Space Station 1

‘ The two men appeared to be discussing him, but when he struggled to a sitting position and stared hard at them they came toward him with reassuring smiles, and one of them said: “Take it easy, now. You’re going to be all right.”

“I ... I must have passed out,” he stammered. “I was ready to pass out before I started talking. Is this a hospital? I guess it is. I should have come here immediately. Forty hours in the desert and I arrive half-delirious and make a fool of myself.”

“Take it easy,” one of the doctors said. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself. Quite the contrary.”

Oh, brother, he thought. They’re lying to me to spare me, or something. “I have a vague recollection of not being able to stand, of talking my head off and then collapsing and making a complete fool of myself, of accomplishing nothing at all. I swung hard at two or three people. I knocked one man down, flat on his back. But that was a crazy thing to do. It's no way to win the confidence or respect of anyone.”

“Look,” one of the doctors said, taking firm hold of his shoulder and shaking him gently. “Don’t go reproaching yourself. You’ve got nine-tenths of the colony behind you.” “You mean — ”

“Sure, you convinced almost everyone. And that was a miracle in itself, considering how close to collapse you were. You were running a high fever. You were dehydrated. Your skin was as dry as a parched lichen. Yet you stood there and convinced them. That’s the gospel truth.”

“They’ve chosen you as their leader,” the second doctor said. “They’re going after Henley before it’s too late. They feel exactly as you do about Ramsey’s daughter. Not about Ramsey perhaps — but about the kidnapping of a helpless girl. None of them have any liking for Henley now.”

18

CORRISTON walked out into the central square and stood there. For a moment no one said a word. One of the doctors was there with him. He’d had a sandwich and coffee before leaving the hosiptal and his nerves felt steady and his Voice was pitched low.

“I don’t know a single one of these men, Dr. Tomlinson,” he said. “I spent a week in the colony four years ago, but I just don’t see anyone I recognize. I’m afraid you’ll have to introduce me around.”

It took a full hour to really get acquainted, to plan what had to be done, to check over the tractors, the ammunition supplies, the equipment of each and every man.

They had to cross eighty-seven miles of desert to a heavily guarded cave and then move on perhaps to Ramsey’s fortress. They had to be prepared for any eventuality.

The morale was good. Corriston could tense the grim determination in every man, the faith in their mission, the anger. It cheered him.

He walked around between the tractors, listening to stray bits of talk-, getting better acquainted with everyone as the minutes sped by.

He took out his watch and looked at it and decided that time was running short.

Give each and every man twenty minutes, he thought. Then we get rolling. Thirty caterpillar tractors and two hundred and ten men. And in the ship are two men holed up — possibly three now — with all the portable fighting equipment of a two thousand ton spaceship at their disposal. And if Henley has returned — ”

Suddenly Corriston found himself sweating in the silence, despite the cold, despite the hoar frost that was beginning to collect on the rim of his oxygen mask. There was a split second of shouting from one of the tractors and then it started up, with a coughing and spitting that drowned out the human voices.

All along the wide, rust-red street other tractors came to life. In the thin air of Mars, in the pale sky, a single blue cloud hung suspended.

It was wispy thin, incredibly thin, a hollow mockery of a cloud. But the scene below would have been less remarkable had the sky remained cloudless, for then Mars would have seemed completely unlike Earth and the human drama less compelling.

There was something tremendous in the forward march of the tractors, in the clatter and the rising dust, the shouts of the men at the controls and the women who ran swiftfooted along the sand to urge them to greater fortitude. The women knew that endurance would be needed, for twenty- first century weapons of warfare could destroy a hundred tractors and spatter the desert with blood before retaliation could become complete and justice be fully satisfied.

So the women did not weep or lament. They ran parallel with the tractors, urging their men onward, stifling their own inner fears in the greatness of the moment.