Chapter I: Front Matter

When the Spoilers Came

_A Startling Novelet by_ ROBERT MOORE WILLIAMS

_So they came to the Holy City of Sudal, primed
for loot and murder! Larkin, the old Terran trader,
warned them. But there was no convincing these
space-scarred Pizarros that the simple, dream-bound
Martians were not quite as defenseless as they seemed._

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

To stay alive five years on Mars, you have to have a nose for trouble. You have to be able to smell it before it happens, to catch the oderiferous tang of it in the dry wind blowing across the red deserts, to sense it in the shifting shadows of the sunset. Otherwise you may not stay alive on Mars for five months let alone five years. Or for five days, if you happen to be in the wrong place.

Boyd Larkin had lived seven years on Mars, in the wrongest of all wrong places on the red planet, the city of Sudal. No other earth trader ever even ventured here. In view of the peculiarity of the Martian customs, few traders found it wise to attempt to operate on Mars at all.

The City of Sudal was noted for several reasons. In a way, it was the holy city of Mars. Here also were to be found a few lingering relics of the vast scientific achievement this race had once known and had forgotten in the hard struggle for life across the centuries. Here also was a ruler by the name of Malovar, who, within the framework of Martian law and custom, was an utter despot. The reputation of Malovar alone was sufficient to keep most traders away from Sudal.

This, in itself, was enough to bring Boyd Larkin here.

He stood in the door of this store--it had once been the wing of a temple--just before the hour of sunset. A vague uneasiness was in him, a presentiment of trouble. His eyes went over the city, searching for the stimulus that had aroused the feeling in him. The peaked roofs of the buildings of the city glinted peacefully in the rays of the setting sun. Peaked roofs here on this world of no-rain always struck him as odd but he knew these roofs were relics of the far-gone centuries when rain had fallen plentifully on Mars.

Beyond the city lay the desert with its fretwork of canals and its pathetic patches of green growth, pathetic because where once grain had grown as far as the eye could reach now only a few patches were under cultivation. It was not the failure of the soil or of the water that made the desert bare. This soil would still grow lush vegetation. But the grains, though lush, would be worthless, incapable of supporting life. The minerals had been virtually exhausted from the top-soil of Mars.

Without minerals, the grain did not support life.

The breeze that came in from the red deserts was soft and peaceful, with no trace of danger in it, no howl of a devil dog from the desert's brim, no chirrrr of a winged horde of locusts coming to devour the crops.

Where, then, was the source of his feeling of danger?

Had Malovar begun to doubt him? Was the Martian ruler considering what action he might take at the next time of the testing? At the thought, a slight shudder passed over the tall trader as if the desert wind had suddenly become tinged with a trace of bitter chill. No, that could hardly be the source of the trouble he sensed. He was no telepath, he could not read Martian minds, nor they his.

What then was the source of the trouble that he sensed?

* * * * *

From inside the store a soft voice called out, "_Send motan_."

Larkin went inside. The Martian had entered by the side door. He was tall and slender, with a big chest and a skin the color of old copper. His features were finely moulded, the face of a dreaming esthetic. In one hand he held a jewel, one of the Martian opals, uncut. At a glance Larkin knew that this opal was worth approximately seventy dollars delivered on Earth.

In the other hand the Martian held a list which he was turning in nervous, uncertain fingers.

"Yes, Seekin?" Larkin said.

The Martian smiled. A little uncertainly he pushed the list across the counter.

"I do not need all of these for me and mine, but the ground is prepared and ready, and if I have these minerals I will be able to grow more than I need. Then there will be something over for someone else to use in the time of scarcity." His voice was as soft as a breeze, there was no hint of a demand in it. But there was a pleading in the eyes that looked at the human.

Larkin took the list. Rapidly translating the Martian script, he saw that Seekin wanted approximately five grams of powdered cobalt, copper, boron, manganese, with traces of iron, zinc, and calcium. Phosphorus also was included and a smattering of trace elements.

The trader went quickly to the bins and filled the order, tossing the correct amount of the powdered elements into the agitator for mixing. He spun the crank of the agitator and the machine hummed softly. The powdered minerals poured from the spout. He bagged the mixture. His practiced eye told him that the cost of these minerals, delivered here on Mars, was approximately two hundred dollars.

The Martian's eyes became fixed longingly on the little bag when Larkin laid it on the counter. There was an eagerness in the eyes that was almost as strong as the eagerness for life itself. But there was uncertainty too. He fumbled with the opal.

"This is all we have," he said.

Larkin grinned. "It's odd, isn't it, how things achieve a balance? Those minerals come to just exactly the price of this jewel."

A glow lit the Martian's face. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course."

"But--"

"Take the minerals, give me the opal. It is a fair trade."

On Seekin's face appeared a glow that was like the light of the rising sun. He clutched the bag of minerals to his chest.

"Thank you, my friend. This will be remembered." Turning, he went out the door. On the verbal level his thanks had not been profuse, but the glow on his face had exhibited another kind of thanks, to Larkin a much more important kind.

Larkin felt some of the inner glow within him that had appeared on the Martian's face. The minerals he had practically given away would be spread on some little patch of irrigated land, spread with all the care and saving thought that alert minds and hands educated for centuries in extracting the last trace of food value from unwilling soil could bestow. The grain would be eaten by Seekin and his family. They would feel a new throb of life within them as mineral-hungry tissues took up and utilized the earth elements down to the last molecule. And there would be something left over for somebody else in the time of need. Larkin especially liked that.

A warm glow flooding through him, Larkin went again to the door of his store. He lit his pipe and stood there contentedly smoking, a tall, angular Earthman who had wandered from his native planet for a reason that he considered sufficient. Except for two articles for scientific journals, dealing with the problem of supplying minerals to the top-soil of Mars and the vast need for such mineral fertilizer, he had had no contact with Earth in seven years. Nor did he anticipate that he would ever again see Earth, or anyone from that planet, except possibly a rare, far-wandering trader like himself. There was peace in Boyd Larkin.

But there was trouble in the air.

His ears caught the far-off drum-fire of rockets.

He felt his pulse pick up. A ship was coming.

Instantly he knew the source of his feeling of coming trouble. He had heard the sound of those far-off rockets long before he was aware of it as sub-liminal ranges of sound penetrated to his inner being. That sound had been the stimulus for the feeling of trouble that had arisen in him.

A ship, men, humans, were coming.

Wherever humans were, there was trouble.