DEATH OF A MARTIAN
Peter Freewheel



Lug cursed as he picked up the whiskey bottle and smashed it against the far wall. "Filthy blue scum!" he cursed. 

"Calm down, Lug," his mate, Dog, advised, putting his arm around the other's shoulder to try and calm him down. 

"What do you know about it?" Lug slurred in a drunken blur. "It wasn't your wife..." 

"We don't know it was them," Dog said, trying to reason with him. "This whole planet is a melting pot of races.." 

"I heard what she said," Lug cursed. "Martian" He looked around him wildly. "And I saw the devil running around a corner. I'm going out for a drink," he decided. "This place stinks." 

"I don't think that's very wise, in your condition," Dog said. "The best thing you can do is lie down and go to sleep." 

"Don't tell me what to do," Lug retorted sharply. "I've eaten bigger men than you for breakfast." As if to emphasise his statement he waved a large hairy fist in front of Dog's face. He looked down at the hand that Dog had placed on his arm a few moments earlier. "Let me pass," he ordered. 

"You're in no state," Dog protested. 

Lug finished the argument by pushing his mate aside. As Dog stumbled back to his feet Lug's fist made contact with his jaw and knocked him into a crumpled heap on the floor. 

The next morning Dog got out of bed, rubbing his jaw and saw Lug lying on the bed next to him. He walked over and threw a tumbler of water over the sleeping man. Lug woke up spluttering. He gaped at Dog for a moment with wild anger in his eyes, and then his face filled with fear and despair as if he'd just remembered something. 

"What's the matter?" Dog asked, noting the change in his companion's attitude. 

"Something happened last night," Lug muttered. 

"Yeah, I know," Dog replied, fingering his jaw. "Still, that's past history; we all get carried away when we're drunk. I guess you were upset over the tenth anniversary of your wife's death, being back on the same planet as well. You were carrying on about it a lot." 

"No," the other man whispered. "It wasn't that - although it was really." 

"What in the name of space are you going on about?" Dog asked. 

"Last night," Lug muttered, "I think that I killed someone - a Martian." 

"You did what!" Dog gasped. 

"Killed a Martian," Lug repeated. "Only I'm not sure." 

"Not sure?" Dog replied, laughing nervously. "That's not something to be hazy about. What happened?" 

"Well, I went down to the riverside and had a few drinks. I guess I was a bit far gone - it's all a bit hazy. Anyway, when they chucked us out at closing time I was staggering along the waterfront, and I bumped into a Martian. As I wasn't feeling too friendly towards Martians I started a fight with him. I knocked him into the water and he never came up." 

"You stupid fool!" Dog cursed. 'We'll have to get the hell off this planet before his death is discovered." 

"Yeah, I guess so," Lug replied. 

"Get up then," Dog cursed angrily. 'We'd better get down to the spaceport and see if we can book aboard an outgoing spaceship." 

"No, I'm sorry," the clerk behind the employment desk at the spaceport stated. "There are no jobs available for crewmen aboard any spaceships." 

"But that's crazy," Dog replied, "there's got to be. There are alway vacancies." 

"But I'm telling you there aren't," the clerk insisted. 

"Okay," Dog said. '"What's the big idea?" 

"What do you mean?" the clerk asked. 

"Giving us this talk about no jobs being available. Don't you like the look of us or something?" 

"But it's the truth," the clerk replied. "Haven't you heard the news?" 

"What's that?" Dog grunted. 

"All the spaceport ground crews have gone on strike for a month. No-one can come or go until the strike is over. Every ship is grounded. What's more, there seems to be little hope of an early settlement." 

"Oh, no," Dog groaned. "What a lousy break!" 

"Anyway, apart from that," the clerk continued, "no ships would be leaving the planet today, strike or no strike. The word's just come in that a very high- ranking Martian official has gone missing. They suspect that he's been kidnapped and they're going over the whole town with a fine tooth-comb." 

"A high-ranking Martian official?" Lug asked. 

"Yeah," the clerk explained. "Quite a big noise in the Terran Federation set up. If anyone's captured him they've taken on a whole lot of trouble. The Security Force have been told not to rest until they find him." 

"And you say there isn't any chance of getting a ship off this dump?" Dog asked in desperation. 

"Well," the clerk replied slowly, "it depends how badly you want to be space-bound." 

