'Are we to understand that you are the commander of a ship sent here by the Russian Government?'
'That is so, Mr. Curtance. The Tovaritch of the U.S.S.R.'
'The Tovaritch' But the rumours of her existence were expressly denied by your government.'
'Yes, it seemed politic to us after all, it was our own affair. The Americans kept quiet about theirs, too.'
The entire personnel of the Gloria Mundi gaped at him stupidly.
'The Americans) Good God! You don't mean to say that they've got one, too?'
'But certainly. The Keuntz people. Your information does not seem to have been very full, Mr. Curtance.'
'But ' Words failed Dale. He stood dumbfounded, staring at the Russian.
'It would seem to be raining rockets. Most disappointing,' said Froud. 'Tell us, Karaminoff, how many more?'
The other shook his head.
'No more. There was an-er-accident to the German one. Possibly you read about it: it was reported as an explosion in a munitions factory. It would probably have been the best of the lot. The Germans are very clever, you know, and very anxious for colonies.'
'And so there was an-er-accident, was there? H'm, Dale only just frustrated an-er-accident to the Gloria Mundi. Very interesting.'
There was a pause during which Karaminoff introduced the other two Russians whom Dugan had admitted. He added:
'And now, I think, it is necessary for us to have some discussion.'
'Just a minute,' Froud put in. 'I'm a bit puzzled by several things. Did you start after or before us?'
'A day or so later.'
'And with millions of square miles of planet to choose from you had the luck to land next door to us?'
'Oh, no, not luck.' The Russian shook his head emphatically. 'We followed you with telescopes. We saw the flames of your rockets as you landed and we marked the spot. Then we held off a little.'
'You what?' Dugan burst in. 'We held off.' !
Dugan stared first at him and then at Dale. Both of them knew that the Gloria Mundi could never have performed such a manoeuvre. An involuntary tinge of respect came into Dugan's voice as he said:
'Your Tovaritch must be a wonderful ship.'
'She is,' Karaminoff told him with complacence.
There was a pause. Karaminoff crossed to the western window and looked out thoughtfully. The dreary bushes were waving their papery leaves, the breeze raised occasional scurries of reddish dust, but his eyes were not on these things. He was watching an entirely terrestrial phenomenon the Union Jack fluttering from its pole.
'I see that you have what you call staked a claim,' he said, turning to face Dale.
'By the authority of Her Majesty I have annexed this territory to the British Commonwealth of Nations,' Dale told him, not without slight pomposity.
'Dear me! The entire planet? I suppose so. There is nothing modest about the English in matters of territory.'
'You'd have done the same if you had got here first,' Dugan put in impatiently. 'But you've been unlucky, that's all.'
Karaminoff smiled. He said conversationally:
'The English man of action amazes me. He has the unique gift of living simultaneously in the twentieth and seventeenth centuries. Technically he is advanced, socially or should I say anti-socially, he has stagnated for three hundred years. It needs no straining for my imagination to see an ancestor Curtance planting a flag on a Pacific island in sixteen something and saluting it with the same words as the modern Mr. Curtance must have used here -- only, of course, with the word 'Empire" instead of "Commonwealth".'
'Well, why not? It's a fine tradition,' Dugan said with uncertain resentment of the other's tone. 'It made the finest Empire in the world.'
'I agree. But the Romans once had the finest Empire in the world, so did the Greeks, and the Assyrians, they are historical; so is the building of the British Empire. Can't you see that this cool annexation of property is outdated. Your method is a quaint anachronism. Do you really think that just because you have planted that flag here your sovereign right will be recognized? That the other peoples of Earth will stand by and allow you to take this place and do what you like with it? The trouble about you English is that you always think you are playing some kind of game, with the rules conveniently made up by yourselves.'
The doctor spoke for the first time since the Russian's entrance.
'And we are to suppose that you are free from the bourgeois ideal of Imperialism?'
'I am not here to annex or conquer, if that is what you mean.'
'Then just what are you here for?'
'I am here to prevent conquest; to offer to the citizens of Mars union with the Soviet Socialist Republics in a defensive alliance against the greed of capitalist nations which ' He broke off abruptly to glare at the journalist.
