“I so move!”
“I second!”
“Question!”—”Question!”
“Is there debate?” asked Marlowe.
“Just a moment, Mr. Chairman—” The speaker was one Humphrey Gibbs, a small precise individual. “—we are acting hastily and, if I may say so, not in proper procedure. We have not exhausted our possible reliefs. We should communicate with Mr. Beecher. It may be that there are good reasons for this change in policy—”
“How are you going to like a hundred below!”
“Mr. Chairman, I really must insist on order.”
“Let him have his say,” Marlowe ordered.
“As I was saying, there may be good reasons, but the Company board back on Earth is perhaps not fully aware of conditions here. If Mr. Beecher is unable to grant us relief, then we should communicate with the board, reason with them. But we should not take the law into our own hands. If worse comes to worst, we have a contract; if forced to do so, we can always sue.” He sat down.
MacRae got up again. “Anybody mind if I talk? I don't want to hog the proceedings.” Silence gave approval; he went on, “So this pantywaist wants to sue! With the temperature outside a hundred and thirty below by the time he has ‘exhausted his means’— and us!—and with the rime frost a foot deep on the ground he wants it put on some judge's calendar, back on Earth, and hire a lawyer!
“If you want a contract enforced, you have to enforce it yourself You know what lies behind this; it showed up last season when the Company cut down on the household allowance and started charging excess baggage. I warned you then—but the board was a hundred million miles away and you paid rather than fight. The Company hates the expense of moving us, but more important they are bloody anxious to move more immigrants in here faster than we can take them; they think they see a cheap way out by keeping both North Colony and South Colony filled up all the time, instead of building more buildings. As Sister Gibbs put it, they don't realize the conditions here and they don't know that we can't do effective work in the winter.
“The question is not whether or not we can last out a polar winter; the Eskimo caretakers do that every season. It isn't just a matter of contract; it's a matter of whether we are going to be free men, or are we going to let our decisions be made for us on another planet, by men who have never set foot on Mars!
“Just a minute—let me finish! We are the advance guard. When the atmosphere project is finished, millions of others will follow. Are they going to be ruled by a board of absentee owners on Terra? Is Mars to remain a colony of Earth? Now is the time to settle it!”
There was dead silence, then scattered applause. Marlowe said, “Is there more debate?”
Mr. Sutton got up. “Doc has something there. It was never in my blood to love absentee landlords.”
Kelly called out, “Right you are, Pat!”
Jim's father said, “I rule that subject out of order. The question before the house is to migrate, at once, and nothing else. Are you ready for the question?”
They were—and it was carried unanimously If any refrained from voting, at least they did not vote against. That matter settled, by another ballot they set up an emergency committee, the chairman to hold power subject to review by the committee, and the committee's decisions to be subject to review by the colony.
James Marlowe, Senior, was elected chairman. Doctor Mac-Rae's name was proposed but he refused to let it be considered. Mr. Marlowe got even with him by sticking him on the committee.
SOUTH COLONY HELD AT THE TIME FIVE HUNDRED AND NINE persons, from the youngest baby to old Doc MacRae. There were eleven scooters on hand; enough but barely enough to move everyone at one time, provided they were stacked almost like freight and each person was limited to a few pounds only of hand baggage. A routine migration was usually made in three or more sections, with extra scooters provided from Syrtis Minor.
Jim's father decided to move everyone at once and hope that events would permit sending back for personal possessions. The squawks were many, but he stood by his guns, the committee ratified and no one tried to call a town meeting. He set dawn Monday as the zero hour.
Kruger was allowed to keep his office; Marlowe preferred to run the show from his own. But Kelly, who remained a sort of de facto chief of police, was instructed to keep a constant watch over him. Kelly called Marlowe Sunday afternoon. “Hey, chief, what do you know? A couple of Company cops just arrived by scooter to take your boy and the Sutton kid back to Syrtis.”
