Robert Heinlein - Red Planet

"Well, I hadn't thought about it."

"I have. They arc going to get exactly no place. Now Dad is a good engineer with a lot of savvy. You give him equipment and materials and he'll build you anything. But what's he got to work with now? For equipment he's got the school workshop and you know what a sad mess that is. The Company never spent any real money on equipping it; it's about right for making book ends. Materials? What are they going to make a shield out of? Dining-room tabletops? A heater would cut through a tabletop like soft cheese."

"Oh, there must be something around they can use."

"You name it."

"Well, what do you want us to do?" Jim said in exasperation. "Surrender?"

"Certainly not. The old folks are stuck in a rut. Here's where we show finesse-using your idea."

"Quit calling it my idea. I haven't got any idea." "Okay, I'll take all the credit. We get word to Gekko that we need help. He's our water friend; he'll see to it."

"How can Gekko help us? Martians don't fight."

"That's right, but, as it says in geometry, what's the corollary? Human beings never fight Martians, never. Beecher can't risk offending the Martians. Everybody knows what a terrible time the Company had persuading the Martians that it was all right to let us settle here in the first place. Now just suppose that about twenty or thirty Martians-or even onecame stomping up to the front door of this place: what do Beecher's cops do?

"Huh?"

"They cease fire, that's what they do-and we come swarming out. That's what Gekko can do for us. He can fix it so that Beecher is forced to call off his gun toters."

Jim thought about it. There was certainly merit in what Frank had to say. Every human who set foot on Mars had it thoroughly drummed into him that the natives must not be interfered with, provoked, nor their customs violated-nor, above all things, hurt. The strange and distressing history of the first generation of contact with the Martians had resulted in this being the first law of the extraterritorial settlements on Mars. Jim could not imagine Beecher violating this rule-nor could he imagine one of the Company police doing so. In normal times the principal duty of the police was the enforcement of this rule, particularly with respect to tourists from Earth, who were never allowed to come in contact with natives.

"There is just one thing wrong with your idea, Frank. Supposing Gekko and his friends were willing to come to our rescue, how in the name of mud are we going to let him know that we need help? We can't just call him on the phone."

"No, we can't-but that is where you come in. You can send him a message."

"How?"

"Willis."

"You're crazy!"

"Am I now? Suppose you go out that front door-fsst! You're fertilizer. But suppose Willis goes out? Who's going to shoot a bouncer?"

"I don't like it. Willis might get hurt."

"If we just sit tight and do nothing, you'll wish he was dead. Beecher will sell him to the London Zoo."

Jim considered this unpleasant probability, then answered, "Anyhow, your scheme is fall of holes. Even if he gets outside safely, Willis couldn't find Gekko and couldn't be depended on to deliver a message. He'd be just as likely to sing or recite some of Doc's bum jokes. I've got a better idea."

"Convince me."

"I'll bet that Beecher's plug-uglies didn't think to keep watch on the garbage dump. I'll deliver the message to Cekko myself."

Frank thought it over. "No good. Even if they aren't really watching the dump, they can see you from the comer where they are watching the back door. They'd nail you before you could scramble to your feet."

"I'll wait till dark."

"Mmmm... could work. Only I'll do it. I'm faster on my feet than you are."

"Look who's talking!"

"All right, all right! We'll both do it-an hour apart." Frank went on, "But that doesn't cut Willis out of it. He'll try it, too. One of us might get through. Now wait a minuteyou underrate your little pal. We'll teach him just what he's to say. That'll be easy. Then you tell him to go over into the native city, and stop the first Martian he meets and recite his piece. The Martian does the rest because we'll put it all into the message. The only question is whether or not Willis is bright enough to do as you tell him and go over into Syrtis Minor proper. I've got grave doubts about that."

Jim bristled. "You're always trying to make out that Willis is stupid. He's not; you just don't understand him."

"Okay, then he can find his way over to the city and deliver the message. Or can't he?"

"Well-I don't like it."

"Which do you prefer, to take a small risk with Willis or to have your mother and your baby brother have to spend the winter at South Colony?"

Jim chewed his lip in a manner just like his father. "All right-we'll try it. Let's go get Willis."

"Don't get in a rush. Neither you nor I know the native language well enough to whip up just what we want to say. But Doc does. He'll help us."

"He's the only one of the grown-ups I'd want to trust with this anyhow. Come on."

They found MacRae easily enough, but were not able to speak with him at once. He was in the communications booth, bellowing at the screen. They could hear his half of the conversation. "I want to talk to Doctor Rawlings. Well, get him, get him-don't sit there chewing your pencil! Tell him it's Doctor MacRae.... Ah, good day. Doctor!.. .No, I just got here... How's business. Doctor? Still cremating your mistakes?... Well, don't we all... Sony, I can't; I'm locked up...Locked up, I said...-L.. .0. ..C. ..K.. .E.. .D up, like a disorderly drunk... No reason, none at all. It's that simian moron, Beecher... Yes, hadn't you heard? The entire colony, penned up in the little red schoolhouse... shoots us down if we so much as stick our noses out... No, I'm not joking. You know Skinny Pottle-he and his wife were killed not two hours ago. Burned down in cold blood, never had a chance... Damn it, man, I don't joke. Come see for yourself and find out what kind of a madman you have ruling you here. The cadavers were still out in the street in front of the school the last time I looked. We don't dare drag mem in and lay them out decently... I said-" The screen suddenly went blank. MacRae swore and fiddled with the controls. Nothing happened.

Presently, by experiment, he realized the instrument had been cut off completely. He came out, shrugging. "Well, they finally caught on to me," he remarked to the room in general, "but I talked to three key men."

"What were you doing. Doc?" asked Jim.

"Starting a little backfire, some fifth column activity behind Beecher's lines. There are good people everywhere, son, but you have to spell it out for them."

"Oh. Look, Doc, could you spare us some time?"

"What for? Your father has a number of things for me to do, Jim."

"This is important." They got MacRae aside and explained to him their plans.

MacRae looked thoughtful. "It just might work. It's worth a whirl. That notion of making use of Martian inviolability is positively Machiavellian, Frank; you should go into politics. However, about the other stunt-the garbage-can paratrooper act-if you ask your father, he'll veto it."

"Can't you ask him? He'll listen to you."

"I said 'If you ask your father,' you idjut. Do I have to wipe your nose for you?"

"Oh. I get you."

"About the other matter-chase up the little beastie and meet me in classroom 'C'; I'm using it as an office."

Jim and Frank left to do so. Jim found his mother and Oliver asleep, his sister and Willis gone. He had started to leave when his mother woke up. "Jimmy?"

"I didn't mean to wake you. Mother. Where's Phyl? I want to find Willis."

"Your sister is in the kitchen, I think, helping out. Isn't Willis here? He was here on the bed with baby and me."