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Title: The Man Who Bought Mars
Date of first publication: 1941
Author: John Russell Fearn, writing as Polton Cross, (1908-1960)
Date first posted: May 22 2013
Date last updated: May 22 2013
Faded Page eBook #20130527

This eBook was produced by: Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan
& the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




                         THE MAN WHO BOUGHT MARS

                          By John Russell Fearn

                        (Writing as POLTON CROSS)

     Hal Bailey bought Mars although it seemed worthless. But then
     he slept for a century and a half ...


                          FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

                             VOL. 3, NO. 4

                              June, 1941




     "Centuries have passed, and you now own Mars," they told Hal
     Bailey when he awoke, "but it's worthless." Then why did they want
     to buy it?

"Two-hundred dollar stake in a planet that's as dry as a textbook! Are
you crazy, buddy?" Hal Bailey shook his head at the question.

"Nope, I'm not crazy; no telling when Mars might pay dividends. Just
make out the claim and give me a receipt. I'm just back from a trip out
there, and even red sand will sell at a price."

"Not in 1970, pal. Still, it's your funeral."

Hal took the receipt handed to him, smiled gravely as he left the Space
Corporation Building. People glanced at him curiously as he walked
along. He knew he looked odd, attired in rough, dirty space slacks, a
lump of gray mineral rock under one arm. His face was masked in its
good humored cleanness by a bristling stubble. He looked, and felt, all
washed up from his personal trip in an old space can as far as Mars and
back.

Anyway, it had been worth it. Something queer about the rock he had
found. Emanations. Probably valuable to the authorities. And his
two-hundred dollar stake on the ocher planet secured things.

He nodded as he thought his deal over--then all of a sudden every
thought was dashed and blinded out of his brain by a terrific blow on
the head--He pitched into a darkness blacker than space.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hal stirred uneasily, conscious of awakening life. It was a queer
sensation, quite unlike a normal awakening from stupor. It was more
like gradual recovery from cramp in which his limbs merged from leaden
uselessness into warmth and feeling. Threaded through his mind was
the fading memory of wandering afar off; a conviction that he had
accomplished much while yet being unaware of doing it--

He opened his eyes abruptly and gazed mystifiedly about him.

Hospital? Possibly. Morgue? No, sir! Cemetery--? But no; there were
men's faces watching him--earnest and respectful faces. There were six.
Hal's eyes went round a room of immense proportions scattered with
endless, non-paned ceiling-floor windows. Light--light and more light.
It poured in on him from everywhere.

What he saw through the windows made him awaken thoroughly, and with
it came a certain fear. New York, as he had known it anyway, had gone!
In its place reposed a metropolis of breath-taking size rearing into
the blue summer sky. Skyscrapers, bridges, street cars, radio towers,
aircraft--As far as the eye could see.

"Holy cats!" he gasped suddenly, rising up. "What happened--?"

He stopped, looking down at himself self-consciously. He was dressed in
a light smock which covered him from head to toe. He realized now that
he had been lying on a bed of vacuum cushions, electrically heated from
below. His body felt saggy from disuse. He was shaved, however, his hair
was brushed, and his nails manicured.

"This," said one of the men gravely, looking at Hal with piercing gray
eyes, "is indeed a momentous day! Helgis"--he glanced at one of the
other men--"inform the Publicity Bureau."

Hal watched the man go, then moistened his lips.

"Say, what goes on?" he asked uneasily. "How'd I get here? Who was the
guy that socked me out in the street?"

"Socked you? Oh--you mean your assailant of long ago? I am afraid we
have no idea...."

"No idea?" Hal looked more worried than ever. "And what do you mean by
'long ago?' How long have I been unconscious anyway?"

The man with gray eyes looked at his companions momentarily, then as
they nodded he answered gravely:

"One hundred and fifty years. We had no idea when you would wake up--if
at all. It became clear long ago that a curious pathological condition
was--"

"Damn the pathology!" Hal exploded, scrambling off the bed. "You said
a hundred and fifty years! You don't mean it! You _can't_ mean it! Why
dammit, it only feels like an hour ago--"

He stopped, breathing hard. He stood passive as an unemotional servant
threw a robe about him.

"This," said the man with gray eyes, "is the year 2120, and you,
Excellent Friend, have been the medical wonder of the past years. As
record has it you were attacked in 1970 and taken to the hospital with
a fractured skull. From there, your condition being one of slight body
movement without actual recovery of consciousness, you were taken to
the Medical Wing of the State Museum. Through the years, as your wealth
was used by State trustees, you became the especial care of principal
medicoes in this residence. We have eagerly awaited your return to
consciousness, have spent our lives studying you. The day has come ...
My name, Excellent Friend, is Nilicot."

Hal stared for a while, then rubbed his head. "You--you said something
about wealth?"

"Yes, Excellent Friend. At a rough estimate you are worth some hundred
million croni--dollars as you used to call them. Your other possessions
include half of this city, the planet Mars--Is something the matter?"
Nilicot broke off anxiously, as Hal staggered.

"No--no." Hal sat down on the bed again with a thud. "I'm just kinda
dizzy.... I'd like something to eat and drink."

"Of course! Forgive my lack of attention ..."

Nilicot turned to the wall and pressed a variety of buttons. Trays
guided on radio beams shot through the wall's unseen hatches and came
to rest in mid air at the level of Hal's lap. There they remained. With
bulging eyes he stared down at the perfect food awaiting him--then with
a hopeless shrug he picked up knife and fork and started.

       *       *       *       *       *

Suddenly one of the men in the group, a bulldog-faced man in a tight
blue one-piece suit went into detail. His voice and brain were like
those of a robot for accuracy.

"In 1970 you staked a claim with the Space Corporation for a strip of
territory on Mars encompassing Cynia Oasis. You became unconscious
before you could make good your claim, thereby establishing a precedent
in law because you were neither dead nor alive and your claim still
held good. By the law of progressive land interest holdings your claim
doubled in three years. Experts viewed Mars and decided it was of no
particular value to us ... In a hundred years your claim entitled you
to three quarters of the planet. Now ..." The man took a deep breath.
"Now, Excellent Friend, you own Mars!"

Hal looked up and smiled weakly.

"Think of that! Is there anything else?"

"Decidedly. Your space machine was found and disposed of by the State.
The auctioned money was placed in the bank for you in the form of
investments. The investments realized enormous sums after the Scientific
War of 2050 and it ended as you are today, with ownership of half this
city and a bank account of some hundred million croni. You are a wealthy
man, Excellent Friend--wealthy even for this age of finance incarnate."

