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As selected by

12

OUTSTANDING AUTHORS

Edited by

■

LEO MARGULIES and OSCAR J. FRIEND

POCKET BOOKS, INC. ♦ NEW YORK, N. Y.

CONTENTS

Page

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS .......... iv

* •

INTRODUCTION ............. vii

ROBOT AL 76 GOES ASTRAY

Isaac Asimov

author's introduction * . . 1

STORY • • . . 3

THE TEACHER FROM MARS

Eando Binder

author's introduction . . - 18

STORY 20

ALMOST HUMAN

Robert Block

author's introduction 37

w

STORY 39

>

BLINDNESS

John W . Campbell, Jr.

author's introduction 60

STORY 62

THE INN OUTSIDE THE WORLD

Edmond Hamilton

author's introduction 80

81

STORY

*

Page

DON'T LOOK NOW

Henry Kuttner

author's introduction 98

story 99

THE LOST RACE

Murray Leinster

author's introduction 114

STORY 116

DOCTOR GRIMSHAW'S SANITARIUM

Fletcher Pratt

author's introduction . . 139

STORY

140

THE ULTIMATE CATALYST

John Taine

authors introduction 156

STORY 157

PROJECT— SPACESHIP

A. E. Van Vogt

author's introduction 183

STORY

184

SPACE STATION NO. 1

Manly Wade Wellman

author's introduction 212

STORY

214

STAR BRIGHT

Jack Williamson

author's introduction 232

story 234

WHY I SELECTED

THE TEACHER FROM MARS

It is hard for me to explain just why I choose this as my best
short story. It was written nine years ago, yet somehow it still
sticks out in my own mind as something I was very pleased
about. It was one of those stories that "wrote itself" once I
had the basic idea and sat down at the typewriter. It went
along smoothly, with rising crescendo, and when finished, I
recall that without reservation or modesty I told myself— "Son,
you've just done a good job of work!" So many other times
I would sweat and struggle with a story and when it was
done, I hadn't the least idea whether it was good, bad, or
indifferent. But this one— the teacher from mars— gave me

a glow of pride and achievement.

Why? -

For one thing, I thought the idea of presenting a story in
the first person, as told by a Martian, helped make it unique,
certainly, not run of the mill. So many Martian stories had
been written but none, as far as I knew, giving the "inside
story" of the thoughts and feelings of an alien being from

another world. How would he think and feel and react, com-
ing to our world? This, alone gave the story a certain fire of
inspiration.

Second, the story was a good medium for showing the
evils of discrimination and intolerance. Sadly enough, we
have not yet eliminated those degrading influences on our
world. The Martian in this story is the symbol of all such
reasonless antagonism between "races." Not that I wrote the
story solely for that reason. It just happened to strike me

18

THE TEACHER FROM MARS

19

as the best "human interest" approach. The "moral" was
incidental.

That last angle of "human interest" is another reason why
I feel this to he my best effort. Too many science fiction
stories overplay cold science and underplay human charac-
ters. I have been guilty of the same myself too often. For
once I wanted to break away from this restriction and pro-
duce a living, breathing character. One whose emotions and
innermost thoughts you could follow and sympathize with.
the teacher from mars seems to me such a real character.
At least, while writing the story, I was a Martian, and I was
beginning to hate the whole human race for mistreating "my
people!" That's how much I was thrown into the story.

I suppose in the last analysis this tale can be classified as a
"tear jerker." I freely confess it. And the above summary to
the contrary, I still don't know why I picked it. All I know is
that in re-reading a dozen of my shorts, of many years'
vintage, this one jumped out at me and said— "I'm it! I'm youf
pet!"

I only hope it finds as much favor in the eyes of the
reader as it does in mine.

EANDO binder

«

EANDO BINDER

THE TEACHER FROM MARS

The Old Professor From the Crimson
Planet Feared Earth's Savagery — Until
Humanity Taught Him a Profound Secret !

THE afternoon Rocket Express train from Chicago came
into the station, and I stepped off. It was a warm spring day.
The little town of Elkhart, Indiana, sprawled lazily under the
golden sunshine. I trudged along quiet, tree-shaded streets
toward Caslon Preparatory School for Boys.

Before I had gone far, I was discovered by the children
playing here and there. With the dogs, they formed a shrill,
raucous procession behind me. Some of the dogs growled, as
they might at a wild animal. Housewives looked from their
windows and gasped.

