Campbell, John W Jr - The Brain Stealers of Mars

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THE BRAIN STEALERS OF MARS

by John W. Campbell, Jr.

CHAPTER I

imitation of Life

Rod Blake looked up with a deep chuckle. The sky of Mars was almost black,

despite the small, brilliant sun, and the brighter stars and planets that

shone visibly, Earth most brilliant of all, scarcely sixty million miles away.

“They’ll have a fine time chasing us, back there, Ted.” He nodded toward

the brilliant planet.

Ted Penton smiled beatifically.

“They’re probably investigating all our known haunts. It’s their own

fault if they can’t find us—outlawing research on atomic power.”

“They had some provocation, you must admit. Koelenberg should have been

more careful. When a man takes off some three hundred square miles of

territory spang in the center of Europe in an atomic explosion, you can’t

blame the rest of the world for being a bit skittish about atomic power

research.”

“But they might have had the wit to see that anybody that did get the

secret would not wait around for the Atomic Power Research Death Penalty, but

would light out for parts and planets quite unknown and leave the mess in the

hands of a lawyer till the fireworks quieted down. It was obvious that when we

developed atomic power we’d be the first men to reach Mars, and nobody could

follow to bring us back unless they accepted the hated atomic power and used

it,” argued Blake.

“Wonder how old Jamison Montgomery Palborough made out with our claims,”

mused Penton. “He said he’d have it right in three months, and this is the

third month and the third planet. We’ll let the government stew,

and sail on, fair friend, sail on. I still say that was a ruined city we saw

as we landed.”

“I think it was, myself, but I remember the way you did that kangaroo

leap on your neck the first time you stepped out on the moon. You certainly

saw stars.”

“We’re professionals at walking under cockeyed gravities now. Moon

—Venus—”

“Yes, but I’m still not risking my neck on the attitude of a strange

planet and a strange race at the same time. We’ll investigate the planet a bit

first, and yonder mudhole is the first stop. Come on.”

They reached the top of one of the long rolling sand dunes and the

country was spread out below them. It looked exactly as it had been from the

last dune that they had struggled up, just as utterly barren, utterly bleak,

and unendingly red. Like an iron planet, badly neglected and rusted.

The mudhole was directly beneath them, an expanse of red and brown

slime, dotted here and there with clumps of dark red foliage.

“The stuff looks like Japanese maple,” said Blake.

“Evidently doesn’t use chlorophyl to get the sun’s energy. Let’s collect

a few samples. You have your violet-gun and I have mine. I guess it’s safe to

split. There’s a large group of things down on the left that look a little

different. I’ll take them while you go straight ahead. Gather any flowers,

fruits, berries or seeds you see. Few leaves—oh, you know. What we got on

Venus. General junk. If you find a small plant, put on your gloves and yank it

out. If you see a big one, steer clear. Venus had some peculiarly unpleasant

specimens.”

Blake groaned. “You telling me. I’m the bright boy that fell for that

pretty fruit and climbed right up between the stems of a scissor tree. Uhuh. I

shoot ‘em down. Go ahead, and good luck.”

Penton swung off to the ieft, while Blake slogged ahead to a group of

weird-looking plants. They were dome-shaped things, three feet high, with a

dozen long, drooping, sword-shaped leaves.

Cautiously Blake tossed a bit of stone into the center of one. It gave

off a mournful, drumming boom, but the leaves didn’t budge. He tried a rope on

one leaf but the leaf neither stabbed, grabbed, nor jerked away, as he had

half expected after his lesson with the ferocious plants of Venus. Blake

pulled a leaf off, then a few more. The plant acted quite plant-like, which

pleasantly surprised him.

The whole region seemed seeded with a number of the things, nearly all

about the same size. A ~few, sprinided here and there, were in various stages

of development, from a few protruding sword-leaves, to little threeinch domes

on up to the full-grown plant. Carefully avoiding the larger

ones, Rod plucked two small ones and thrust them into his specimen bag. Then

he stood off and looked at one of the domes that squatted so dejectedly in the

thick, gummy mud.

“I suppose you have some reason for being like that, but a good solid

tree would put you all in the shade, and collect all the sunlight going. Which

is little enough.” He looked at them for some seconds picturing a stout

Japanese maple in this outlandish red-brown gum.

He shrugged, and wandered on, seeking some other plant. There were few

others. Apparently this particular species throttled out other varieties very

thoroughly. He wasn’t very anxious anyway; he was much more in~ terested in

the ruined city they had seen from the ship. Ted Penton was cautious.

Eventually Blake followed his winding footsteps back toward the s’hip,

and about where his footsteps showed he’d gathered his first samples, he

stopped. There was a Japanese maple there. It stood some fifteen feet tall,

and the bark was beautifully regular in appearance. The leaves were nearly a

quarter of an inch thick, and arranged with a peculiar regularity, as were the

branches. But it was very definitely a Japanese maple.

Rod Blake’s jaw put a severe strain on the hinges thereof. It dropped

some three inches, and Blake stared. He stared with steady, blank gaze at that

perfectly impossible Japanese maple. He gawked dumbly. Then his jaw snapped

shut abruptly, and he cursed softly. The leaves were stirring gently, and they

were not a quarter of an inch thick. They were paper thin, and delicately

veined. Further, the tree was visibly taller, and three new branches had

started to sprout, irregularly now. They sprouted as he watched, growing not

as twigs but as fully formed branches extending themselves gradually. As he

stared harder at them they dwindled rapidly to longer twigs, and grew

normally.

Rod let out a loud yip, and made tracks rapidly extending themselves

toward the point where he’d last seen Ted Penton. Penton’s tracks curved off,

and Rod steamed down as fast as Mars’ light gravity permitted, to pull up

short as he rounded a corner of another sword-leaf dome clump. “Ted,” he

panted, “come over here. There’s a—a—weird thing. A—it looks like a Japanese

maple, but it doesn’t. Because when you look at it, it changes.”

Rod stopped, and started back, beckoning Ted.

Ted didn’t move.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said quite clearly, rather panting, and

sounding excited, though it was a quite unexciting remark, except for one

thing. He said it in Rod Blake’s voice!

Rod stiffened. Then he backed away hurriedly, stumbled over his feet and

sat down heavily in the sand. “For the love of—Ted—Ted, wh-what did you

s-s-say?”

“I don’t know wh-what to s-s-say.”

Rod groaned. It started out exactly like his own voice, changed rapidly

while it spoke, and wound up a fair imitation of Ted’s. “Oh, Lord,” he

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Campbell, John W Jr - The Brain Stealers of Mars

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