"Yeah ... seems I am." Hal got slowly to his feet, went to the window.
"And when I got laid out I was a no account space-hogger. I've got
the wealth--but I've lost everything, gentlemen! I've lost the girl
I was going to marry, my friends, my ideals, everything. I have been
pitchforked into an incredible world way ahead of me ..."

He fell silent, staring out on the gigantic enigma of the city.

"You will accustom yourself," said the bulldog financier gravely. "If I
can help you at any time my name is Dagnam. I'm Treasurer for the City."

"Thanks. I'll remember that ..." Hal looked at the others. "I just
recall something. When I was laid out I was carrying a chunk of mineral
rock. Anybody know what became of it?"

"Mineral rock?" repeated Nilicot. "From where?"

"From--That doesn't matter," Hal said briefly. "I want to know if
there's any record of it having been used? Any record of the theft?"

"Not that we know of," Nilicot said.

Hal compressed his lips. Then he asked:

"Just why _did_ I go into a trance for one hundred and fifty years?
Anybody know?"

"You have confounded medical science. The blow dulled your brain and
yet did not kill you. It was as though you moved into some other
Time-continuum--"

"And that's the best explanation you advanced scientists have to offer?"
Hal demanded.

The men shrugged and glanced at each other. Financier Dagnam said softly:

"Decidedly!"

Hal shrugged.

"Okay, I'll have to accept it--until I know better, anyway. Seems to me
I've a lot to catch up on ..."

       *       *       *       *       *

It took Hal some time to even begin to adjust himself to the altered,
advanced conditions. The city seemed to work like clock-work. Everything
he wanted in this immense residence was there for him. Servants without
end passed silently up and down the long marble corridors of the place.
Robot controls were everywhere; teleplates brought the world to his side.

At first it was amusing, thrilling, staggering--by turns. But Hal Bailey
was no mug and the vital issues of his interrupted life insisted on
being dealt with. On the seventh day he summoned an astronomical expert.

"Of just how much value is Mars?" Hal asked the man.

"Of no value at all, Excellent Friend. The pity is that you staked
your claim on a planet since proven so useless to science. You own it
of course; by law nobody can touch it--but State examinations on your
behalf have shown it has no useful mineral or other yields. Its only
value lies in it being useful as a refueling station for long distance
space flights."

"Would you suggest," Hal asked slowly, "that I sell Mars?"

The astronomer shrugged.

"Why not? A planet of red dust is no use to you. The Government would
make you an offer. If that does not come up to expectations try the city
control--Dagnam is the Treasurer."

"Okay ... Thanks."

Hal sat in thought for a while, face grim--then he pressed a teleplate
button. The Secretary of State appeared on the mirror.

Hal said, "Mr. Secretary, Mars is in the market for sale. What is the
Government offer?"

"For the past twenty-five years it has remained at one thousand croni--"

"What! A thousand smackers for a whole planet? And of huge value as a
fuel station--"

"That is the figure," said the Secretary implacably. "I am only the
mouthpiece of the State, Excellent Friend. I am not in a position to
enforce you to--"

"You bet you're not!" Hal switched off, pressed another button.
Bulldog-faced Dagnam merged in view.

"Ah, Excellent Friend, good morning! I--"

"Listen, Dagnam, if I decide to sell Mars to the city what's the price?"

"Basic figure of forty fifty thousand croni, open to adjustment."

"Hm-m...." Hal's eyes gleamed. "Well, thanks. I'll do some hard
thinking...."

He switched off, thought out loud. "If Dagnam will pay that and the
Government won't it looks as though Dagnam is responsible for whatever
jiggery-pokery is going on behind the scenes. So Mars is not valuable,
eh? That's what they think! Seems to me I can't do better than go and
look that real estate over a little more thoroughly. I might find
something."




CHAPTER II

22nd Century Racketeer


In ten minutes Hal was in his private solar car driving at a smooth
500 m.p.h. down the elevated city track to the space grounds.[A] As he
drove he meditated, still none too certain of the setup in which he had
landed. To own a planet was one thing: to be sure how much others knew
about it was another.

[Footnote A: Solar car--A car assumed to utilize the power of the
sun, this power operating from a central plant and distributed to all
Vehicles. The idea exists today in the minds of scientists.--Ed.]

He glanced up suddenly at his rear mirror as he heard a roar behind him.
In the mirror was a powerful black solar car striving to overtake him.
To move out of his single car track was impossible.

Then his alarm abated and he grinned. Of course! These cars were not
like 1970. They moved in a fixed groove and the black car was on the
faster track anyway. He waited for it to overtake him.

It drew level. Momentarily he caught a glimpse of men's faces, then a
tiny pellet sailed through the air and struck his car engine amidship.
Instantly the world seemed to burst into a fiery confusion of flying
metal and flame. Wheel brakes screamed wildly and frantically, working
automatically as the engine failed.

Hal felt himself flying through the air, hair and eyebrows singed
with the flame from the engine. He struck out desperately, clamped
his fingers more by luck than judgment to the guard rail bordering
the track. He hung on, feet dangling, cast a look below him. His
brain reeled. A thousand feet down yawned the chasms of the city's
power-parks--His fingers slipped--

Then suddenly strong hands were gripping him, hauling him up to safety.

"You--you came just in time, I guess," he panted, rubbing his racked
arms and gazing at the grim faces of the traffic police. "I was attacked
by somebody--"

"We saw it, Excellent Friend," the officer replied. "From our guardhouse
down the track. It was an attempt to stop your car with an atomic
bomb--probably a kidnaping racket. Have no fear, we'll get them."

"You'd better!" Hal's jaws tightened. "Somebody seems to have marked
objections to my knocking around--Okay, I'm all right now. Give me a
lift to the space grounds, will you?"

They did, saw him safely into the private one-man express machine he
chartered. Thoroughly convinced now that he had stepped into a hornets'
nest of intrigue somewhere, Hal set the controls and drove swiftly over
the heights of the city, flashed outward into the void. Turning, he set
his course for Mars, eyed it grimly.

"Useless planet, huh? And the moment I set out for it I nearly get
bumped off! Guess that residence of mine must be wormeaten with secret
devices and somebody knew what I'd planned. You've things to learn, big
boy. This 2120 racket is no nursery!"