So the rumors they had heard were true. The new teacher

at Caslon was a Martianl

I suppose I am grotesquely alien to human eyes, extremely
tall and incredibly thin. In fact, I am seven feet tall, with
what have often been described as broomstick arms and
spindly legs. On an otherwise scrawny body, only the Martian
chest is filled out, in comparison with Earth people. I was
dressed in a cotton kimono that dangled from my narrow
shoulders to my bony ankles. Chinese style, I understand.

Thus far I am pseudo-human. For the rest, a Martian is
alien, from the Earth viewpoint. Two long tentacles from the

20

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 21

back of my shoulders hang to my knees, appendages that have
not vanished in Martian evolution like the human tail. The top
of my skull is bulging- and hairless, except for a fringe of
silver- white fur above large conch-shaped ears. Two wide-set
owlish eyes, a generous nose and a tiny mouth complete my
features. All my skin is leathery and tanned a deep mahogany
by the sun of our cloudless Martian skies.

Timidly I stopped before the gates of Caslon Prep and
looked within the grounds. The spectacles on my large nose
were cup-shaped and of tinted glass that cut down the un-
natural glare of the brighter, hotter sun. I felt my shoulders

drooping wearily from the tug of more than twice the gravity
to which I was conditioned. ,

Luckily, however, I had brought leg-braces. Concealed by
my long robe, they were ingenious devices of light metal,
bracing the legs against strain. They had been expensive— no
less than forty dhupecs— but they were worth even that
much.

Gripping my cane and duffel-bag, I prepared to step into
the sanctuary of the school grounds. It looked so green and
inviting in there, like a canalside park. It would be a relief to
escape from those Earth children. They had taken to tossing
pebbles at me, and some of the canines had snapped at my
heels. Of course I didn't blame them, nor must I resent the
unwelcome stares I had felt all around me, from adult Earth-
lings. After all, I was an alien.

I stepped forward, between the gates. At least here, in the
school that had hired me to teach, I would be accepted in a
more friendly fashion. . . .

Ssss!

The hiss of a thousand snakes filled the air. I reacted vio-
lently, dropping my bag and clamping my two hands around
my upraised cane. For a moment I was back on Mars, sur-
rounded by a nest of killer-snakes from the vast deserts. I
must beat them off with my canel

But wait. This was Earth, where snakes were a minor class
of creature, and mainly harmless. I relaxed, then, panting.
The horrible, icy fear drained away. Perhaps you human be-

*

%2. MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

ings can never quite know the paralyzing dread we have of

snakes.

Then I heard a new sound, one that cheered me" somewhat.

A group of about fifty laughing boys trooped into view,

from where they had been hidden behind the stone wall cir-
cling Caslon's campus. They had made the hissing sound, as a
boyish prank. How foolish of me to let go of my nerves, I

thought wryly.

I smiled at the group in greeting, for these were the boys I
would teach. '

"I am Professor Mun Zeerohs, your new teacher," I intro-
duced myself in what, compared with the human tone, is a
reedy voice. "The Sun shine upon you. Or, in your Earthly
greeting, I am happy to meet you/'

Grins answered me. And then murmurs arose.

%

"It talks, fellows/
"Up from the canals!"

"Is that thing alive?"

One of the boys stepped forward. He was about sixteen,

with blue eyes that were mocking.

"I'm Tom Blaine, senior classman. Tell me, sir, is it true
that Mars is inhabited?"

It was v rather a cruel reception, though merely another
prank. I waved my two tentacles in distress for a moment,
hardly knowing what to do or say next.

"Boys! Gentlemen!"

A grown man with gray hair came hurrying up from one of
the buildings. The boys parted to let him through. He ex-
tended a hand to me, introducing himself.

"Robert Graham, Dean of Caslon. You're Professor Mun
Zeerohs, of course." He turned, facing the group reprovingly.
"This is your new instructor, gentlemen. He will teach Inter-
planetary History and the Martian language."

A groan went up. I knew why, of course. The Martian
tongue has two case endings to every one in Latin.

"Now, gentlemen, this is for your own good," Dean Graham
continued sternly. "Remember your manners. I'm sure you'll
like our new professor—"

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 23

"I'm sure we won't!" It was Tom Blaine again. Behind him,

an air of hostility replaced the less worrisome mockery.

"We've never had a Martian teacher before, and we don't
want one!"

"Don't want one?" The dean was more aghast than I.

"My father says Martians are cowards," Tom Blaine con-
tinued loudly. "He ought to know. He's in the Space Patrol.
He says that in the War, the Martians captured Earthmen and
cut them to pieces slowly. First their hands, then—"

"Nonsense!" Dean Graham snapped. "Besides, the War is
over. Martians are in the Space Patrol, too. Now, no more
argument. Go to your dormitory. Professor Zeerohs will begin
conducting class tomorrow morning. Oscar, take the profes,-
sor's bag to his quarters."

