As though from a long way off we heard Dobson reply. “Orders are that you stay in that room. You are not to leave it until told.” His voice was remarkably like that of Whitaker.
“Oh, maybe I was wrong after all,” said Lemmy. “That might look like Dobson but it doesn’t sound like him.”
“McLean didn’t sound like himself either,” said Jet. “In fact he sounded very much as Dobson does now--the same, dull, expressionless voice.”
“And if you ask me, Jet,” I said, “he’s in much the same condition as McLean was. In a deep, hypnotic sleep, not even in control of his own actions.”
“Go back into that room and close the door.”
“And he doesn’t want us to be in control of ours either, by the sound of things,” said Lemmy.
“Dobson,” said Jet. “I’m Jet and this is Doc and this is Lemmy...”
“Unless you return at once, I shall raise the alarm.”
“Close the door, Jet,” I said exasperated. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Jet closed the door and the three of us went over to the window and sat on the ‘sofa’ to discuss the situation. But we had hardly reached it when the door opened to reveal the Flying Doctor.
‘“All right, gentlemen,” he commanded, “on your feet. You’re coming with us--and we’re taking off immediately.”
“Where to?” demanded Lemmy.
“Orders are to take you with us--and orders must be obeyed without question at all times.”
“Blimey,” said the Cockney, “he’s at it now.”
“Where’s Mitchell?” I demanded. “What have you done with him?”
“He’s already on his way out to the plane.”
“Plane, you call it,” said Lemmy. “That thing out there is the funniest plane I’ve ever seen.”
“Now come along. We have no desire to harm you, but if you feel inclined to be troublesome just remember Mr Bodie will be walking behind you with his gun.”
We had no choice but to obey.
Once out of the house, we began walking towards the ‘plane’, the Doctor leading and the two conditioned crew men bringing up the rear. None of us said a word. As we turned the corner of the house, the farmer appeared, and fell in behind Dobson and Harding. There was, it seemed, no chance for us to escape.
Suddenly I heard a whisper in my ear-piece. It was Lemmy. “Whatever I do, Doc,” he murmured, “ignore it.” Then, in a loud voice, he said: “Oh, I feel all weak--I think I’m going to faint.”
The Flying Doctor turned round sharply and looked at him.
“I feel all dizzy,” went on Lemmy, beginning to reel around like a drunken man. “I can’t walk another step. I must sit down and rest.” And with that he gave a moan and slumped to the ground.
The Flying Doctor started back at once to where Lemmy was lying. Dobson and Harding halted and stared directly before them.
But it was the farmer who reached Lemmy first. Going down on one knee, he turned him over on to his back. Suddenly Lemmy’s arms reached up, grasped the man by the neck and pulled him down. Bodie was so surprised by the move that he offered no resistance whatsoever and the moment he was down on top of Lemmy, Lemmy curled his legs around the farmer’s and held him in a vice-like grip. Immediately the Flying Doctor ran back and began trying to free Bodie and, in that same moment, I heard Lemmy yell: “Go on, Jet--now’s your chance. Run for it I”
Jet needed no second bidding. In a flash he was running across the sand dunes as fast as his space suit would allow. The Flying Doctor started off in pursuit but my foot, placed in his way, brought him crashing down to the ground. Dobson and Harding still stood motionless as though nothing had happened at all.
I grappled with the Flying Doctor, rolling over and over in the sand with him. My only thought was to keep him from following Jet. This I managed to do in spite of the cumbersome movements imposed on me by my suit.
Lemmy seemed to be having a similar success with his opponent, but suddenly I heard him say: “Look out, Doc-- the farmer’s got away from me.”
I caught a glimpse of the man scrambling to his feet and running over to where the rifle had been dropped. Then he stooped down, picked up the weapon, put it to his shoulder and pointed it at the now small figure of Jet who was climbing the sand dune about fifty yards away.
There was a crack as the rifle fired but the shot went high for, just as the farmer pulled the trigger, Lemmy, who by now was also on his feet, dived at the man’s knees and brought him down. Once more the two men were locked in a grim struggle.