"Real bad," Lug replied. "The stars are calling me." 

"There's a man I know who needs a crew real urgent," the clerk explained. 

"But I thought you said that no ships are leaving the planet?" 

"Listen," the clerk muttered, "don't ask any questions. If you want to be space-bound real bad you'd better go and see my friend. All I do is to pass on the message. If you're interested he'll give you the details." 

"Okay," Dog decided. "Where do we find him?" 

"Here," the clerk replied, scribbling on a scrap of paper. "Here's the address," 

The two men quickly went round to the address the clerk had given them, a sprawling house out in the country. They were let in when they explained why they'd come. 

"The facts of the matter are," their unnamed employer explained, "that I've got a cargo that I must get off this planet before it degenerates, If you've heard about Ghfert, you will understand my dilemma. In it's present state it's very valuable, but it quickly degenerates and becomes worthless. I have a contact on Spica 4 who is just waiting for me to get it to him, and he has the necessary preserving equipment. I did have a crew who were willing to make the journey, and risk the consequences, but when they heard that the Space Patrol had banned all take-offs they walked out on me. If the cargo isn't despatched today it won't reach Spica before it degenerates. I'm willing to pay each of you a thousand credits, with a further thousand apiece if you make the delivery on time. What do you say?" 

"You've got a crew," Dog decided. 

"Good," the man replied. "The ship's been programmed, so it's all ready to go." 

"And so are we," Lug added. 

After being briefed, and having given the ship a final check, they blasted off from their employer's private launching station, managing to get free of the planet's atmosphere without incident. It wasn't until their ship had set course for Spica that radio silence was broken by the Space Patrol. A face flashed up on the vizor. 

"This is the Space Patrol," the face announced. "Cut your motors and go into orbit or you will be destroyed." 

Lug looked at the face on the screen. "A Martian!" he cursed. He swivelled violently in his chair and before Dog could protest, he had sent off a nuclear torpedo towards the Space Patrol ship. A flash of light that illuminated the entire area for long seconds confirmed that the pursuers had been caught with their energy screens down. All that remained of the patrol ship was a mass of twisted debris. 

"Have you gone crazy?" Dog cursed. 

"Bloody Martians," Lug replied. "It was all their fault that we got into this situation in the first place." 

"But you can't destroy a Space Patrol ship and get away with it," Dog protested. 

"The man told us that this ship could out run any Patrol craft, and we can soon lose them in hyperspace." 

"Then lets get into hyperspace before we have a whole fleet on our tail," Dog muttered, regarding the scanner anxiously. 

"Don't worry," his companion answered. "They'll never catch us." 

"Don't talk too fast," Dog said, anxiety in his tone. "There's a whole fleet of ships just lifted from the planet." 

"We're picking up speed fast," Lug replied confidently. We'll enter hyperspace in 1.84 minutes." 

"Oh no," Dog gasped. "There's one Space Patrol ship drawing away from the others. It is going faster than us!" 

"That's impossible," Lug mumbled. "This is one of the latest ships; nothing can go faster than us. After all, that's why the chap who's employing us bought it." 

"You're wrong about nothing faster," Dog corrected. "There's the ZX67." 

"Yeah," Lug agreed, "but the Space Patrol has them all based near Earth. There are none in this region of the Galaxy." 

"I'm afraid you're wrong," Dog muttered hopelessly. "I've just got visual contact with the ship that's drawn away from the others. It is a ZX67." 

"It can't be," Lug protested. 

"But it is. Admittedly it won't overhaul us before we enter hyperspace, but I've computed that it'll come into firing range any second now." 

His statement was backed up by the blast of a nuclear torpedo rocking their ship as it exploded against their energy screen. 

"We won't be able to take many like that," Dog said. 

"Don't worry," Lug said impatiently. "We'll soon be in hyperspace, and then all our troubles will be over." 

The ship was rocked violently again, then swiftly, five more times in succession, as six more nuclear torpedoes struck home. The last explosion mingled with a dull roar from the rear of the ship." 

"Screens gone!" Lug muttered. 

"That's not all," Dog added. 'We've lost the power to the warp motors. We can't pass the speed of light." 

"Then we're finished," Lug moaned. 

"I don't know," Dog confessed. "They obviously saw our energy screens go down, but they haven't finished us off." 