Marlowe considered it. Kruger must have phoned Beecher the moment he heard that the boys were home, he decided. “Where are they now?”
“Right here, in Kruger's office. We arrested them.”
“Bring them over. I'd like to question them.”
“Right.”
They showed up shortly, two very disgruntled men, disarmed and escorted by Kelly and an assistant. “That's fine, Mr. Kelly. No, no need to stay—I'm armed.”
When Kelly and his deputy had left, one of the Company men said, “You can't get away with this, you know.”
“You're not hurt,” Marlowe said reasonably, “and you'll get your guns back presently. I just want to ask you some questions.” But all he had gotten out of them, several minutes later, was a series of begrudged negative answers. The intracolony phone sounded again; Kelly's face appeared on the screen. “Chief? You wouldn't believe it—”
“Wouldn't believe what?”
“That old fox Kruger has skipped in the scooter those two birds came in on. I didn't even know he could drive.”
Marlowe's calm face concealed his feelings. After a short time he answered, “Departure time is stepped up to sundown, today. Drop everything and get the word around.” He consulted a chart. “That's two hours and ten minutes from now.”
The squawks were louder even than before; nevertheless as the Sun touched the horizon, the first scooter got under way. The rest followed at thirty-second intervals. As the Sun disappeared the last one shoved off and the colony was headed north on its seasonal migration.
“WE'RE BOXED IN!”
FOUR OF THE SCOOTERS WERE OLDER TYPES AND SLOWER, less than two hundred miles per hour top speed. They were placed in the van as pacesetters. Around midnight one of them developed engine trouble; the column had to slow down. About 3 a.m. it quit completely; it was necessary to stop and distribute its passengers among the other scooters—a cold and risky business.
MacRae and Marlowe climbed back into the headquarters car, last in the column. The doctor glanced at his watch. “Planning to stop in Hesperidum now, Skipper?” he asked as the scooter started up. They had passed Cynia Station without stopping; Hesperidum lay a short distance ahead, with Syrtis Minor some seven hundred miles beyond it.
Marlowe frowned. “I don't want to. If we lay over at Hesperidum, that means waiting until sundown for ice and a full day's loss of time. With Kruger ahead of us that gives Beecher a whole day in which to figure out a way to stop us. If I were sure the ice would hold after sunrise long enough for us to get there—” He stopped and chewed his lip.
Back at South Colony it was early winter and the canal ice would remain hard until spring, but here they were already close to the equator; the canals froze every night and thawed every day under the extreme daily changes in temperature permitted by Mars’ thin blanket of air. North of the equator, where they were headed, the spring floods from the melting northern polar cap had already started; ice formed in the flooding canal currents at night, but it was floe ice, riding with the current, and night clouds helped to save the daytime heat.
“Suppose you do go on through, what's your plan, Skipper?” MacRae persisted.
“Go straight to the boat basin, ramp the scooters, and load whatever boats are there. As soon as the ice is rotten enough for the boats to break through it, start them north. I'd like to have a hundred and fifty or so of us out of Syrtis Minor and headed north before Beecher recovers from his surprise. I haven't any real plan except to ke
ep forcing events so that he doesn't have time to plan, either. I want to hand him a set of accomplished facts.”
MacRae nodded.”Audacity, that's the ticket. Go ahead with it.”
“I want to, but I'm afraid of the ice. If a scooter breaks through there'll be people killed—and my fault.”
“Your drivers are smart enough to spread out in echelon once the Sun is up. Jamie, I found out a long time ago that you have to take some chances in this life. Otherwise you are just a vegetable, headed for the soup pot.” He paused and peered out past the driver.”I see a light ahead that ought to be Hesperidum. Make up your mind, Jamie.”
Marlowe did not answer. After a time the light was behind them.