The Flying Doctor was yelling at me to let him go for I had him firmly held in a ju-jitsu grasp, but I had no intention of releasing him yet. Then he called to Dobson and Harding to help. The two men came running over and, within a few moments, the Flying Doctor was on his feet and I was being dragged to mine. Seconds later Lemmy was also overpowered.
“All right, Lemmy,” I called. “I don’t think there’s any need to fight any more. Jet must have reached the trucks by now.”
Jet must have heard me, for over the radio came his voice, saying: “Yes, Doc, I’m outside the airlock and I’m just going in. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I told him. “We suffered no damage that I can see. Get inside that truck as quickly as you can and make sure that it can’t be opened from outside.”
The Flying Doctor must have realised the significance of what I was saying for he made no further attempt to pursue Jet. Instead, he ordered Lemmy and I to continue walking towards the sphere which, reluctantly, we did. This time the Flying Doctor walked behind us with Dobson, Harding and the farmer, who had his rifle levelled at our backs.
We entered the spherical ship by a circular door and, after passing through a short corridor, found ourselves in a cylindrically-shaped cabin. Its diameter, however, was little more than half that of the overall diameter of the ship, so between the inner and outer shells, I imagined, must lie the mechanism by which the ship was propelled.
No sooner were we inside the strange craft than the Flying Doctor pressed a control and the outer door closed. He then closed the inner one and ordered Dobson and Harding to their posts. They took up positions before a couple of control panels and the Flying Doctor told them to get the ship under way. There was a soft whine, a feeling of gentle vibration and then a definite pressure downwards which told us that we were climbing very rapidly.
The Flying Doctor indicated to Mitch to sit down in a chair on the opposite side of the cabin to that occupied by Dobson and Harding. Then, stepping over to the central pillar, he pressed a small control and part of the column slid back to reveal a ladder leading up inside.
“Now, Doctor Matthews,” said the Flying Doctor, “if you’ll kindly climb this ladder I think you’ll find the upper cabin much more to your liking--and you, Mr Barnet.”
Lemmy at once appealed to Mitch. “Mitch,” he said, “this bloke is trying to separate us--to get Doc and me to go to another part of the ship while he keeps you here.”
Mitch didn’t even bother to look up. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked. “Do you think I want to travel with a couple of crazy loons like you?”
“Mitch, boy,” said Lemmy, spreading his hands in front of him, “I’m Lemmy, and this is Doc--your old crew mates of the Discovery, of Luna and . . .”
“I’ve never clapped eyes on either of you before,” said Mitch flatly.
“Now listen, Mitch,” said Lemmy, “Doc, Jet and me risked our lives trying to find you. . .”
“I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You talk to him, Doc,” Lemmy suggested.
“There’s no point, Lemmy,” I said. “We’d better go up as the--er--Doctor here says.”
“Very well,” said Lemmy, and with that he entered the tiny door and began to climb up the rungs of the ladder.
“Once you get up there and I have closed the door,” the Flying Doctor called after us, “you can remove your helmets. The atmosphere of the upper cabin is similar to that which you are used to breathing in your own ship--it is kept that way for unconditioned types like yourselves.”
The upstairs cabin was completely bare. There was not a seat nor any kind of control panel to be seen. The walls were perfectly smooth, except for three portholes set at equal distances in the walls. Like the larger cabin downstairs, the upper one also had a flat roof.
As soon as the airtight door had been closed, I unfastened my helmet, lifted its rim slightly and took a deep breath. I suffered no ill effects and decided that the Doctor had been speaking the truth. Lemmy quickly followed my example. It was a relief to get our helmets off after all this time.
“Well,” said Lemmy, moving over to one of the windows, “at least we can see where we are from up here. That’s something. But what’s going on, Doc?” His voice was tense and high. “What are these Martians trying to do to us-- send us crackers? And are they Martians? And are we still on Mars? I’m so confused I don’t know where I am anymore.”
I put my hand on Lemmy’s shoulder and pointed towards the pink landscape below. “Look down there, Lemmy,” I said, trying to calm him. “Did you ever see anything like that down on Earth? Of course you didn’t. Because we’re not on Earth.”
“Then do you think this is one of the Martian ships that goes to Earth to pick up victims?”
“Could be, Lemmy,” I told him, “but it hardly seems big enough for that.”