He half expected as his journey continued that there would be some other
attack--but nothing happened. Here and there the space patrol signaled a
greeting; far behind was a leisurely old space-tramp pursuing the usual
lanes ... otherwise nothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Part of the time Hal slept, using the robot control. Then as Mars began
to fill heaven with its streaking _canali_ he was aware of considerable
surprise at sighting a lone spaceship perched in the void perhaps two
hundred miles from the red planet. As he drew nearer he opened up his
space radio.

"Hallo, there! What goes on? Who are you?"

To his surprise a girl's voice answered--a cool, charming voice.

"Who wants to know?"

Hal frowned, then his jaw set. He drove alongside the solitary craft and
saw a face framed in the outlook port. So far as he could make out it
was a good looking face, oval, framed in black hair.

"You're inside the five hundred mile zone limit," he announced curtly.
"That makes you a space trespasser on my property--"

"_Your_ property! Who are you anyway?"

"I'm Hal Bailey, owner of Mars. If that doesn't convey anything try
'Excellent Friend.'"

"You're--you're him are you?" He heard her gasp. "Excuse _me_! I can
explain this ... Come on over."

She opened her ship's outer lock. Hal lowered his space-tunnel into
position, crossed into the girl's control room.[B] The place was
littered with spectrometers, charts, maps, sextants, and Martian desert
drawings. The girl was a slim, cool-looking piece attired in the
prevailing space slacks of the time.

[Footnote B: Space Tunnel--A space "gang plank" entirely inclosed,
extending from airlock to airlock of adjoining ships--folding up
concertinawise when not in use.--Ed.]

"What's the idea?" Hal inquired, eyeing her steadily.

Instead of answering she said,

"Yes, you're the Excellent Friend, all right. I've seen you enough times
in the Museum. The Medical Wonder! The owner of Mars himself--Well, I'm
trespassing all right, only it was quiet and empty of space police so
I--" She shrugged. "So I just went on with my work."

"Spying for those damned folks back on Earth who are trying to kill
me?" Hal asked bitterly. "Like the rest of these chiseling heels of
2120 you're--"

"I resent that!" she cried, her dark eyes blazing. "I'm no spy! I'm a
student of cosmic hieroglyphics. Vilma Crandal is the name. You've heard
of me, or my dad?"

"Frankly, no." Hal frowned. "Sorry I offended you. Space hieroglyphics?
What's that to do with you being near my property?"

She nodded to the table, indicated the numberless drawings of Mars.

"Mars changes its canals a lot. You know that?"

"Sure. Alter all the time. So what?"

"My dad believed, and I believe, that the Martians used the canal system
not for water but to convey a message to Earth. Their language being
different to ours they used the only method understandable to scientists
anywhere--geometry."

Hal stared at her, then he grinned. "Sounds screwy to me--"

"It isn't screwy!" she objected heatedly. "Evan Lowell, way back in
your dim past hinted at it. Every week more or less, for centuries,
the Martian _canali_ undergo change in length and design, appear and
disappear. The Martians knew exactly what changes would occur in the
surface of their planet for generations after their decease and arranged
it that the canals fell into predetermined shapes--geometrical shapes.
Those shapes, traced back into the past, and followed to the present
day, spell a message--an amazing message. My father and I made it our
life's work to solve the meaning of it."

       *       *       *       *       *

Hal stared down on the ocher planet. "But hang it, those marks don't
even make sense!"

"Neither does shorthand until you understand it. Geometry is a language
all its own--the science of magnitudes. If you take the propositions
postulated by the canal designs you arrive at logical conclusions. For
instance, two parallel lines of same length and distance apart mean,
obviously, the term 'Equal.' That's how it works ..."

The girl stopped a moment, added seriously,

"Upward of ninety years Dad and I studied Mars. From the propositions
we've learned how much Mars really contains, what a mastery of science
the extinct Martians really had--Even today Mars contains vast
scientific power deep in its bowels. They couldn't send messages to
Earth by radio because at that time--when the Martians died out--Earth
was not fully aware of radio power. Possibly nobody on the Earth has
made cosmic hieroglyphics their specialty as Dad and I have. That is why
I'm here, checking notes."

Hal rubbed his jaw.

"Perhaps there _are_ others in on it," he said slowly. "It may account
for certain factions trying to get Mars from me at all possible cost--"

He stopped and twirled around as the radio speaker came to life.

"Hey, there, Excellent Friend, we want a word with you! You'd better
agree since we have your ship covered."

Hal looked grimly through the window onto the dirty space tramp he had
seen following him for long enough.

"State your business!" he snapped into the mike.

"Withdraw that airlock tunnel then we will."

"Better," the girl said seriously. "I've no protective weapons on this
ship. If these guys get tough, whoever they are, they'll make it hot for
us."

She broke the magnetic contact holding the tunnel to Hal's ship and it
folded back in place. The tramp drifted alongside, fanned out its own
tunnel, then three men came into the control room. The foremost was
Financier Dagnam. Behind him were two men with paralyzing guns in their
hands at the ready.

"Surprised?" the financier asked dryly, then before Hal could reply he
went on, "You shouldn't be. Way out in space here I am not compelled
to cloak my actions as I was on Earth, surrounded as you were by laws,
scientists, and state officials. You're a free man here and can take
your chance ..." He stopped, his piggy eyes glinting. "Not long ago I
made you an offer for Mars. You will be well advised to accept it!"

"So it was you who tried to kill me on the traffic way!" Hal exploded.
"I might have--"

"My orders were to have you kidnaped," Dagnam said curtly. "The scheme
went wrong and the police intervened. It has meant my being forced to
follow you out here to get you to sell Mars to me. You have no use for
it--"

"Who says I haven't? Get the hell out of here, Dagnam, before I damn
well--"

"Let us not waste time," the financier interrupted coldly. He planked
a printed sheet down on the table, fingered a pen grimly. "On Earth,"
he said slowly, "I might have been forced to actually pay you the money
stated--but not here. You will sign, because I have the guns."

"Supposing I let you shoot me instead?" Hal demanded grimly.

"That won't happen, my friend. You have placed yourself in a rather
unfortunate position. Either you sign or this woman here dies, and her
death will be on your conscience."

Hal hesitated and looked at the guns. He glanced at the girl and saw she
was giving little shakes of her head.

"It's a wonder a snake like you doesn't sink to forgery," Hal said
bitterly, eyeing Dagnam's remorseless face.