When the Sun came up Marlowe had his driver cut out of column and take the lead. It was near nine when they passed Syrtis Minor scooter station, without stopping. They ploughed on past the space port and turned right into the boat basin that marked the terminus of the main canal from the north. Marlowe's driver drove onto the ramp while he was still lowering his crawling gear, with no respect for his runners. The lead car crawled far along the ramp and parked; the others closed in behind it.
Out of the headquarters car climbed Marlowe, Kelly, and MacRae, followed by Jim, carrying Willis. Other scooter doors opened and people started getting out. “Tell them to get back into their cars, Kelly,” Mr. Marlowe snapped. Hearing this, Jim placed himself behind his father and tried to avoid attracting attention.
Marlowe stared angrily at the basin. There was not a boat in it. Across the basin one small launch was drawn up on skids, its engine dismounted. Finally Marlowe turned to MacRae. “Well, Doc, I'm up a tree; how do I get down?”
“You are no worse off than if you had stopped at Hes-peridum.”
“And no better.”
A man came out of one of the row of warehouses ringing the basin and approached them. “What's all this?” he inquired, staring at the parked scooters. “A circus?”
“It's the seasonal migration.”
“Wondered when you folks were coming through. Hadn't heard anyting about it.”
“Where are all the boats?”
“Still spread out here and there, at the Project camps mostly, I suppose. Not my responsibility. Better call the traffic office.”
Marlowe frowned again. “At least you can tell me where the temporary quarters are.” To take care of the relays of colonists a warehouse was always set aside at each migration and fitted up as a barracks; the one Company hostelry, Hotel Marsopolis, had only twenty beds.
The man looked puzzled. “Now that you mention it, I don't know of any such preparations being made. Looks like the schedule was kind of fouled up, doesn't it?”
Marlowe swore, realizing his question had been foolish. Beecher, of course, had made no preparations for a migration he did not intend to permit. “Is there a phone around here?”
“Inside, in my office—I'm the warehouse storekeeper. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” said Marlowe and started off. MacRae followed him.
“What's your plan, son?”
“I'm going to call Beecher.”
“Do you think that's wise?”
“Confound it, I've got to get those people out of those cars. There are young babies in there—and women.”
“They're safe.”
“Look, Doc, Beecher has got to do something about it, now that we're here.”
MacRae shrugged. “You're the cook.”
Marlowe argued his way past several secretaries and finally got Beecher on the screen. The Agent General looked out at him without recognition. “Yes? Speak up, my good man, what is this urgent business?”
“My name is Marlowe. I'm executive chairman of the colonists from South Colony. I want to know—”
“Oh, yes! The famous Mr. Marlowe. We saw your tattered army coming through.” Beecher turned away and said something in an aside. Kruger's voice answered him.
“Well, now that we are here, what are you going to do about us?”
“Do? Isn't that obvious? As soon as the ice forms tonight you can all turn around and go back where you came from. All except you—you stay here for trial. And your son, if I recall correctly.”
Marlowe held his temper. “That isn't what I mean. I want living space, with cooking and toilet accommodations, for five hundred people.”
Beecher waved the problem away. “Let them stay where they are. A day won't hurt them. Teach them a lesson.”
Marlowe started to answer, thought better of it and switched off. “You were right, Doc. There was no point in talking with him.”
“Well—no harm done, either.”
They went outside, there to find that Kelly had strung a line of his deputies around the scooters. “After you went inside, Boss, I got uneasy, so I stationed some of the boys around.”
“You're a better general than I am,” Marlowe told him. “Any trouble?”
“One of Beecher's cops showed up, but he went away again.”
“Why didn't you grab him?” asked MacRae.
“Well, I wanted to,” Kelly answered, “but he kept going when I yelled at him. I couldn't stop him without shooting, so I let him go.”
“Should have winged him,” said MacRae.
“Should I have?” Kelly said to Marlowe.”I was tempted to, but I didn't know where we stood. Is this a shooting war, or is it just a row with the Company?”