'You find something amusing?' he inquired coldly.
Froud stifled his laughter and wiped his eyes.
'So will you when you see the "citizens",' he said with difficulty. 'I'm longing to hear you teach one of our friends of last night to sing the "Internationale". But don't mind me. Go on.'
The doctor put in: 'I suppose I'm pretty dense, but the difference between our missions seems to be chiefly in terms. It boils down to their choosing an alliance with the Empire, or an alliance with the Soviets.'
'If you cannot see the difference between union with us and submission to rule by imperialist and capitalist interests, you must, as you say, be pretty dense.'
The doctor thought for a while.
'All right, we'll take it that I'm dense. Now, what do you propose to do about it?'
Dale broke in before Karaminoff could answer:
'I don't see that we need to prolong this useless discussion any longer. The facts are quite obvious. I have laid first claim here. The other nations, except the Soviets, will naturally honour it.'
The Russian studied him thoughtfully.
'That's just the kind of statement which gets the English a reputation for subtlety. Nobody else can ever believe that such ingenuousness is real. "If the Englishman is as guileless as that, how does he continue to exist?" they ask. One has to confess that it is a mystery and accept it as one accepts other freaks of nature, for I know that you sincerely believe what you say.'
'You think that other nations will dare to dispute our claim? They've no grounds for it whatever.'
'But, my dear man, what need have they of grounds? Who made the rules of this game? Surely the fact that they want territory here is grounds enough. Really, you know, one of the most disheartening sights for persons of vision and acumen during the last few centuries must have been the spectacle of the English blundering about all over the globe and bringing off coup after coup by combinations of accident and sheer simple faith. It is a wonder that the conception of a planned, intelligent civilization can still exist in the face of it.
'And now, just because you arrived here a few hours ahead of us, you quite honestly think yourselves entitled to all the mineral wealth which this planet may contain.'
'So we are,' Dale and Dugan said, almost together.
Karaminoff turned to look at his two companions.
'Did I not tell you how it would be?' he said, with a smile and a shrug.
One of them answered him rapidly in Russian. Karaminoff said:
'Comrade Vassiloff is bored. He wishes us to-er-cut the cackle.'
'Comrade Vassiloff is a sensible man,' said the doctor. 'Lead out your horses.'
'I will. It is this. There are to be no territorial claims on this land by any nation, government or groups of persons. In such useful exchanges as can be made between Earth and Mars, no nation shall receive preferential treatment. Such commerce shall be under direct governmental control and not open to exploitation by individuals. Mars shall retain the right of self government and management of policy both internally and externally. There shall be '
'And yet,' the doctor put in, 'you intend to invite them into union with the Soviets? That hardly seems compatible.'
'If by their free choice they elect --
'You, You damned scoundrel,' Dugan shouted. 'You know perfectly well that that will mean rule from Moscow. So that is what you call giving them freedom! Of all the infernal nerve!'
Karaminoff spread his hands.
'You see,' he said, 'even your hot young patriot is sure that they would prefer to join us.'
'Well they won't have the chance. We claim this territory by right of discovery, and we're damn' well going to have it.'
Froud yawned and crossed to the window. He stared out for a few seconds and then beckoned Karaminoff to his side.
'Don't you think you'd better open negotiations with the "citizens" before you formulate any more of the constitution? See, there's a potential comrade lurking in the bushes over there.'
Karaminoff followed the direction of his finger. He could just make out something which moved among the branches and he saw the shine of sunlight upon metal. At that moment one of the three Russians who had remained outside the Gloria Mundi came running to the window. He was pointing excitedly in the same direction. Karaminoff nodded and turned back to the rest.
'Very well, we will go now. I will let you know the outcome of my negotiations, but whatever they are, believe me that this is one time that the English are not going to get away with their land grabbing.'
