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Welcome, Martians!

By S. A. Lombino

Only one question seemed important in this huge space venture:
Who was flying where?

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The only sound was the swish of the jets against the sand as the bigship came down. Slowly, nose pointed skyward, a yellow tail streamingout behind the tubes, it settled to the ground like a cat nuzzling itshaunches against a velvet pillow.

Dave Langley peered through the viewport.

"I feel kind of funny," he said.

A tremor of excitement flooded through Cal Manners' thin frame. "Mars,"he whispered. "We made it."

Gently, the fins probed the sand, poking into it. Cal cut the power andthe big ship shuddered and relaxed, a huge metal spider with a conicalhead.

Cal peered through the viewport, his eyes scanning the planet. Behindhim, Dave shrugged into a space suit, gathered up his instruments.

"I'll make the tests," Dave said. "Keep the starboard guns trained onme."

Cal nodded. He walked Dave to the airlock and lifted the toggles on theinner hatch. Dave stepped into the small chamber, and Cal snapped thehatch shut.

He walked quickly to the starboard guns, wiggled into the plastic seatbehind them and pitched his shoulders against the braces. Outside, likea grotesque balloon, Dave stumbled around on weighted feet, taking hisreadings.

What's out there? Cal wondered. Just exactly what?

He tightened his grip on the big blasters, and trained the guns aroundto where Dave puttered in the sand. Dave suddenly stood erect, waved atCal, and started lumbering back toward the ship. Cal left the guns andwent to the airlock. He stepped into the chamber closed the toggles onthe hatch behind him, and twirled the wheel on the outer hatch. He wasready to move back into the ship again when Dave stepped through theouter hatch, his helmet under his arm.

"It's okay, Cal. Breathable atmosphere. And the pressure is all right,too."

Cal let out a sigh of relief. "Come on," he said. "Get out of thatmonkey suit. Then we'll claim the planet for Earth."

They went back into the ship, and Dave took off the suit, hanging itcarefully in its locker. Both men strapped on holsters and drew stunguns from the munitions locker. They checked the charges in theirweapons, holstered them, and stepped out into the Martian night.

It was cold, but their clothing was warm and the air was invigorating.Cal looked up at the sky.

"Phobos," he said, pointing.

"And Deimos," Dave added.

"Ike and Mike."

"Yeah." Dave smiled.

"How do you feel, Dave?" Cal asked suddenly.

"How do you mean?"

"Mars. I mean, we're the first men to land on Mars. The first, Dave!"

They were walking aimlessly, in no particular hurry.

"It's funny," Dave said. "I told you before. I feel kind of—"


The music started abruptly, almost exploded into being, tore throughthe silence of the planet like the strident scream of a woundedanimal. Trumpets blasted raucously, trombones moaned and slid, bassdrums pounded a steady tattoo. Tubas, heavy and solemn like old menbelching. Clarinets, shrill and squealing. Cymbals clashing.

A military band blaring its march into the night.

"Wha—"

Dave's mouth hung open. He stared into the distance.

There were lights, and the brass gleamed dully. A

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