Rebels of the Red Planet | Page 4

in his
anxiety.

"Fine, father," said Adam, smiling to reveal savage, even teeth.
"Nothing unusual happen?"
"Nothing at all, sir."
"You forget, Adam?" mouthed Brute eagerly. "You forget you fall?"
Adam spun on him ferociously, raising a heavy hand in threat. Brute
did not cringe.
"I forget nothing!" snarled Adam. "You crazy Brute, I say it is
nothing!"
"But, Adam--"
"I say it is nothing!" howled Adam and sprang for him.
"Stop it!" snapped Goat, like the crack of a whip, and they froze in the
moment of their grappling. Sheepishly, they parted and stood side by
side before him.
"I'll listen to details after supper," said Goat. "The children are hungry,
and so am I."

2
Adam and Brute followed Goat Hennessey down the corridor, towering
over him like Saint Bernards on the heels of a terrier. They turned into
the dining room, a big square room centered with a rude table and
chairs, one wall pierced by a fireplace in which a big cauldron steamed
over smouldering coals.
The dining room swarmed with a dozen small creatures, human in their
pink flesh, more or less human in their twisted bodies. As soon as Goat
entered with Adam and Brute in tow, the assemblage set up a
high-pitched howling and twittering of anticipation and began beating

utensils on the dishes, table and walls.
"Quiet!" squawked Goat over the tremendous clatter, and the noise
subsided. They stood where they were, bright eyes fixed on him.
These were "the children." Some of them were humpbacked, like Evan,
the one who had carried the message to the tower. Some, like Evan,
were grotesquely barrel-chested, with or without the hump. Some were
as thin as skeletons, with huge heads; some were hulking miniatures of
Brute. One steatopygean girl was so bulky in legs and hindquarters that
she could waddle only a few inches with each step, yet her head and
upper torso were skinny and fragile.
Goat sat down at the head of the table, and immediately there was a
tumbling rush for places. Most of the children sat, chattering, while two
of the larger girls moved around the table, taking bowls to the cauldron,
filling them with a brownish stew and returning them.
They ate in silence. When supper was ended, the children scattered,
some to play, others to chores. Goat beckoned to Adam and Brute to
follow him. He led them down the corridor and into his study.
Goat turned on the light, revealing a book-lined, paper-stacked room
focused on a huge desk. He removed his marsuit to stand in baggy
trousers and loose tunic. Adam and Brute stood near the door, shifting
uncomfortably, for the study was normally forbidden ground.
Goat stood by a thick double window, looking out over the desert to the
west. The small sun disappeared beneath the horizon even as he looked,
leaving the fast-darkening sky a dull, faint red. Almost as though
released by the sunset, pale Phobos popped above the horizon and
began to climb its eastward way. The desert already was dark, but a
stirring above it bespoke a distant sandstorm.
Goat turned from the window and faced the pair.
"Well," he snapped harshly, "what happened?"

Adam smiled confidently.
"We did as you said, father," he answered. "We walked to the edge of
the canal, and we walked back. We had no water and we had no air. We
did not feel tired. We did not feel sick."
"Fine! Fine!" murmured Goat.
"Father ..." said Brute.
Goat turned his eyes to Brute, and savage irritation swept over him.
With that word, at that moment, Brute gave him a feeling of guilty
foreboding.
"Don't call me 'father!'" snapped Goat angrily.
"But you say call you father," protested Brute, the puzzled frown
wrinkling his brow. "What I call you if I not call you father?"
"Don't call me anything. Say 'sir.' What did you want to say?"
"Father, sir," began Brute again, "Adam forget. Adam fall."
With a muted roar, Adam swept his powerful arm in a backhanded arc
that caught Brute full on the side of his head. The blow would have
felled an ox, but Brute was not shaken. Apparently unhurt, he stood
patiently, his blue eyes on Goat with something of pleading in them.
"Adam, let him alone!" commanded Goat sharply. "Brute, what do you
mean, Adam fell?"
"We come back. We not far from canal. Adam fall. Adam sick. Adam
turn blue."
"It is lies, father!" exclaimed Adam, glaring at Brute. "It is not true."
"Let him finish," instructed Goat. "I'll decide whether it's true. What
did you do, Brute?"

"I find cactus, father," answered Brute. "I make hole in cactus. I put
Adam inside. I put hole back. Adam stay in cactus. Then Adam break
cactus and come out again. We come back."