Very soon we had left the pink desert behind and were flying over greeny-brown country. We travelled in a northwesterly direction, so I assumed that this darker soil must be that of the Mare Erythraeum.
Scattered over its surface were box-like buildings like the one in which we had found Mitch. From the orderliness of the ground and the patches of vegetation we could see, even from the height at which we were flying, I concluded that the earth below was cultivated.
“Hey, look,” said Lemmy suddenly, “there’s another canal directly below us.”
It was much wider than the one in which we had seen the pyramid but seemed to contain the same type of plants. They stood out very clearly against the background of the greeny-brown soil. As soon as we reached the canal the ship followed its course--and Lemmy began to speculate as to where it led and what was going to happen to us there.
“They’ll never make a farmer out of me, I know that,” he said positively.
“If they conditioned you, Lemmy,” I pointed out, “you don’t know what they might make out of you.”
“Well, they haven’t succeeded yet, although they tried hard enough back in that pyramid. Here,” he went on, “why haven’t they ever got at you, Doc?”
“Maybe it’s because I’m not a good subject. This conditioning must have something to do with a very deep and profound hypnosis. But while I was at medical college even the director of the department of hypnotic medicine failed to put me to sleep. I just didn’t react.”
Lemmy was surprised. “Then what would happen if you were back on Earth and had to have an operation?”
“They’d have to use anaesthetics, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve heard of people like that, Doc,” said Lemmy, “but I didn’t realise you were one.”
“Yes, I am. That’s probably why I’m the only one of us who’s not been affected by sleep-inducing sounds.”
“Then from now on,” said Lemmy with resolution, “I stick close to you, and then if I start hearing that weird noise, you can help me overcome it.”
Approximately an hour and a half later Lemmy pointed out a change in the appearance of the landscape ahead. We were approaching a spot where a number of canals met.
The area had been almost completely cleared of the plants which grew so profusely in the canals. In their place, some five miles in diameter, was a Martian city, consisting of a number of pyramids very similar to that we had seen in the first canal but much smaller in size. They were no more than a quarter of a mile square at the base and I doubt whether their height amounted to much more than five or six hundred feet. The layout of the pyramids was perfectly symmetrical and streets appeared to run between the walls at the base of each edifice.
“What is this place?” asked Lemmy.
“The Lacus Solis,” I told him, “the lake of the sun.”
“But it isn’t a lake, Doc.”
“No, Lemmy. That’s just a name given to it by the astronomers down on Earth.”
“Hey, look, Doc,” said Lemmy suddenly, “down there in the streets.” We were descending to the flat roof of one of the pyramids and, as we neared ground level, I could see that the streets were alive with traffic--peculiar vehicles which from above, due principally to the bright colours in which they were painted, looked rather like ladybirds.
“Well, even the Martians have a traffic problem then,” said Lemmy. “But why so many colours?”
“Maybe a means of identification,” I suggested, “instead of registration numbers.”
“Could be, I suppose,” he agreed. Then he looked at me apprehensively. “Well, Doc, it looks as though we’ve arrived,” he said, “but now that we’re here, what happens
to us? And what about Jet, stuck back there near that farmhouse with only a Whitakered McLean for company?”
“I don’t know, Lemmy,” I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. “We can only wait and see.”
A gentle bump told us that the ship had landed. It touched down on the roof of the largest pyramid the city boasted. Almost immediately there came the high whine of the mechanism which opened the door to the upper cabin in which we were standing. A few moments later the Flying Doctor appeared, climbing out of the hollow pillar.
“Very well, gentlemen,” he said; “put on your helmets and let’s go.”
“Do you mind telling us exactly what is happening?” I asked.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” replied the Flying Doctor, “I wish I could. I’m merely carrying out my orders to condition you and bring you here.”
“But we’re not conditioned,” protested Lemmy. “No Doc and me.”
“No. But at least you’re here. And it hasn’t been a bad haul, really. You two, the two gentlemen who are now my assistants, Mr Mitchell and the one you call McLean.”
“McLean,” I said, surprised, “but he’s back in one of the land trucks with Jet.”
“At the moment, yes. But his orders were to bring Mr Morgan here, and when orders are given they are always obeyed. And, after Mr Morgan, there aren’t many of you left, are there?”