 Countdown for Blastoff. X minus five. Four. Three. Two. X minus one. Fire. From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future. Adventures in which you'll live in a million could be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Street and Smith publishers of astounding science fiction presents X. One. One. One. The Martian Death March. I've always been interested in lost causes. The revolt of the Scottish Jacobites against England. The last stand of the Cherokee and Sue Indians. And the Death March of the Martian Highlanders in 1997. There's been a lot written about that march. The UN Commission report covers four volumes but the whole story isn't down on paper yet. I know it because I was on that march from the beginning to the end. There's one part of the story that no one ever mentions. The Martian Death March of 97 was led by an Earth man. Maybe you've been over the root of the march. There wasn't any highway there 30 years ago in 97. There was desert. Hot burning desert. I lived at the edge of the Kalmack Canal then with my father. He was a prospector searching the surrounding desert with sonar probe and Geiger counter. Scratching just enough ore from under the Martian sands to pay for our grub steak the next year. I remember he was in the Adams and Digger in the North Quadrant when I came running out that day. There's somebody coming dad across the desert. You sure? I saw them. There are a couple of miles out. Well how many cars? They're on foot. On foot across the desert? Honest dad. I saw them. So you're sure it wasn't a light reflection off the canal? No. It was dark against the sand. I don't like that. You run back and get the rifles out. I've got to pull the Digger into the shed. Is there going to be fighting dad? I don't know. I got a whole year's ore piled out back in the bins and I ain't going to lose it with no claim jumpers. You go back to the shack and break out those rifles and see they're loaded. You hear and jump. Dad had three surplus army rifles and a couple of homemade grenades made out of ore cans stuffed with Adams and A explosives. We crouched inside the shack waiting. The shadow of the water tower in the doorway grew longer as the quick Martian dusk settled down over the desert. And there they come Al. There's two of them. What's that on the first ones back? Why, I haven't seen one of those in 20 years. What is it? A one man desert tank. They used to carry water that way before Adamson put out the air still units. There's something funny about that second one. Look, he's all spindly and his head's funny. He's funny all right. Al, that's a Martian. I never saw one off the reservation before. There hasn't been one out in 10 years. I don't like this. Here they come into the door yard. I don't know what I told you. Line up the sights and just squeeze the trigger. Hello, hello there. Now dad? Hello. Wait a minute. What do you want? Water. I need water. Who are you? My name is John. John, huh? What are you doing with that spider? His name is Cantalcar. I don't care what his name is. What's a human doing with a Martian? I'm in the dry bed of Kalmack Canal. Nearly dead of thirst. He probably ran off on the reservation. When our brothers are caged, they seek freedom. Brothers? Those spiders? All living creatures are our brothers. On Mars, as on Earth. Hey, wait a minute. Bert Ostrom at Forst Wells told me there was a screwball hedge preacher over there hollering about letting the spiders loose off the reservations. Let no man call his own. No man, no tribe, no nation. Well, I guess that's you all right. Bert told me they called you crazy John. I don't suppose any harm in you. Fill your tank up at the air still. And you can even have supper with us. We would be happy to. We? What do you mean we? Cantalcar and myself. That spider? Oh, no. I ain't having a Martian sitting down here with me. You come on, though. Thank you, sir. No. Where my brother is not welcome, I cannot go. Look at yourself. I'll get the key to the water tower. Come out here. All right, Dad. And put away the guns. We won't have any trouble from these two. The old man filled his tank at the air still tower. And the Martian went through the ash pile for half-burned fuel brick. When he went to the house for supper, I could see them silhouetted against the fire. The old man with his wild hair and beard and the thin spidery arms and legs of the Martian. Dad. What? Are all the Martians on the reservation? Yeah. Oh, but a couple of wild ones in the mountains up north. The patrol catches a couple every year. Why? Well, they murder people. No, I mean, why are they on the reservation? Because it's the safest place to keep them. They've passed us off. How many are there? Oh, I don't know. A few thousand. They keep dying off. Why? Well, they catch earth diseases. Chickenpox almost wiped out the whole gang of them two years ago. Chickenpox? I had that. It didn't wipe me out. Well, you ain't a Martian. I was born on Mars. Well, I mean, you ain't one of those spiders. Now, eat your food. It'll get cold. Okay. Dad. Oh, what now? Were the Martians always on the reservation? Well, since the Outpost 3 massacre they had been. What was that? Oh, back before you were born, they lived wild in the mountains up north. Were they fierce? Fierce enough. Only place for them spiders behind wire. Yeah, it sure is. Out in the door yard, the campfire flickered at the base of the water tower. The first of the Martian moons had set. The other wouldn't rise for several hours. I could hear the sand peepers out in the desert as I stood there. The old man and the Martian were sitting on the ground huddled