Oscar, the school's menial robot, obediently stalked forward
and picked up the bag. Somehow, I felt almost a warm tide of
friendship for the robot. In his mechanical, rudimentary reflex
mind, it was all the same to him— Martian or Earthman. He
made no discrimination against me, as these human boys did.

As Oscar turned, Tom Blaine stood as though to block the
way. Having his orders, the robot brushed past him. A metal
elbow accidentally jabbed the boy in the ribs. Deciding
against grabbing the bag away from steel fingers, Tom Blaine
picked up a stone and flung it clanging against the robot's
metal body. Another dent was added to the many I could see
over Oscar's shiny form.

The rebellion was over— for the time being.

I realized that the boys were still hostile as I followed the
dean to his rooms. My shoulders seemed to droop a little

more.

Don't mind them," the dean was saying apologetically.
"They're usually outspoken at that age. They've never had a
Martian teacher before, you see."

"Why have you engaged one for the first time?" I asked.

Graham answered half patronizingly, half respectfully.

"Many other schools have tried Martian teachers, and
found them highly satisfactory." He didn't think it necessary

to add, "And cheaper."

/

24 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

I sighed. Times had been hard on Mars lately, with so many
dust storms raging up and down the canal regions, withering
the crops. This post on Earth, though at a meager salary, was
better than utter poverty. I was old and could live cheaply.
Quite a few Martians had been drifting to Earth, since the

War. By nature, we are docile, industrious, intelligent, and

make dependable teachers, engineers, chemists, artists.

"They always haze the new teachers/' Dean Graham said,
smiling uneasily. "Your first class is at nine o'clock tomorrow

morning. Interplanetary History."

Freshened after a night's sleep, I entered the class room
with enthusiasm for my new job. A hundred cold, unfriendly
eyes watched me with terrifying intensity.

Good morning," I greeted as warmly as I could.
Good morning, Professor Zero!" a chorus bellowed back,
startling me.

So the hazing campaign was still on. No, I wouldn't cor-
rect them. After all, even the Martian children I had taught

had invariably tagged me with that name.

I glanced around the room, approving its high windows

and controlled sunlight. My eyes came to rest on the black-
board behind me. A chalk drawing occupied its space. It

depicted, with some skill, a Martian crouching behind an
Earthman. Both were members of the Space Patrol and appar-
ently were battling some space desperado. It was young Tom
Blaine's work, no doubt. His father claimed all Martians to be
cowards and weaklings.

My leathery face showed little of my feelings as I erased
the humiliating sketch. Ignoring the snickers behind me, I
grasped two pieces of chalk in both tentacles, writing with

one and listing dates with the other.

■

1955— First space flight

1978— Earthmen claim all planets

1992— Pioneer- wave to Mars

2011— Rebellion and war

2019— Mars wins freedom

2040— Earth-Mars relations friendly today

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 2,$

"Interplanetary History," I began my lecture, "centers
about these dates and events. Not till Nineteen fifty-five were
Earth people assured that intelligent beings had built the
mysterious canals of Mars. Nor were we Martians positive till

then that the so-called Winking Lights of your cities at night

denoted the handiwork of thinking creatures. The exploring
Earthmen of the last century found only the Martians equal
to them in intelligence. Earth has its great cities, and Mars has
its great canal-system, built ten thousand Martian years ago.
Civilization began on Mars fifty centuries previous to that,
before the first glimmering of it on Earth—"

"See, fellows?" Tom Blaine interrupted loudly. "I told you
all they like to do is rub that in." He became mockingly
polite. "Please, sir, may I ask why you brilliant Martians had

to wait for Earthmen to open up space travel?"
I was shocked, but managed to answer patiently.
"We ran out of metal- deposits for building, keeping our

canals in repair. Our history has been a constant struggle
against the danger of extinction. In fact, when Earth pioneers
migrated in Nineteen ninety- two, it was just in time to patch

up the canals and stave off a tremendous famine for Mars."

"And that was the appreciation Earth got," the boy charged
bitterly. "Rebellion!"

"You forget that the Earth pioneers on Mars started the
rebellion against taxation, and fought side by side with us— "
"They were traitors," he stated bluntly.
I hurdled the point, and continued the lecture.

"Mars won its independence after a nine-year struggle—"

Again I was interrupted. '

"Not won. Earth granted independence, though it could
have won easily."

"At any rate," I resumed quietly, "Earth and Mars today, in
Twenty-forty, are amicable, and have forgotten that episode."

"We haven't forgottenl" Tom Blaine cried angrily. "Every
true Earthman despises Martians.