"I'm not above it," he shrugged. "Only back on Earth you have signed too
many documents since you awoke for me to escape with a forgery--Sign,
damn you!" he blazed. "You're wasting time!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Hal tightened his lips, then bent down to the table, apparently to
append his signature--Instead he suddenly whirled up the heavy brass
sextant with which the girl had been working and hurled it with
terrific, unerring force at the nearest gunman.

He fell to the floor, dead-stunned as the instrument struck him a
glancing blow on top of the head and then whizzed on its way into the
switchboard. There was a violent purple flash--

Even as the missile traveled on its way Hal jumped, brought the startled
other man down with a tackle, hurled his massive fist into his upturned
face time and again until he sank back with bleeding mouth, his gun
flying out of his hand.

Instantly the girl picked it up, tossed it over to Hal. He caught it
deftly.

"Out!" he said between his teeth. "Go on, Dagnam--get out! And take
your infernal paper with you--!" He hurled it in the magnate's flabby,
vindictive face. Dagnam clutched it, crammed it in his pocket and headed
for the airlock. A kick helped him on his way.

Without ceremony Hal bundled the two dazed and battered gunmen after
him, fired one charge from the gun that sent them scuttling through the
rest of the airlock tunnel back to their own ship.

"Okay, we get outa here," Hal said briefly to the girl, slamming the
lock shut. "That ship of mine doesn't signify anyway ..."

The girl closed a switch and the ship jolted--then she gave a cry of
alarm.

"The switch! It's broken--Where the sextant hit it!"

Hal leaped to her side, stared at the smashed wiring.

"What--what happens?" he gulped.

"It fires the forward tubes. If those don't fire as well as the back
jets we'll never pull free of Mars' gravity field--we're falling now!"
the girl cried hoarsely, as the ship moved a little way and then began
to twirl oddly, moving slowly down toward the vast ocher landscape
below. With seconds whipping by, it gathered momentum.

Hal felt himself sweat with sudden fear. He set to work to try and
replace the wiring, gave it up as hopeless. It would take hours. The
girl cut off the power, but the damage was done now. Faster and faster
the ship fell out of the anchor-field over the deadline and the ocher
wilderness rose to meet them.

The girl tensed, biting her lip--then almost at the limit of their
headlong dive she gave the rearward tubes everything they had. In
that maneuver she succeeded for the ship twirled and lifted her nose
sideways, struck the sand in a long gouging sweep, tore along in it for
a space, then halted.

"Nice going!" Hal breathed, straightening up.

The girl gave a relieved nod. "Thought that last bit might do it. What
we have to do now is fix this wiring and then--"

"It can wait," Hal said, looking through the port. "Dagnam and his boys
are heading voidwards; evidently think we went to destruction. Now we've
landed on this darned planet of mine I want to be sure exactly why
Dagnam is so anxious about it. Is it that he knows of Martian secrets
buried in it, or is it the secret I once found--? How much do you know
of Mars' surface, Miss Crandal?"

"From personal contact, nothing. Private property, remember."

Hal grinned crookedly.

"Pity other people haven't your sense of honesty. Let's see--" He
studied the gages. "Air thin but breathable, just. Temperature seventy.
Hm-m, good enough. And we're three miles from the spot I want--Cynia
Oasis. Okay, lock that stuff of yours away in case unwelcome factions
find it--"

"I'll take the principal charts with me," she said briefly. "If Dagnam
returns I'll leave nothing from which he can benefit."

She stuffed a collapsible roll of prints and charts into the belt pocket
on her waist, then nodded to the airlock. Hal gripped the solitary
paralyzer-gun more firmly and followed her.




CHAPTER III

Slow Motion Life


As they ploughed along together through the sand, accustoming themselves
to the lesser gravity, Hal said,

"Look here, Miss Crandal--or is it Vilma now we know each other
better?--you know plenty about Earth whereas I was just flung into it.
What's the setup? I mean, who's supposed to rule the cities and the
countries?"

"In every country save Merica--that's where you and I hail from--money
alone is in control," she answered. "Capitalism won the fight after the
Scientific War, except in our country. There we have the Presidential
form of Government, with finance striving hard to overthrow it. Dagnam
is one of those who is trying to oust a political Government and set
up a monetary one, like other countries have. If he could only get the
wealth he needs--even if only in solid gold--he could rule the country.
But gold can only be bought in hard cash from other countries and
planets. Therefore the one with most gold is nominally the big shot of
the lot."

Hal reflected. "Rather like our Twentieth Century setup used to be, only
now it's on clearer lines. Seems to me Dagnam is a guy to be wary of.
Obviously he--"

Pausing, he pointed ahead.

"There, that sand and rock ridge. In it there's the entrance to an
underground cave. I found it before I went to sleep--Come on."

The girl followed him through a narrow opening in the hard rock, right
into the ridge itself, lowered herself down a stony slope into Hal's
waiting arms. The dim sunlight filtering in revealed an immense internal
cave hanging with numberless stalactites.

"This is it all right," Hal said grimly, as he and the girl fingered
the rock inquisitively. "I took some of these stalactite rocks back to
Earth. I must have been followed and they were stolen from me. Since
nothing's been heard of them since I presume they were no good...."

"What did you think they were, anyway?" the girl asked.

"My instruments said heavy water crystals.[C] The rock gives off
emanations, I know that. I carried my samples in steel tongs at arms'
length until I felt sure they wouldn't hurt me. On Earth I carried them
under my arm."

[Footnote C: Heavy Water--Produced by electrolysis, especially solar
power passing through tenuous atmosphere. Heavy water possesses more
electrons than normal water, is an isotope. Its powers, according to
science, are mainly medicinal and produce different results according to
dosage.--Ed.]

A startled look began to form on the girl's face.

"But heavy water crystals might be valuable--for all kinds of things!
They arrest ketabolism for one thing--that is age. In concentrate form
they can be powerful drugs. Heavy water crystals is right!" she went on.
"Martian water would be electrolyzed by the weak atmospheric blanket,
would sink down here from the oasis in heavy water form ... Maybe Dagnam
knows a thing or two, at that!"

"Mebbe ..." Hal was wandering thoughtfully around the cave. He came up
suddenly against the opposite wall and gave a shout.

"Hey, Vil! For Pete's sake come and take a look here!"

