The OLD MARTIANS
By Rog Phillips
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of ScienceFiction March 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The man with the pith helmet had his back toward me. Hunched forward, hewas screaming at the girl in the lens of his camera. "Don't just standthere, Dotty! Move! Do something! Back up toward that column withinscriptions on it...."
The girl was tall and longlegged with ideal body proportions, herfeatures and skin coloring a perfect norm-blend with no throwbackelements. Right now she seemed confused and half-frightened as she triedto comply with the directions of the man with the movie camera. Shesmiled artificially, turned her head to look at the fragment of a wallbehind her, reached out with a finger and started tracing the lines ofan almost obliterated inscription in its stone surface.
The camera stopped whirring. Its owner straightened and grumbled,"That's all."
Now the girl was allowed to go back to her worrying. Swiftly shesurveyed the crowd, but didn't find the person she was looking for. Shestarted moving toward one of the arches that led deeper into the ruins.
I followed her slowly.
She passed through the arch, stopped, and turned her head toward theright, her eyes on something out of sight. She'd found him, but she sawme at the same time and her worry deepened.
When she moved back into the crowd, I strolled casually through thearchway.
There was a vaguely defined passageway, the roof over it gone for half amillion years, of course. And twenty feet away, oblivious of hissurroundings except for what was directly in front of him, was my man.
His height and build were somewhat less than the norm. But it was hisprofile that drew my attention. A remarkable throwback; a throwback of adistinct type.
In fact, he might well have served as the model in the types textbookslabeled British. The resemblance was subtle. Only one trained todifferentiate would ever have noticed it.
I let my attention take in his whole figure. His elbows had a habit ofmaking fluttery movements when his exploring hands paused so that astrange birdlike impression was given. Also an air of ungainliness inthe lines of the lean body, rather than the feline smoothness and graceof the norm-blend. It was so in keeping with his features that it servedto strengthen the psycho diagnosis.
A throwback to an era ten thousand years in the past, and therefore, asthe textbooks say, prone to mental instability. It was no wonder thatthe girl called Dotty had had the air of being perpetually worried!
She appeared now, from the far side of the ruin and approached the man.
He sensed rather than saw her and straightened up, every line of himetched with excitement.
"Dotty!" he said. "I've found it. I've found the proof. I've been herebefore, thousands of years ago when this wasn't a ruins. I remember."
The girl's manner reflected weariness, "Please, Herb. You've got toforget all about it. You'll talk too much!"
His shoulders stiffened. "Don't worry. I won't talk until I have proofto convince even them. Somewhere around here something lies buried.Something I will be able to remember. They will dig where the rockshaven't been touched for five thousand centuries and find what I say isthere."
Dotty was shaking her head. "No, Herb, If it were on Earth I might half