He sat down amidst a murmur of defiant approval from the
others. I knew my tentacles hung limply. How aggressive and
intolerant Earth people were! It accounted for their domina-

»

2,6 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

tion of the Solar System. A vigorous, pushing race, they
sneered at the Martian ideals of peaceful culture. Their

pirates, legal and otherwise, still roamed the spaceways for
loot.

Young Tom Blaine was representative of the race. He was

determined to make things so miserable here for me that I

would quit. He was the leader of the upper-class boys.

Strange, that Earthpeople always follow one who is not wise,
but merely compelling. There would have to be a test of
authority, I told myself with a sinking heart.

"I am the teacher," I reminded him. "You are the pupil,
Mr. Blaine."

"Oh, yes, sir," he retorted in false humility. "But you'd bet-
ter teach history right, Professor Nothing, or not at all!"

I hastily switched to the Martian language.

"The Martian language as is well known, is today the offi-
cial language of science and trade," I went on guardedly.

"Through long usage, the tongue has become perfected.
Official Earth English is comparatively cumbersome. For
instance, the series of words meaning exaggerated size— big,
large, great, huge, enormous, mighty, cyclopean, gargantuan.
Is *big' more than large/ or less? You cannot tell. In Martian,
there is one root, with a definite progression of size suffixes."
I wrote on the blackboard:

holy bola, boliy holOy holu—holas, holis, holos, bolus— holasa,
holisiy bolosOy bolusu

Martian is a scientific language, you see."

"Bragging again," sneered a voice.

An eraser sailed toward me just as I turned from the board.
It struck full in my face in a cloud of chalk-dust. As if at a
signal, a barrage of erasers flew at me. They had been
sneaked previously from the boards around the classroom. I
stood helplessly, desperately warding off the missiles with my
tentacles. The boys were yelling and hooting, excited by the
sport.

The pandemonium abruptly stopped as Oscar stumped into

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 27

the room. His mechanical eyes took in the scene without emo-
tion. One belated eraser flew toward him. His steel arm re-
flexively raised, caught it, then hurled it back with stunning

force. To a robot, anything that came toward it must be

returned, unless otherwise commanded. Tom Blaine yelped as

the eraser bounced off his forehead.

Dean Graham," said Oscar like a phonograph, "wants to
know if everything is going along smoothly."

I could see the boys hold their breaths. Oscar went the
rounds daily, asking that routine question in all the classes.
If this disturbance were reported, the boys would lose an
afternoon of freedom.

"Everything is well," I murmured, though for a moment I
was sadly tempted to take revenge. "You may go, Oscar."

With a click of internal relays, the robot left impassively.
He had seen or heard nothing, without being otherwise com-
manded. •

"Afraid to report it, eh?" Tom Blaine jeered. "I told you
Martians are yellow!"

It was more than gravity now that made my shoulders sag.
I dreaded the days that must follow.

Even outside the classroom, I was hounded. I can use only
that word. Tom Blaine thought of the diabolical trick of de-
liberately spilling a glass of water before my eyes.

"Don't— don't!" I instinctively groaned, clutching at the
glass.

"What's the matter, Professor?" he asked blandly. "This is
nothing but water." /

"It's sacrilege—"

I stopped there. They wouldn't understand. How horrible
to see water spill to the ground in utter waste! For ten thou-
sand years, on Mars, that precious fluid has been the object of
our greatest ingenuity. It- hurt to see it wantonly flung away,
as they might flinch if blood were shed uselessly before them.

As I stumbled away from their laughter, I heard Tom
Blaine confide to his cohorts:

"I got the idea last night, looking in his room. He was play-
ing with a bowl of water. Ruiining it through his fingers, like a

28 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

miser. I've got another idea, fellows. Follow me to the
kitchen."

I wasn't aware till half through the solitary evening meal in
my rooms that the food tasted odd. It was salty! The boys had
stolen into the kitchen and salted my special saltless foods.

My stomach revolted against the alien condiment. Mars' seas,
from which our life originated long ago, held no sodium
chloride, only magnesium chloride, with which all Martian
food is "salted."

4

I went to bed, groaning with a severe headache and upset
stomach from an outraged metabolism. Worse, it rained that

night. I tried to shut my ears to that pattering sound. Millions

of gallons of water were going to waste, while millions of

Martians on my home world were painfully hoarding water

for their thirsty crops.

The pains eased before morning. What torment would Tom
Blaine and his relentless pack think of next? The answer came
when I found my spectacles missing. My eyes were almost
blinded that day, more from glare than senile failing of vision.
They watered and blinked in light that was fifty per cent
stronger than on more remote Mars.