close to the fire. It gets cold fast on the desert when the sun goes down. Is that you, boy? You can come up to the fire if you like. My dad wouldn't like it. All right. But I'm not afraid of no spider. No. There is nothing to be afraid of. How come his arms are all skinny? Ask him. Does he talk? Yes. His name is Cantalca. It is, huh? Hello. Hello, boy. He talks funny. It is not my language. Why isn't he on the reservation? You can get in trouble helping spiders to escape. No man has the right to imprison the innocent. They that are enslaved will be freed. They that are in sickness and misery will be comforted. They that are exiled in a strange place will be restored. My dad says the spiders are treacherous, cowardly, murdering savages. That's what he says. Boy, there was a time on this world when there were no earthmen, when the ships and the machinery of earth were unknown. Then the people of the highlands lived in peace. But today they are a handful starving, dying behind the wire. But the reservation isn't so bad. Our home is in the mountains of the north, not the desert. I heard a voice which cried out to me in the desert. Who to your brothers? Did they really call you crazy, John? I have been called many things. You really think we ought to let those old spiders off the reservation? Boy, we die here in the desert. We die in the sun and of the sicknesses you have brought from earth. That's cause Martians are just weak. I'll bet I could knock you down myself. You could. We are a different people. We are not the strength of muscle of earthmen. But we will not stay here to die. You won't get off the reservation. The patrol takes care of all that. They won't let any stinking old spiders out. Ah, even in the minds of children is splanted the poison of evil. How long? That night through the window I could see the flicker of the old man's campfire. He was walking up and down now, shouting, singing hymns verse after verse. His white beard catching the light as he passed behind the fire. The Martians sat slumped over. His thin spindly arms folded across the huge barrel chest that had developed over the centuries as the air of Mars thinned and escaped into space. In the morning I looked out and they were gone. Looking back now we wonder how they did it. The high voltage wire around the reservation carried a fatal charge. The patrolmen in the tower had 50 caliber machine guns. The desert around the camp was mined heavily. Yet at dawn, August 7th, 1997, they broke out. I was down at the dried up canal bed hunting sand peepers when my father came running after me. Al! Al! Here I am. Come on, back to the house. What's the matter, Dad? You shut up and run. What is it? The spiders busted loose. Bird holes from radioed in. They come in here? They're headed this way, the murdering devils. They kill anybody? Six patrolmen when they busted through the wire. What are you going to do, Dad? Wire a keg of Adamson A across the gate. You get in there and get the guns out. I got the rifles and shoved a full clip in each one. Then I slipped a primer fuse on the homemade grenades and lugged them out to the porch. Dad was running lead wires back to a detonator from a half keg of Adamson A he'd set across the gate. There. And that's it. Now give me one of those rifles. Will they be here soon? You can see the dust over the rise. Murdering spiders. What will they do? I don't know. Now make sure you get a good sight, Al. Don't waste any bullets. There they are, Dad. There they come. Wait a minute. Hold up now. I want to get a good shot. Let them get closer. Dad, that's crazy John up in front. There. He's taller than the spiders. You can see his beard. You're right. Oh, that renegade rat. He probably helped them break out of the reservation. Listen, Al. If anything happens to me, you hide out back to the shed. You can hide out in the empty ore bins till they go away. Now you got that? All right, Dad. The spider's shouting something, Dad. Probably a trick. Get down a little, Al. You're in the way. I got them clear now. Right in the head. Up a little now. Got him. Got him, Al. Dad, look out. They've got guns. Get down. Get down. Get out, Al. Get out to the shed. Dad, you're here. Go on. Those spiders are going to rush. Now get going. No, no. I can't let you. Shut up and get out of here. You're here. Get out. I ran back through the house to the shed. Behind me I could hear the Martians sweeping up to the door yard. And suddenly the ground shook. And I could feel the dull concussion waves hit my ears as the atoms in A exploded. I could hear the high, whispered screams of the Martians and the rattle of fragments on the metal roof of the shed. I dived into the empty ore bin and slammed the hatch almost shut. I sat there waiting. Then suddenly a shadow fell across the edge of light. And the hatch slid open on top of me. Boy, I've been looking for you. Where's my dad? What did you do to my dad? He's dead. You killed him. You and those spiders. I'll kill you. I'll kill all those stinking, murdering spiders. They are our brothers, boy. Your father shot without warning. And the fire was returned against my orders. You mean you weren't going to attack us? Our brothers came in peace. They are going home to their mountains. We came to get water for the journey. You mean you just wanted water? John, the Earth Patrol will be following us soon. We must go. And the boy? We'll have to leave him here with water and supplies. No, the Earth Patrol would question him. We need the time. He goes with us. They tore the Adamson air still from the tower and mounted it on poles. They piled our supplies in the yard and