“You did right,” Marlowe assured him.”There will be no shooting unless Beecher starts it.” MacRae snorted. Marlowe turned to him. “You disagree?”
“Jamie, you put me in mind of a case I ran into in the American West. A respected citizen shot a professional gunslinger in the back. When asked why he didn't give the other chap a chance to draw, the survivor said, ‘Well, he's dead and I'm alive and that's how I wanted it to be.’ Jamie, if you use sportsmanship on a known scamp, you put yourself at a terrible disadvantage.”
“Doctor, this is no time to swap stories. I've got to get these people safely housed and at once.”
“That's my point,” persisted MacRae. “Finding housing isn't the first thing to do.”
“What is it, then?”
“Set up a task force of your best shots and send them over to grab Beecher and the Company offices. I volunteer to lead it.”
Marlowe gestured angrily. “Out of the question. At present we are a group of citizens going about our lawful occasions. One move like that and we're outlaws.”
MacRae shook his head. “You don't see the logic of the actions you've already taken. You know that water runs downhill, but you think—praise God!—it'll never reach the bottom. In Beecher's books you are an outlaw now. All of us.”
“Nonsense, we're just enforcing our contract. If Beecher behaves, we'll behave.”
“I'm telling you, son—the way to grasp a nettle is firmly.”
“Doctor MacRae, if you are so sure how this matter should be conducted, why did you refuse to accept leadership?”
MacRae turned red. “I beg your pardon, sir. What are your orders?”
“You know Syrtis better than I do. Where is a building we can commandeer as a barracks?”
Jim decided that this was a good time to come out of hiding. “Dad,” he said, coming around in front of him, “I know where we are and the school is—”
“Jim, I've no time to chat. Get in the car.”
“But, Dad, it's only about ten minutes’ walk!”
“I think he's got something,” put in the doctor. “The school will have real beds for the kids, and a kitchen.”
“Hmmm … very well. Possibly we should use both schools and put the women and small children in the girls’ school.”
“Jamie,” advised the doctor, “at the risk of getting my ears batted down again, I say ‘no.’ Don't divide your forces.”
“I didn't really want to. Kelly!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get them all out and put a deputy in charge of each car party to keep them toget
her. We're moving out.”
“Right.”
There is very little foot traffic in the streets of the Earth settlement at Syrtis Minor; pedestrians prefer to go by tunnel. The few they did meet seemed startled but no one bothered them.
The pressure lock at the school's front door could hold about twenty people at a time. As the outer door opened after the second load, Howe stepped out. Even with his mask on it could be seen that he was angry. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Willis took one look at him and closed up. Jim got behind his father. Marlowe stepped forward. “We're sorry but we've got to use the school as an emergency shelter.”
“You can't do that. Who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Marlowe. I'm in charge of the migration.”
“But—” Howe turned suddenly, pushed his way through the crowd and went inside.
Nearly thirty minutes later Marlowe, MacRae, and Kelly went inside with the last party. Marlowe directed Kelly to station guards on the inside at each door. MacRae considered suggesting a string of armed guards around the outside of the building, but he held his tongue.
Mr. Sutton was waiting for Marlowe in the entrance hall. “A news flash from Mrs. Palmer, Chief—she says to tell you that chow will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Good! I could use a bite myself.”
“And the school's regular cook is sulking in the dining room. She wants to talk to you.”
“You deal with her. Where is Howe?”
“Derned if I know. He went through here like a destroying angel.”
A man pressed forward through the crowd—the entrance hall was jammed, not only with colonists but with students, each of whom wanted to see the excitement. Reunions were going on all around, between parents and sons. Kelly was pounding a slightly smaller replica of himself on the back, and was himself being pounded. The babble was deafening. The man who had forced his way forward put his mouth to Marlowe's ear and said, “Mr. Howe is in his office. He's locked himself in; I've just come from trying to see him.”
“Let him stay,” decided Marlowe. “Who are you?”