Nobody answered him. The three Russians put on their oxygen masks and passed one by one out of the airlock. The Gloria Mundi's crew watched them rejoin their companions. There was much excited conversation and frequent indications of the bushes, and the party began to move off in that direction. It paused beside Dale's post. They saw Karaminoff look up at the flag and then back at the ship. The breathing mask hid his features, but they could guess at the smile beneath it. One of the Russians crouched and then launched himself in what would have been an impossible leap on Earth. His outstretched hand caught the flag and tore it free from the pole as he dropped.
'Damned swine!' Dugan shouted. Before the rest could stop him he was across the room and into the airlock.
Karaminoff was reaching up to tie a red flag with a white hammer and sickle upon it to the bare pole when the man beside him suddenly clutched his arm and spun round. One of the others swivelled, firing from his hip at the entrance port. Karaminoff, apparently unmoved, finished fixing his flag and stepped back, waving a hand to the occupants of the ship, but only Froud was at the window to watch him. Dale and the doctor were at the airlock waiting anxiously till the pressures should equalize. The door swung open to reveal Dugan sitting on the floor. His face was purple, and blood was trickling down his leg.
'Silly young fool,' said the doctor.
'Ricochet off the outer door,' Dugan panted. 'In the leg.'
'Lucky for you it isn't asphyxiation. Let me look at it.'
'Missed the swine, too,' Dugan gasped.
'He couldn't reach very high, so his flag's only flying at half mast, if that's any consolation to you,' said Froud from the window. 'Karaminoff's splitting the gang. The bloke you pipped is going home with another. He himself and the other three are making for the bushes.' He suddenly left the window and dashed across the room. 'Where's that damned telephoto got to. Here, Dale, help me get this thing rigged up. What a chance I must get a shot of Karaminoff greeting the animated tinware . That's it, right up to the window. What'll we call it? Look I Look, there's Comrade Clockwork coming out of the bushes now. Oh, boy!'
A mechanical voice chattering urgently cut across all other sounds. Its speed and harshness made it impossible for Joan to catch the words, but she thought it was saying something about a rocket. Vaygan flipped over a switch and the interior of the Gloria Mundi faded from the screen, simultaneously her crew's voices were cut off.
'Where?' Vaygan asked sharply.
The voice gabbled a string of unintelligible directions which started him readjusting his dials and switches. The screen lost its opaqueness once more and took on a uniform purple tinge. Until a wisp of tenuous cloud drifted across Joan did not realize that it was showing the Martian sky. Vaygan was watching it intently, slowly turning his dials. Presently a bright spark slid in from one side, and he gave a grunt. Evidently he had found what he wanted. He manipulated the controls to keep it in the middle of the screen.
'What is it?' Joan asked.
'Another rocket like yours.'
'Another?' She remembered what the Russian had said about an American rocket.
'Can't you get a closer view of it?' she asked.
'Not yet. It's too far away.'
They watched for a time in silence. Swiftly the spark grew from a mere dot to a flaring mass as the rocket dived lower and closer. The tubes were working furiously to break her long fall, belching out vivid gushes of white hot fire which was carried back along her sides to die in tattered banners of flame in her wake. Nearer and nearer she came, falling like a meteor wrapped in her own inferno of flame. It seemed impossible that in such a blast the ship herself should not be incandescent. Yet she was not out of control. Perceptibly she was slowing. But Vaygan murmured:
'She's coming in too fast far too fast.'
He could alter the angle of view now so that they seemed to look down on her as they followed her course. The Martian landscape streamed below her in an approaching blur. For a second she slipped out of the picture. Vaygan spun a control and picked her up again. She was dropping fast. Her rockets were erupting like miniature volcanoes, but still her speed was prodigious. The sand hills below her hurtled past indistinguishably. Joan's fists clenched as she watched, and she found herself holding her breath.
'They can't they can't land at that speed,' she cried. 'Oh!'
Vaygan put his free hand over hers, he said nothing.
She wanted to shut out the sight, but her eyes refused to leave the screen.
The rocket was nearly down now. A few hundred feet only above the desert, still going a thousand miles an hour. Joan gave a little moan. It was too late now. They could never get up again; they would have to land. The rocket sank lower, skimming the tops of the sand hills. Then the inevitable end began.