Robert Heinlein - Red Planet

The viewpoint from which he saw it did not change; it was frozen to one spot while the foul horror rushed directly at him in the final death charge. At the last possible instant, when the thing filled me screen, something happened. The face--or where the face should have been-disappeared, went to pieces, and the creature collapsed in a blasted ruin.

The picture was wiped out completely for a few moments, replaced by whirling colored turmoil. Then a light, sweet voice said, "Well, aren't you the cute little fellow!" The picture built up again as if a curtain had been lifted and Jim stared at another face almost as grotesque as the faceless horror it replaced.

Although this face occupied the whole screen and was weirdly distorted, Jim had no trouble in placing it as a colonial's respirator mask. What startled him almost out of the personal unawareness with which he was accepting this shadow show was that he recognized the mask. It was decorated with the very tiger stripes that Smythe had painted out for a quarter credit; it was his own, as it used to be.

He heard his own voice say, "You're too little to be wandering around by yourself; another one of those vermin might really get you. I think I'll take you home."

The scene went swinging through the canal growth at a greater height, hobbling up and down to the boy's steps. Presently the point of view came out into open country and showed in the distance the star-shaped layout and bubble domes of South Colony.

Jim adjusted to the idea of watching himself, hearing himself, and accepted the notion of seeing things from Willis's viewpoint. The record was quite unedited; it pushed forward in a straight line, a complete recollection of everything Willis had seen and heard from the time Jim had first taken him under his protection. Willis's visual recollections were not entirely accurate; they seemed to be affected by his understanding of what he saw and how used to it he was. Jim-the "Jim" in the shadow show-at first seemed to have three legs; it was some time before the imaginary excrescence vanished. Other actors, Jim's mother, old Doc MacRae, Frank, developed from formless shapes to full, though somewhat distorted, representations.

On the other hand, every sound was heard with great clarity and complete accuracy. As Jim listened and watched he found that he was savoring sounds of every sort and most especially voices with a new and rich delight.

Most especially he enjoyed seeing himself as Willis saw him. With affection and warm humor he saw himself stripped of dignity but clothed in a lively regard; he was loved but not respected. He, Jim himself, was a great bumbling servant, helpful but maddeningly unreliable in his attentions, like a poorly trained dog. As for other human beings, they were curious creatures, harmless on the whole, but unpredictable traffic hazards. This bouncer-eye view of people amused Jim mightily.

Day by day and week by week the account unfolded, even to the periods of dark and quiet when Willis chose to sleep or was shut up. It carried on to Syrtis Minor and into a bad time when Jim was missing. Howe appeared as a despised voice and a pair of legs; Beecher was a faceless nonentity. It continued, step by step, and somehow Jim was neither tired nor bored. He was simply in the continuity and could no more escape from it than could Willis-nor did it occur to him to try. At last it wound up in the Martian city of Cynia and ended in a period of dark and quiet.

Jim stretched his cramped legs; the light was returning. He looked around but Gekko was still deep in 'his trance. He looked back and found that a door had opened in what had appeared to be blank wall. He looked through and into a room beyond, decorated as Martian rooms so frequently are in careful imitation of an outdoor scene-lush countryside more like uie sea bottoms south of Cynia than like the desert.

A Martian was in the room. Jim was never able afterwards to visualize him completely for his face and particularly his eyes compelled attention. An Earthling has no good way to estimate the age of a Martian yet Jim had the unmistakable impression that this Martian was very old-older than his father, older even than Doc MacRae.

"Jim Marlowe," the native said in clear tones. "Welcome, Jim Marlowe, friend of my people and friend of mine. I give you water." He spoke in Basic English, in an accent vaguely familiar.

Jim had never heard a Martian speak an Earthly tongue before, but he knew that some of them did speak Basic. It was a relief to be able to answer in his own speech. "I drink with you. May you ever enjoy pure and plentiful water."

"I thank you, Jim Marlowe." No actual water was used and none was needed. There followed a polite period of quiet, during which Jim thought about the Martian's accent. It was oddly familiar; it put him in mind of his father's voice, again it sounded like Doc MacRae.

"You are troubled, Jim Marlowe. Your unhappiness is ours. How may I help you?"

"I don't want anything," Jim answered, "except to go home and take Willis with me. They took Willis away. They shouldn't have done that."

The silence that followed was even longer than before. At last the Martian answered, "When one stands on the ground, one may not see over the horizon-yet Phobos sees all horizons." He hesitated a moment before the word "Phobos." As if in afterthought he added, "Jim Marlowe, I have but lately learned your tongue. Forgive me if I stumble."

"Oh, you speak it beautifully!" Jim said quite sincerely.

"The words I know; the pictures are not clear. Tell me, Jim Marlowe, what is the london-zoo?"

Jim had to ask him to repeat it before it was clear that the Martian asked about the London Zoo. Jim tried to explain, but broke off before he had finished elaborating the idea. The Martian radiated such cold, implacable anger that Jim was frightened.

After a time the Martian's mood changed abruptly and Jim was again bathed in a warm glow of friendliness that poured out of his host like rays from the Sun and was as real as sunshine to Jim. "Jim Marlowe, twice you have saved the little one whom you call 'Willis' from-" He used first a Martian term not known to Jim, then changed it to "waterseekers." "Have you killed many such?"

"Uh, quite a few, I guess," Jim answered, then added, "I kill 'em whenever I see 'em. They're getting too smart to hang around the colonies much."

The Martian appeared to be thinking this over, but when he got around to answering he had again changed the subject. "Jim Marlowe, twice, perhaps three times, you have saved the little one; once, perhaps twice, our little one has saved you. Each time you have grown closer together. Day by day you have grown together until neither one of you is complete without the other. Do not leave here, Jim Marlowe. Stay. You are welcome in my house, a son and a friend." He had said "daughter" first, instead of "son," then corrected it without any comic effect nor loss of emphasis.

Jim shook his head. "I have to go home. In fact I have to go home right away. It's a mighty kind offer and I want to thank you but-" He explained as clearly as he could the threat to the welfare of the colony and the urgent need for him to carry the message. "If you please, sir, we-my friend and I-would like to be taken back where K'boomch found us. Only I want Willis back before we go."

"You wish to go back to the city where you were found? You do not wish to go home?"

Jim explained that Frank and he would go home from there. "Now, sir, why don't you ask Willis whether or not he wants to stay or to go home with me?"

The old Martian sighed exactly as Jim's father had been known to sigh after a fruitless family discussion. "There is a law of life and a law of death and both are the law of change. Even the hardest rock is worn away by the wind. You understand, my son and friend, that even if the one you call Willis returns with you, there will come a time when the little one must leave you?"