"Probably just reloading or something," Lug suggested nervously. 

"No." Dog shook his head. "I think they're probably under the impression that we've got that Martian VIP aboard. They won't destroy us if that's the case; they'll try and cripple us so they can get on board." 

"They'll get us in the end though," Lug pointed out gloomily. 

"Not necessarily," Dog countered. "There's a planet ahead, I know a bit about it. If we can land there we might be able to lose them." 

"It's going to be a bit dodgy landing outside of a spaceport, isn't it? We don't know the extent of the damage that last blast did to us." 

"We'll have to risk it," Dog insisted. "As far as I can see it's our only chance. All they've got to do is hear from that planet that they've found the body of that dead Martian VIP in the river and we'll be part of the debris formed by a nuclear missile hitting us squarely amidships." 

"Yeah, I guess so," Lug conceded. 

Dog began to programme the computer's input feed with the revised course, as Lug watched the Space Patrol ship, narrowing the distance between them with every second that passed. 

"I'm ready," Dog stated at last, feeding the final detail into the computer. 

"There's just one thing," Lug asked. 'What makes you think we can get that ZX67 off our tail?" 

"I'm going to make a sudden alteration to our course," Dog explained. "By the time they're able to follow us we'll be hidden from their scanners as we shall be on the blind side of the planet, relevant to their position." 

"And what exactly is this alteration to course?" Lug demanded. 

"You're about to see," Dog said. 'We're going into full power reverse!" 

"But that's madness!" his shipmate exclaimed. "It'll rip the motors apart." Any further protests that he might have considered voicing were drowned in the screams of the protesting motors as they were ripped into reverse. 

"Hold tight," Dog yelled. 'We're going down to the planet." 

The motors protested again as the ship lurched violently yet again. "We're out of control!" Lug screamed as the motors died away and the ship began to spiral down towards the planet's surface. 

"Switch to automatic," Dog ordered. "Fire all retro-rockets." 

"They won't save us," Lug said, almost hysterically. "We're going too fast!" The ship plunged down through the atmosphere, the retro-rockets belching red fire. The ship screamed over a wooded expanse and finally made contact with the surface on a soft, sandy desert. The ship ploughed on through the sand, bumping across several miles before it finally came to rest. 

Lug staggered up from the floor where he had been flung by the shock of the ship's impact, having been flung violently from wall to wall as the battered craft ploughed it's way through the dunes. He felt his limbs gingerly, marvelling at the fact that he seemed to have come through the entire incident unscathed. Dog seemed not to have fared so well. He was lying motionless on the floor, a large gash in his head from which blood oozed perpetually. Lug hurried over to him, and, kneeling beside his injured comrade, lifted his head up. Dog opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "Looks like I miscalculated a little," he whispered. 

"It wasn't your fault," Lug muttered. "I'm to blame for all this. I got you into this mess. I'll take the whole blame. I'll radio for the Patrol and get you into hospital." 

"It's too late for that," Dog croaked. "I'm done for." 

"If only there was something I could do," Lug muttered. "I feel so guilty." 

"Don't," Dog said, coughing up a stream of blood. "I guess it's about time I confessed," he added. 

"Confessed to what?" Lug asked. 

"Killing your wife. It was sort of funny really - I thought she was leading me on; we had planned to go away together, you see. I believed she'd decided to stay with you. I faced her out with it, and she hit me. I guess I sort of lost control of myself. If that Martian hadn't disturbed me I could have dumped her body in the river. As it was I had to swim for it. I guess the Martian thought he'd get the blame and ran off." He smiled weakly and coughed up more blood. "Don't call the Space Patrol," he said. "You have no proof; they'd never believe you. I know this planet; there's a mission near here that will give you sanctuary." He paused. "One thing," he said, "they're Martians." 

Lug stared away, a shocked expression on his face. All the violence - the hate - all for nothing. He turned back to Dog, but the spaceman was dead, a fixed smile on his lips. 

Lug left the ship, and headed out towards the horizon that he could already see as a dark smudge on the horizon. Before he left, he set fire to the ship, with Dog's body in it, with an incendiary charge, and stood and stared at it until the flames were high and bright, flickering wildly towards the blue vault of the sky. Then he left it to burn itself to extinction, and walked out across the desert, wondering how it would be to live without hating. 


 