The Martians(19)
Three hours passed that way, and Roger's easygoing tone changed—not to worry, Eileen judged, but rather to boredom, and annoyance with John. Eileen herself was extremely concerned. If John had mistaken north for south, or fallen . . .
“I suppose we should go higher.” Roger sighed. “Although I thought I saw him back when we brought the wagon down here, and I doubt he'd go back up.”
Suddenly Eileen's earphones crackled. "Pss ftunk bdzz," and it was clear again. “Ckk ssss ger, lo! ckk.”
“Sounds like he may have indeed gone high,” Roger said with satisfaction, and, Eileen noticed, just a touch of relief. “Hey, John! Nobleton! Do you read us?”
“Ckk sssssssss yeah, hey! sssss kuh sssss.”
“We read you badly, John! Keep moving, keep talking! Are you all—”
“Roger! ckk. Hey, Roger!”
“John! We read you, are you all right?”
“. . .sssss not exactly sure where I am.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes! Just lost.”
“Well not anymore, we hope. Tell us what you see.”
“Nothing!”
So began the long process of locating him and bringing him back. Eileen ranged left and right on her own, helping to get a fix on John, who had been instructed to stay still and keep talking.
“You won't believe it.” John's voice was entirely free of fear; in fact, he sounded elated. “You won't believe it, Eileen, Roger. crk! Just before the storm hit I was way off down a tributary to the south, and I found...”
“Found what?”
“Well . . . I've found some things I'm sure must be fossils. I swear! A whole rock formation of them!”
“Oh yeah?”
“No seriously, I've got some with me. Very small shells, like little sea snails, or crustacea. Miniature nautiloids, like. They just couldn't be anything else. I have a couple in my pocket, but there's a whole wall of them back there! I figure if I just left I wouldn't be able to find the same canyon ever again, what with this storm, so I built a duck trail on the way back over to the main canyon, if that's where I am. So it took me a while to get back in radio clear.”
“What color are they?” Ivan asked from below.
“You down there, be quiet,” Roger ordered. “We're still trying to find him.”
“We'll be able to get back to the site. Eileen, can you believe it? We'll all be—Hey!”
“It's just me,” Roger said.
“Ah! You gave me a start, there.”
Eileen smiled as she imagined John startled by the ghostlike appearance of the lanky, suited Roger. Soon enough Roger had led John downcanyon to Eileen, and after John hugged her, they proceeded down the canyon to Dr. Mitsumu, who again led them up the slope to the tent, which rested at a sharper angle than Eileen had recalled.
Once inside, the reunited group chattered for an hour concerning their adventure, while Roger showered and got the wagon on an even keel, and John revealed the objects he had brought back with him:
Small shell-shaped rocks, some held in crusts of sandstone. Each shell had a spiral swirl on its inside surface, and they were mottled red and black. By and large they were black.
They were unlike any rocks Eileen had ever seen; they looked exactly like the few Terran shells she had seen in school. Seeing them there in John's hand, she caught her breath. Life on Mars; even if only fossil traces of it, life on Mars. She took one of the shells from John and stared and stared at it. It very well could be....
They had to arrange their cots across the slope of the tent floor and prop them level with clothes and other domestic objects from the wagon. Long after they were settled they discussed John's discovery, and Eileen found herself more and more excited by the idea of it. The sand pelting the tent soundlessly only made its presence known by the complete absence of stars. She stared at the faint curved reflection of them all on the dome's surface, and thought of it. The Clayborne Expedition, in the history books. And Martian life. . . . The others talked and talked.
“So we'll go there tomorrow, right?” John asked Roger. The tilt of the tent made it impossible for Roger to set up his bedroom.
“Or as soon as the storm ends, sure.” Roger had only glanced at the shells, shaking his head and muttering, “I don't know, don't get your hopes up too high.” Eileen wondered about that. “We'll follow that duck trail of yours, if we can.” Perhaps he was jealous of John now?
On and on they talked. Yet the hunt had taken it out of Eileen; to the sound of their voices she suddenly fell asleep.
She woke up when her cot gave way and spilled her down the floor; before she could stop herself, she had rolled over Mrs. Mitsumu and John. She got off John quickly and saw Roger over at the wagon, smiling down at the gauges. Her cot had been by the wagon; had he yanked out some crucial item of clothing? There was something of the prankster in the man. . .