed neat and orderly. Harden went here first.

  A giant of a man was lounging in the doorway. He had a great bushy beard and a heavy head of red hair that was shot through with; streaks of gray. A broad belt circled his waist. Hanging from the belt on his right was a needle gun and on his left was a long knife. He looked competent, but most of all, he was human. He watched Harden approach.

  “By gad! You’re human!” were his words of greeting. “I saw the Willies take your clothes but I thought you were a Martian.” He paused, looked Harden over closely. What he saw must have satisfied him. He opened the door and stood to one side.

  “Come in,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Harden answered. “My name is Ambrose,” the giant said. “Known hereabouts as Red Ambrose.”

  “My name is Harden.”

  “Sit down, Harden.”

  No questions were asked, no information was volunteered. Ambrose set food upon the table. Harden knew that this courtesy was strictly because he was a human and men from earth had a habit of sticking together. Because he was starving and cold, Ambrose would feed him. That much the red giant would do for any men. He would do nothing more. Everything else was up to Harden.

  Harden ate slowly and carefully. Strength flowed back into his body. The food warmed him, took the chill out of his bones. He reached for a cigarette, realized then that he had no cigarettes. Red Ambrose saw the gesture, silently offered a smoke. The cigarette was made of Martian tobacco, strong and dry, but it was soothing to the nerves. They smoked in silence. When the cigarette was finished, Harden carefully snubbed it in the tray.

  “Will you lend me a knife?” he said. Red Ambrose looked him over then, carefully weighing and measuring him. In silence he rose, walked to a wall cabinet, unlocked it.

  “Take your pick,” he said.

  * * * *

  The cabinet was full of knives.

  Harden selected one, tested the edge on his thumb, felt the heft and the balance of it. It was a good knife, it balanced well, it felt right in the hand.

  “Thank you,” Harden said.

  “Want a scabbard?”

  “No, thanks. I won’t need it.”

  “Okay. It’s as you say.”

  Harden walked to the front door, opened it, and went out. Red Ambrose gathered up the dishes, took them to the kitchen, began to wash them. He hummed softly as he worked. Carefully drying each plate, each cup and saucer, he put them in their places. Then he returned to the living room, lit a cigarette, and sat down. There was a thoughtful look on his face and he seemed to be listening for some sound that was slow in coming. He finished one cigarette, lit another one.

  There was a knock on the door. Ambrose went to open it.

  Harden stood there. He was fully clothed now. He was holding a knife, hilt foremost, toward Red Ambrose.

  “I’m returning your knife,” he said. “Thank you for lending it to me.”

  The blade of the knife was bright and clean but there was a stain on the hilt. Ambrose looked at it, looked at Harden. In the coat Harden was wearing there was a slit. It was just over the heart. There was a stain around it. Ambrose’s eyes fixed on the slit.

  “One of the Willies was wearing the coat,” Harden explained.

  “Ah—”

  Red Ambrose began to grin. The grin spread all over his face.

  “Come in, Harden,” he said. “Come in and tell me about yourself.”

>   There was respect and warm regard in his voice. Harden entered. He had won the first round in the battle for his life in the land of serenity. He had won his clothes back, and he had a weapon. He had three weapons in fact, the knives he had taken from the three Martians who had robbed him of his clothes. But more than anything else—because in this place it was priceless—he had won a friend.

  “Sit down. Have a cigarette. And tell me about yourself,” Red Ambrose said. “Maybe we can work together in this hell hole.”

  “Thank you,” Harden said. “As for working with you, nothing would suit me better. About myself—”

  He told the story of his life, how he had been born in this place, how he had escaped, why he had returned, and what had happened to him. Red Ambrose listened in silence.

  “Keogh, eh?” he said at last. “I happen to know the man myself.” A grim note crept into his voice. “In fact, he is responsible for my being here.”

  “You too!”

  “Yeah,” Red Ambrose drawled. “And if you would like some help in cutting his throat, you’ve come to the right place.”

  “I would like nothing better,” Harden said. “But,” he wryly added, “cutting Keogh’s throat will be difficult. He is out and we are in.”

  “Maybe not so difficult,” Ambrose stated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this. Not two weeks ago I saw Keogh. A lot of Willies were with him. He was right here, in the land of serenity, right here in this same hellhole we’re in.”

  “What?” Harden had risen to his feet. “Then that means—”

  “It means Keogh has a way of getting in and out of this place. It means if we can find how he does it, maybe we can get out too.”

  “Lord!” Harden said. The word was a prayer. “If we could! If! But first—first I must find a girl.”