There have been a number of interesting theories advanced about life onMars, but few have equalled Charles Fritch's intriguing picture of theworld of Longtree and Channeljumper in its infinite variations, tonaland thematic. The Mars of these two is an old culture, old and finite.
i
like
martian
music
by CHARLES E. FRITCH
Longtree played. His features relaxed into a gentle smileof happiness and his body turned a bright red orange.
Longtree sat before hishole in the ground and gazedthoughtfully among thesandy red hills that surroundedhim. His skin at thatmoment was a medium yellow,a shade between prideand happiness at having hisbrief symphony almost completed,with just a faint tingeof red to denote that uncertain,cautious approach to thelast note which had eludedhim thus far.
He sat there unmoving fora while, and then he pickedup his blowstring and fittedthe mouthpiece between histhin lips. He blew into itsoftly and at the same timegently strummed the threestrings stretching the lengthof the instrument. The notewas a firm clear one whichwould have made any othermusician proud.
But Longtree frowned, andat the disappointment hisbody flushed a dark greenand began taking on a purplecast of anger. Hastily, he putdown the blowstring andtried to think of somethingelse. Slowly his normal colorreturned.
Across the nearest hillcame his friend Channeljumper,striding on the longthin ungainly legs that hadgiven him his name. His skinradiated a blissful orange.
"Longtree!" Channeljumperexclaimed enthusiastically,collapsing on theground nearby and foldinghis legs around him. "How'sthe symphony coming?"
"Not so good," Longtreeadmitted sadly, and his skinturned green at the memory."If I don't get that last note,I may be this color the restof my life."
"Why don't you play whatyou've written so far. It's notvery long, and it might cheeryou up a bit."
You're a good friend, Channeljumper,Longtree thought,and when Redsand and I aremarried after the Music Festivalwe'll have you over toour hole for dinner. As hethought this, he felt his bodytake on an orange cast, andhe felt better.
"I can't seem to get thatlast note," he said, picking upthe blowstring again and puttingit into position. "Thefinal note must be conclusive,something complete in itselfand yet be able to sum up theentire meaning of the symphonypreceding it."
Channeljumper hummedsympathetically. "That's a bigjob for one note. It might bea sound no one has ever heardbefore."
Longtree shrugged. "It mayeven sound alien," he admitted,"but it's got to be theright note."
"Play, and we'll see," Channeljumperurged.
Longtree played. And as heplayed, his features relaxedinto a gentle smile of happinessand his body turned orange.Delicately, he strummedthe three strings of the blowstringwith his long-nailedfingers, softly he pursed hisfrail lips and blew expertlyinto the mouthpiece.
From the instrument camesounds the like of whichChanneljumper had never beforeheard. The Martian satand listened in evident rapture,his body radiating agolden glow of ecstasy. Hesat and dreamed, and as themusic played, his spine tingledwith growing excitement.The music swelled, surroundinghim, permeatinghim, picking him up in agreat hand and sweepinghim into new and strange andbeautiful worlds—worlds oftall metal structures, of vaststretches of greenness and ofwater and of trees and ofsmall pale creatures that flewgiant metal insects. Hedreamed of these things which