Hurrying to his side the girl started in surprise at discovering an
inlet square of immensely thick glass. But beyond the glass was yet
another cavern, furnished incredibly enough after the style of a
hospital ward! There were earthly tables, chairs, instruments, beds, and
a dully glowing ceiling lamp, apparently of radium origin, allowing just
sufficient light for visibility.

This was not all. In the place were six men, Earthmen, clad in light
one-piece tunics. They lay or sat in all manner of positions, motionless
apparently. Some were bald, and all were over middle age.

"What--what _is_ this?" Hal gasped. "Business man's waxworks?"

"Good Lord, I know some of these men, by sight!" Vilma cried. "There's
Millpont, the famous financier, for one--And Valcane, the big broker!"
Her voice broke with excitement. "And that fat man there is DeManyon,
about the biggest chain store merchant in Merica--Wait, something comes
back to me! While you were asleep Hal all these men here announced their
intention of retiring. Then they dropped out of sight--to _here_,
obviously!"

"Are they dead?" Hal stared in bewilderment.

       *       *       *       *       *

They were silent for a while, watching intently. It seemed too
incredible, but with the moments the men were seen to alter position
very slightly, an alternation as infinitesimal as the movement of the
distant stars.

"No, they're not dead," the girl whispered. "They're _slowed down_!"

"Men in slow motion!" Hal breathed. "_Now_ I begin to see the light!
This is Dagnam's doing! I told you that heavy water rock gives off
emanations. Way back in the past it was stolen from me, probably by some
predecessor of Dagnam's. They found out that it was the emanations of
the rock that made me sleep for a hundred and fifty years. _That's_ what
the explanation is. Those guys closest to me back on Earth, like Nilicot
my adviser, knew all about it--But Dagnam kept them quiet. Probably they
figured I'd never wake up--"

"Then these men--?" the girl asked breathlessly.

"It's obvious! Dagnam, or somebody before him, traced the stuff back to
this cave. They used it, probably as concentrate. Of their own accord
these men here have been dosed with concentrate. They may not wake
up for centuries. Suppose they left behind them certain investments
to accrue with time--? When they wake up they'll be as incredibly
wealthy--wealthier--than I found myself! You say they only retired.
Okay--their holdings remain firm until they reappear or death can
be proved. A racket!" Hal whistled. "A sanatorium for businessmen!
Financial power in pickle! Wow!"

"You recovered, proved obstinate, so Dagnam's got to get this planet
from you at all cost," the girl mused. "Yes, I believe you are right.
And he relied on the general honesty of other people to keep this place
secret--and it's worked! We--"

She stopped, suddenly staggered a little.

"Something wrong?" Hal caught her anxiously.

"Just--just darned sleepy, that's all." She looked vaguely surprised. "I
guess it must be this thin air--"

She shook herself, yawned widely, then stopped half way and swung to the
cave opening at a sudden sound. Three figures dropped into view--Dagnam
and his two gunmen. Instantly Hal's hand flew to the gun he'd thrust in
his belt but Dagnam's voice rang out.

"Better not, Bailey! I'm in no mood for games this time!"

Dagnam came forward with a grim face, halted.

"Good job we watched what happened through the telescope after your
ship cracked up," he commented briefly. "Right now you know just a bit
too much about my affairs ..." His cold eyes slanted to the girl as he
thrust out the sheet of paper Hal had hurled at him on the spaceship.
"This time I'll take no chances. Sign! That is all I need. You can talk
yourself black proving otherwise back on Earth. I'll have you taped by
then--Come on, Bailey, sign! Or this girl dies. I'm no joker!"

"I'll be--" Hal checked himself, suddenly conscious of a vast wave of
weariness billowing over him. He fought against it with all his strength
as for a moment Dagnam and his gunmen seemed to recede into a distant
mist.

"_Get busy!_" the financier roared, holding out a pen.

Furious, he lunged out with his fist, sent Hal spinning to the sandy
floor. Hal fought his way up again, trying to figure out what had gone
wrong with him. Life seemed to be ebbing from him in a tide. He hardly
felt the brutal blows Dagnam rained time and again into his face. Only
his dinning command--"Sign!" penetrated his brain.

Numbly, he took the pen. With the cave spinning round him he scrawled
his signature, twisted his head to stare at the girl where she was held
against the wall at the gunpoint.

"Okay," Dagnam said briefly. "Pay the account, boys. Use the ordinary
revolvers--no taking chances with paralysis or rays."

Hal jerked his head up in alarm as the gunmen backed away. Half-way back
up the cave they paused, leveled their guns and fired--once, twice ...

Hal stared in blank horror as he saw the girl crumple in a limp heap to
the floor. Then to the accompaniment of another gun explosion he felt a
dull, numb pain in his chest.

His exhaustion was complete. Darkness flowed over him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Throughout a period of duration he could only guess at, Hal was aware
of slight movements, of patched-up events as brief and odd as those of
a nightmare. In a half-formed way they reminded him of his one hundred
fifty-year sleep. Then all of a sudden he recovered consciousness.

Once more that feeling of receding cramp, of life pouring back into his
limbs. Hunger gripped him.

He sat up abruptly, blinking in the wavering glow of volcanic light.
He was in some kind of inner cave that went as far as he could see. In
every direction sprouted bushes of livid green, their branches laden
with heavy, vivid-colored fruits like peaches. It was cool down here;
the air sucked into the planet's core, was fresh. The plants, dry soil
specimens, flourished obviously by absorbing what water vapor remained
in the air.

"What the heck...?" Hal rubbed his face, noted in amazement the vast
beard he had grown. His hair too was down to his shoulders.

He stared around him again, then started as he saw the sprawled figure
of the girl stirring slightly. At the same moment, seeing her threadbare
clothes, he became aware that he himself was in tatters. For some reason
his tough space togs were worn out. He made hasty readjustments to what
remained then scrambled dizzily to his feet.

"Vilma!" he cried, shaking her bare shoulder. "Vil, wake up!"

She moved again at that, opened her eyes. For a long time she looked
bemusedly around, then as her faculties returned she scooped her torn
clothes more tightly about her and stared at Hal's bearded face.

"What--what happened?" she breathed.

"Search me," he replied worriedly. "Last thing I remember was being shot
at. Dunno how we got here ... Up you get!"

He raised her to her feet, then he felt his chest thoughtfully.

"Right here," he said slowly, "is something hard. It must be the bullet
Dagnam's gunman fired at me--You should have a couple in you somewhere."