loaded them on their backs. And then they started. I marched with the old man up ahead and the column stretched out behind us on the desert. I turned to look back at our house. But the sun was behind it, blinding red. The old man pulled me around as he marched, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where far to the north rose the cool mountains that were the ancient home of the Highlanders. Fourteen of the Martians died the first day. They dropped to the side of the column when they could go no farther and died. But the march went on. On the fifth day we swung wide to avoid a mining settlement, but not wide enough. The miners were in ambush behind a pile of rocks. They shall lead them home, home to the promised rest, home to the mountains. March forward! And the march went on. We wound across the desert in wild zigzags, following the paths the old man had traveled through the years. Only once a patrol plane hovered on the horizon and then shot away. The days went on, the weeks, and the Martians died. They died of exhaustion, they died of the diseases we had given, and they died of thirst. The Adamsons still could produce 27 units of water an hour, no more. And on that, they died of thirst. Here, boy, here's your water. But that's more than the others, God. Take it. It's yours. You're giving me your water. It will be provided to me. He that brings justice to his brothers will drink deep of the water of righteousness. He that drink... drink your water, boy! Across the desert from the Kalmak Canal to Fever Dip, past the towering maces of the Higgins Badlands, across the dry sea bottoms they marched. On the 54th day of the march, we halted at evening. The air was thinner, colder now. The rations had long since been exhausted. I laid out a sleep wrapped in the old man's coat. Early in the morning before sunrise, I woke suddenly. The ground mist that had covered the desert the night before was lifting slowly. I saw the old man standing by the burned-out fire. The vapor swirling around his legs in the cold light of the false dawn, edging his wild beard. Go back to sleep, boy. I can't. The end is near. I have led them through the wilderness, dry shard across the seas, and before us lie the mountains. You mean we're almost there? When the mist is taken from the eyes of man, the place of refuge can be seen. You mean the mountains? It's over. We're there. I have led them to their home, and I must go back to the desert. You mean alone? Now. Now even now I hear a voice in the wind. Carry the message to the men of earth. Bring to this new world the message of the old. All beings created in the universe are my brothers. And he that harms my brother, harms me. Boy, you'll be safe. Bye, John. Goodbye. The Martians found him 500 yards from the camp, dead. Now the mist rose, and before us towered the highlands, the tall green mountains in the cool sky. The march was over. Of the 7,000 Martians who started it, 900 were alive. They gathered now on the rise of ground and faced the hills. Their thin bodies wavered as they stood, and some dropped to the ground as they stood there. But there was a light of hope in their large, staring eyes. Most of them had died, but they had died on the way home, and now the march was over. Then the patrol planes were spotted on the horizon, and within 10 minutes they had landed. The Martians stood silently as the squads piled out and set up the 50 caliber machine guns and the petroleum gel flamethrower. All right, you spiders. Hands up and stay together. Gather in a bunch and don't try anything. Sergeant? Yes, sir? Shoot the first spider that moves and shoot to kill. All right, where's that boy? There was a boy reported. Here I am. Oh. Are you all right, kid? They hurt you? No, I'm all right. John gave me his water ration. Oh, the leader, huh? Well, I've got a warrant for him. Where is he? There. He's dead. Well, just as well. I'd hate to be him in front of a settler's jury. What are you going to do to them? The spiders? See those transport planes coming in? We're going to ship them all back to the reservation where they belong. You can't. You can't do that. What are you talking about, kid? You can't take them back. They're home. John said they were home. You can't take them back. It isn't fair. I won't let you. I won't let you. I won't let you. Hey, let go of me. Let go. Sergeant. Yes? Peel this crazy kid off me. All right, now kid, take it easy. I must be shocked. Can't believe he's safe now. Yeah, I guess that's it. All right, you splatters. Step it up. Move along to those transport planes. It's over now. You're headed right back to the reservation. They separated them in groups of 50 and loaded them on the planes. 900 out of 7,000. Insume the first big-bellied ships waddle out on the hard sands and lifted slowly into the air, headed back to the south, flying over the trail of dead and dying who started on the march to the highlands. The march to home. Don't worry about them, spiders kid. We'll take care of them. Come on now, kid. You'll feel better as soon as you get back to civilization. I looked once more at the green mountains towering through the mist. And then just before the motor raced, I saw John. Crazy John cropped up against a dog nut bush in the mountains it placed him. The wind from the south gave the wild hair and beard a rippling life. He faced the hills, the home and rest he had promised his brothers as he led them through the wilderness of Mars. You have just heard X-1, presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Street and Smith, publishers of astounding science fiction. X-1 was an NBC radio network production.