"I have," she said, fingering herself. "They ought to have killed
us--but they didn't! I seem to remember I was half asleep--Hal, what's
happened to us? Where are we on Mars?" She caught at him anxiously.

"Something has happened that I hardly dare think about," he said in an
awed voice. "We made a mistake in handling those heavy water stalactites
as we did. The emanations must have gotten into our bloodstream and
slowed down our faculties--just as it happened to me before when I was
fool enough to carry the rock without protection. The bullets didn't
kill us because death relies on the speed at which a shock can be
assimilated. With us the shock was infinitely protracted, so we didn't
die ...

"We moved," he breathed, astounded. "We followed Nature's law and looked
subconsciously for stimulant. We needed precious little, but still
_some_. As if in a stupor we must have moved from our cave to here ...
Here there is fruit. If we follow our trail back we'll no doubt come to
our cave--"

"From our clothes and your Rasputin beard, it's some time," Vilma said.
"Let's take a look."

Hal turned to the nearest fruit bush, snapped off a partly dried branch
and thrust it in the volcanic flame spouting out of the rocks. Thus
armed with a torch they searched around until they found a small single
opening. It led through a long tunnel with a sandy floor.

"Notice?" Hal exclaimed, triumphantly. "Gouged tracks in the sand
where we've dragged ourselves along with infinite slowness. Blind
animal instinct replacing normal reasoning, as it naturally must if the
faculties are slowed up."

The girl nodded but said nothing. Hal realized that, like him, she was
oppressed by the awesome thought of the time that must have slipped by
in the interval.

For an hour they went on, twisting and turning through the single narrow
passage.

It brought them out finally into the very cave where they had met the
bullets of Dagnam's gunmen, seemingly so short a time before.




CHAPTER IV

Martian Strategy


Silent, they looked at the wall of the cave where they had last seen
illumined glass. Now it was powdered with sandy dust and behind it all
was dark and quiet.

"They've gone," Hal said, shrugging, then as he looked about him, "And
they've taken tons of stalactite material with them! Look at the amount
of stuff they've broken off--!"

Vilma nodded slowly, then they went together to the cave exit and stared
out onto the Martian night sky. Cold wind blew about them, set them
shuddering.

Earth was there over the desert, a tiny green ball. Then as she studied
the winking constellations the girl turned suddenly and seized Hal's arm.

"Do you realize how long we've been crawling and eating?" she asked
breathlessly.

"Some time, I guess. I can't judge it exactly--"

"I can, from the stars--It's about two hundred years!"

"What!"

"It's right," she insisted seriously. "In all that time we've passed a
slow motion existence. We've been veritable lotus eaters. In two hundred
years all we've done is move to lower quarters of Mars and eat fruit--"

"But what's happened on Earth during this time?" Hal cried. "Do you
realize--"

"I realize that more of the stalactites have been taken, obviously
for use by the revived industrialists who by this time must surely be
veritable masters of the world. They probably wondered where we went
to--That doesn't signify. We're still here, alive ..."

"Yeah, and little good it does us!" Hal stared over the mournfully
empty desert. "Either your space ship was taken away long ago or else
it's covered in sand. We're alone, Vil--Lost!"

"Not quite," she said quietly. "Don't forget the Martian civilization,
or what's left of it, still lies deep inside Mars. I know enough to find
my way to it. Original notes are gone of course, but my memory still
serves me. Come on, we've got to find a way down to this planet's very
core. It's our last chance. There may be stuff there to help us escape."

       *       *       *       *       *

Together they made their way back to the underground cavern, refreshed
themselves with the curious tasting fruit--then they lighted more
torches and started a careful exploration. It was not long before the
girl found an immense volcanic fissure extending into the depths.

"Okay, let's go." Hal said grimly. "We can't go up so let's go down."

They descended cautiously, slipping down precipitous lengths at
times, barking their bare feet on loose pieces of rock, but gradually
descending ever lower into the sponge of a world. Down here, as the
fissures linked right through the planet, there was a tremendous draft,
cold and cutting.

It was also a region of more and more volcanic light from the nearly
extinct fires in the core. They flashed and rumbled incessantly but
without any promise of becoming dangerous. In the cave in which the two
finally dropped--indeed it was far more than a cave, it was the vast
root core of Mars itself--there was an awesome quality. Its silence was
broken only by the muffled thunder of internal explosion, its darkness
by the stabbing lights that threw distorted shadows. And at its far end,
gleaming where the light struck it, were two vast doors of black metal.

"This is it!" the girl cried exultantly. "The last habitat of the
Martians! In the transcripted message it said thought waves alone can
open those doors--the thought wave of the first proposition in Euclid--"

"What a hope!" Hal groaned.

"I think I can do it," the girl retorted. "Maybe you forget I've spent
my life--or _did_ spend my life--on the problem. Now quit talking and
let me concentrate ..."

For a long time she stood staring at the doors, concentrating with brows
down. Time and again she failed--then just as Hal was giving it up as
hopeless there came out of the rumbling stillness a series of clicking
noises. With the creak of untold age the doors began to move, parted up
the center, sent forth a belch of curiously exotic air like that from an
Eastern tomb.

Within, the atmosphere was breathable but oddly tainted. It clung to
the nostrils of Hal and the girl as they stepped cautiously into the
hallowed reaches. The reflected light from the volcanic cavern shone on
incredibly intricate mechanisms operating the doors.

Silently they went on to a wilderness of machines cloaked in thick,
dust-caked grease.

"Yes, this is it," the girl whispered. "The Monte Cristo of Mars--the
last inventions of Martian science waiting for those who could read the
signs of the _canali_. And we've got them!"

"Yeah ..." Hal felt he had to subdue his voice. "Where do we start?" he
went on. "I don't begin to understand the setup. Anyway, there'll be no
power--"

"Not of the sort we know of, perhaps--but scientists as clever as the
Martians probably used solar power--like we used to use on earth for
solar cars two hundred years ago. Let's look around."

       *       *       *       *       *

An hour later, with the girl's knowledge of advanced machines and
Martian signs, they tabulated their findings. All power was clearly
governed by an immense self-contained power unit connected with the
roof--and thence presumably to some point on the exterior where the
sun's power could reach it.

"Telescopic devices, space radio, transmutational machines, synthesis
apparatus, the whole shoot--" Hal said.

"All linking to the central switchboard and robot controlled from
there," the girl nodded. "Let's see what we get."

Rather nervously she went to work on the switches. It took some time
to find the right combination, but fool-proof devices prevented any
disastrous mistakes, and suddenly there came a throbbing of power from
the immense storage resources.

"It works!" Hal cried excitedly. "Nice going!"

Between them they went to work on the radio television apparatus,
fished around for an interval before they transformed the blur on the
screen into a view of the heavens, and presently to a picture of Earth
perfectly mirrored by the X-ray devices--

It was a changed Earth--a different Earth from anything they had ever
known. Where New York had stood there now sprawled a city which covered
the entire American continent. New York _was_ America, apparently.
Across the oceans on other lands reposed similar giant cities, covering
every country. They were traced out with roadways and countless lines
of communication; the seas were thick with craft, the air jostling with
bullet-fast air machines.

"Things have kinda grown," Hal said somberly. "Doesn't get us away from
here either. Seems the Martians hadn't mastered space travel in spite
of being good scientists--or if they did they took darned good care to
leave no clues for us."

The girl fiddled with the radio apparatus, at last got it tuned to an
ultra short Earth wavelength. Most of the announcements failed to make
much sense, except that there was constant reference to the "grace
of the Merica World State." Everything, it appeared, was done by its
consent.

"In other words, Merica has got a grip on the whole world and is the
dominating State." Hal said thoughtfully. "That kind of adds up. Those
industrialists returned, claimed their accumulated money, and thereby
became the wealthiest men on Earth, buying everybody else out. Dagnam,
we presume, is either dead or in pickle for the future."

Vilma nodded slowly, thinking, then she looked at the radio quickly as
another announcement came forth.

"By the grace of the Merica World State it is announced that the
appeal for commercial help by the controllers of Europa State cannot
be granted. In these days of financial control, Merica holds the
largest gold reserve in the world and is thereby dictator of policy by
common consent. The Merica World State, under the control of Exchequer
Chancellor Millpont, therefore considers--"

       *       *       *       *       *

The communication faded out, blurred with space static. Hal switched
off, looked at the girl inquiringly.

"Millpont, huh? One of the pickled industrialists who was on Mars here.
And the rest will be around him ..." Hal clenched his fist. "It's the
very devil! A money juggernaut backed by gold, able to enforce its will
on the world until somebody with greater wealth and gold turns up! And
what can we do? Nothing! Even if we could get back to Earth we'd be no
better off. A bulk of a planet like this--"

"And your own wealth accumulated with two hundred years," the girl
pointed out. "Don't forget that! You must by now be enormously wealthy
and as long as you are alive the law remains. Not even Millpont can
alter that."

"Yeah," Hal sighed. "But still way behind buying him out."

The girl was silent, wandering around the machinery. Then she halted and
said slowly. "I _wonder_...!"

"Huh? Wonder what?"

"These transmutational machines here," she said slowly--then suddenly
making up her mind she closed the transmutator power switches. Giant
tubes flared into life for a moment and they both stared in awe at the
display, watched the battering onslaught of energies clashing in fiery
grandeur in the transparent mutational chamber.

"Anything into anything!" the girl said, studying the hieroglyphics on
the chart attached to the machine. "Here there are one hundred elements
of which we know only ninety-two--but they're in the same Periodic
Weight. That's natural, anyway. And the corresponding switch numbers are
shown--Hal!" Her voice sharpened eagerly. "This chart can help us change
anything into anything else--lead into gold, for instance. Look, I'll
show you!"

She picked up a lead cube from the adjoining container and put it in the
transmutational chamber, closed the appropriate switch. A battering hail
of complex forces descended on the cube. It began to glow, changed color
as it formed fresh atomic units. Automatically the power at last cut
itself out and there remained a block that shone dull yellow.

"_Gold!_" Hal yelled. "It is gold! Vil, we've got to contact Earth by
radio and tell 'em Millpont isn't the richest power, that this so called
hulk of a planet is--"

"And have Millpont see to it that you never use your secret? Oh no!" The
girl shook her head. "We fight fire with fire here, Hal. We can't get
away from here--so Millpont and sundry others will come to us!"

"Are you crazy?" Hal shouted. "It's asking for it. Once it is known we
can manufacture gold _et al_ in this place we--"

The girl interrupted him, went across to the radio, began to fiddle for
Earth transmission waves again.

"Leave it to me," she said, smiling faintly. "You may be a good space
man but you're a rotten business man--" She made more adjustments,
intoned her voice into the microphone. "Mars calling Earth! Urgent
message! Mars calling Earth!"

       *       *       *       *       *

After a long interval Earth replied.

The announcer sounded mystified.

"Earth replying. What apparatus are you using to speak from Mars?"

The girl ignored the question.

"Here is a message for the Merica World State, and Chancellor Millpont
in particular. Mars is in extreme danger of being annexed by unfriendly
powers and it is essential that Chancellor Millpont and the head of
every other State in the world come to Mars immediately to determine
preventative measures. I am a member of the Space Secret Service,
marooned on Mars, and I have discovered this amazing plot. I await
reply."

There was a long interval, then,

"Chancellor Millpont concedes to your request, extends his cordial
thanks for your promptness. How will he contact you?"

"Cynia Oasis. I will be waiting ..."

The girl switched off, smiled grimly. Hal looked at her in some
puzzlement.

"And when he comes?"

"You'll see," she said briefly. "In the meantime we're going to make
some clothes with the synthetic machine, hunt up what arms we can to
protect ourselves--though I have an idea it won't be necessary--and
you're going to tell me the whole story of your life from the time you
awoke in 2120 up to meeting me ... Let's get started."

       *       *       *       *       *

Many Martian days and nights passed before Hal and Vilna, watching from
their cave entrance, sighted the approaching Earth fleet. It landed
close to the oasis and a party of eight men finally emerged, began to
walk toward Hal and Vilna as they signaled their presence.

The bald-headed Millpont stared at the ill-dressed two amazedly.

"Are _you_ S.S.S. agents?" he cried. "Or is this some damned joke? If
there's been a trick--"

"No trick," Hal said calmly. "Follow us, gentlemen, if you please."

Wonderingly, not a little irritably indeed when it came to the long
descent into Mars' bowels, the men followed Hal and the girl. Once in
the vast Martian power-hall they gazed around in mystified awe.

Suddenly Millpont harrumphed loudly and cocked a grim eye on the girl.

"Presumably you sent the message," he said. "It was a woman's voice, I
am told. Well, where's the danger?"

The girl ignored the inquiry. Composedly, she asked a question.

"Just what countries do you gentlemen represent?"

They looked at each other, then Millpont gestured impatiently.

"There are no countries! You should know that! There are only cities,
owned and controlled by the grace of Merica--" He stopped, his jaws
setting. "Just what are you two doing on this planet? It is private
property and--"

"In other words," the girl said, eyeing the other quiet-faced men, "you
are under the heel of this man and his city of Merica?"

There was a slow nodding of heads. One said gravely.

"Financial power backed by gold is the ruler of the Earth, therefore
Merica is the legal master."

Vilma smiled crookedly, looked at Millpont.

"What gave you the idea, Millpont, that you own this planet? It was
bought--or rather stolen by force--from one Hal Bailey nearly two
hundred years or so ago."

"It is on record that it was bought," Millpont retorted. "The Hal
Bailey person died or something. Look here, what _is_ this?" he roared
suddenly. "Why did you ask us here anyway?"

"Shut up, and listen!" Hal was speaking now. "Hal Bailey was one of the
richest men in Earth at the time of his supposed death, was he not?
Where did his property go? Nobody could use it until his death was
proven. That's the law. Right, gentlemen?"

The others nodded again firmly.

"Bailey's death was proved to the hilt!" Millpont snorted. "His property
was confiscated by the State then, according to law--"

"Then it's going to be tough on you," Hal said grimly. "I'm Hal Bailey
myself, and I can prove it in any way you want once I get back to Earth!
I was robbed, cheated, shot at! I lay for two hundred years with this
girl here in slow motion--Yeah, that pricks, doesn't it? Slow motion!
Just the way you and your pet industrialists passed the time away while
the interest mounted up--"

Millpont hesitated, his eyes glittering.

"You'll never prove anything--and you're not Bailey! You--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"A moment," one of the men interposed. "It has never been quite
understood how Millpont and his colleagues succeeded in gaining such a
legal hold over vast sums of money. Do you suggest that they used some
scientific method to get a start on us--"

"I'm not suggesting, man--I'm _telling_!" Hal roared. "I own Mars,
always have. It was stolen by Dagnam from me. In spite of my signature,
in spite of everything, I demand restitution for this! I'll make you pay
for this, Millpont! I'll drag the story of heavy water crystals through
every damned State on Earth! I'll blast your whole rotten setup! You're
going to give me back Mars and my estate in money--But especially Mars!
Understand?"

"One moment," Millpont said, calming. "There will be endless
difficulties in trying to sort out your legal title to the estate you
had two hundred years ago--nor do I believe for a moment you would be
able to gainsay the signature you gave making Mars over to us, or at
least to Dagnam. Suppose we were to compromise? Suppose I take your
word for it regarding Mars and you leave the matter of your accrued
inheritance alone?"

"What! Not on your life--"

"It would be--safer," Millpont said gravely.

"Yeah, you mean you'd bump me off before I could make a claim at all,
huh?"

"Hardly that--but calamities befall all of us sometimes. You are a
business man, and so am I. Strategically Mars is worth as much as your
estate if you will communicate with the Venusian Government. They are
anxious to buy."

"Boloney!" Hal said frankly. "You mean it's an old hulk and you are glad
to get rid of it! You've gotten all the minerals you want, sucked it
drier than a lemon--"

"You still have these machines," Millpont shrugged. "I am willing
for you to have everything on this planet in return for your silence
concerning your legal claim."

Hal hesitated, glanced at the girl. She closed one eye solemnly.

"Okay," Hal said briefly. "I'll do it."

"Good!" Millpont motioned his waxen faced secretary and he went to work
on a portable printer. Within a minute Millpont held forth a printed
transfer of sale, signed it with a flourish. Hal did likewise and the
other men appended their signatures.

Millpont smiled gravely.

"You are not a very good business man, my friend," he sighed. "However,
now it is done it is your--"

"I haven't finished yet!" Hal retorted, as the group turned to go. "I've
something to add. Now I own Mars--to which you are all witnesses--I
intend to buy Merica as well!"

"You--what?" Millpont asked deliberately.

"How much do you want?" Hal demanded. "Name a price! Any price--as high
as you like!"

"You're crazy," Millpont said sourly. "Besides, there is no price! All
the gold reserve in the Solar System could not--"

"In a world given over to financial domination everything has a price!"
Hal shouted. "Take a look at this if you doubt my capital!"

       *       *       *       *       *

He nodded to the girl and she slammed the switch on the transmutational
machine. Millpont, indeed all the men, watched with popping eyes as
blocks of lead, copper, tin, iron, and so forth fell forth to the rack
as pure gold.

"What the--" Millpont gasped. Then he burst into a roar. "By God, this
is trickery! Damned, infernal--"

"I'm the business man, Millpont, not you!" Hal grinned. "Now you see!
Mars is an old hulk, is it? The richest planet in the System, that's
what it is! Wealth without end--And I own it! Gentlemen, you are my
witnesses! I can outbuy Millpont here, outbuy anybody!"

"We'll see if you will!" Millpont shouted, then before anybody could
stop him he plunged forward and drove his fist through the glass into
the transmutation chamber, grabbed at the lead block forming slowly into
gold.

Almost instantly he staggered back, dragging his apparently numbed
arm clear. In some odd way the gold block was cloying to his fingers,
spreading a yellowish tinge into his hand--assimilating with his flesh!
For a second or two he stood in mute anguish while the others looked on,
thunderstruck. Then he crashed over to the floor, rigid, his whole gross
body twisting and shuddering tremendously as the transmutational powers
surged through him.

"He's--he's turning into gold!" one of the men whispered.

"It's the energy that does it," the girl said quietly. "He tried to
seize it at the point of change and the energy of change passed into
him as well. This transmutator changes anything into anything. Millpont
loved gold, I guess--and he sure got it!"

The others were silent, staring at the gilded image cloaked in a suit
upon the floor.

"I think, gentlemen, the issue is decided for us anyway," Hal said
quietly. "We had better return to Earth and make our arrangements. Mars
henceforth is the master planet. I do not have to tell you that no
domination will be sought--"

He caught the girl's arm as she came up. She smiled at him.

"Sure was a lucky day for me when I bought Mars," he murmured. "Only day
to improve on it was the one when I met you."

"There's still one more to beat them both, if you like," she said
naively, then they turned together and followed the Earth delegates out
of the hall.


The End.


[The end of _The Man Who Bought Mars_ by John Russell Fearn]