"Lower the blinds, Oscar," I ordered the robot when he

appeared as usual.

"But, Professor," Tom Blaine protested, jumping up as
though waiting for the moment, "think of our eyes. We can't

read our lessons in the dark."

"Never mind, Oscar," I said wearily.

The robot stood for a moment, relays clashing at the re-
versed orders. When he finally left, he seemed to shrug at the
strange doings of his masters, Earthmen and Martians alike.

"Have you any idea where my glasses are, Mr. Blaine?" I
asked in direct appeal. I tried not to sound timid.

"No, of course not," he retorted virtuously.

I nodded to myself and reached for the lower left-hand
drawer of my desk, then changed my mind.

"Will you all help me look for them?" I pleaded.

They ransacked the desk with deliberate brutality.

"Why, here they are, Professorl"

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 2$

Tom held them up from the lower left-hand drawer in
mock triumph. I put them on with trembling hands.

"How careless of me to leave them here yesterday." I
smiled. "One must have a sense of humor about these things.
Now we will decline the verb krun, to move."

I went on as though nothing had happened, but my whole
head ached from hours of straining my eyes against the cruel
glare.

That night, utterly exhausted, I went to bed only to find my
anti-gravity unit jammed, obviously by human hands. One of
my few pleasures was the ability to sink into restful slumber
in the low-gravity field, after suffering the tug of Earth gravity
at my vitals all day. Earthmen on Jupiter know how agonizing
it becomes.

I passed a sleepless night, panting and aching under what
grew to be the pressure of a mountain. How could I go on

against such heartlessness? Tom Blaine and his friends were
ruthlessly determined to drive out their despised Martian

teacher. If I complained to Dean Graham, it would be an

admission of cowardice. I didn't want to betray my race. But

I was miserably aware that I had not a single friend in the

academy.

Oscar appeared in the morning, with a message from Dean
Graham. The mechanical servant waited patiently to be told
to go. When I swayed a little, he caught me. His reflexes had
been patterned not to let things fall.

"Thank you, Oscar." I found my hand on the robot's shiny
hard shoulder. It was comfortingly firm. "You're my only
friend, Oscar. At least, you're not my enemy. But what am I
saying? You're only a machine. You may go, Oscar."

The message read:

Today and tomorrow are examination days. Use the en-
closed forms. At three o'clock today, all classes will be
excused to the Television Auditorium.

The examinations were routine. Despite my unrested body
and mind, I felt an uplift of spirit. My class would do well. I
had managed, even against hostility, to impart a sound under-

30 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

standing of Interplanetary History and the Martian language.
I looked almost proudly over the bowed, laboring heads.

Suddenly I stiffened.

"Mr. Henderson," I said gently, "I wouldn't try that if I

were you."

The boy flushed, hastily crammed into his pockets the notes
he had been copying from. Then he gaped up in amazement.
Tom Blaine, at the desk beside him, also looked up startled.

The question was plain in his eyes. How could I know that
Henderson was cheating, when even Tom, sitting next to him
hadn't suspected?

"You forget," I explained hesitantly, "that Martians use
telepathy at will."

Tom Blaine stared, his mouth hanging open. Then he
jumped up.

"Are we going to stand for that? Spying on us, even in our
minds—" He gasped at a sudden thought. "You knew all the
time about the glasses. You didn't expose me." He flushed, but
in anger rather than embarrassment. "You made a fool of mel

"One must have a sense of humor about those things," I
said lamely.

The rest of the examination period passed in bristling
silence. More than ever, now, they were hostile to me. More
than ever would they show their antagonism. How could I
ever hope to win them, if patience was taken for cowardice,

understanding for malice, and telepathy for deliberate spying?
Why had I ever left Mars, to come to this alien, heart-
breaking world?

At three o'clock, examinations were over for that day. The
class filed to the Television Auditorium.

A giant screen in the darkened room displayed a drama on
Venus, then news-flashes from around the system. An as-
teroid, scene of the latest radium' rush. Ganymede, with its
talking plant show. Titan's periodic meteor shower from the

rings of Saturn. A cold, dark scene on Pluto, where a great

telescope was being built for interstellar observations. Finally
Mars, and a file of Earthmen and Martians climbing into a

sleek Space Patrol ship.

»

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 31

. "The Patrol ship Greyhound'' informed the announcer, "is
being dispatched after pirates. Captain Henry Blaine is deter-
mined to blast them, or not come back/'

"My father," Tom Blaine said proudly to his classmates.

"My son," I murmured, leaning forward to watch the last
of the Martians vanish within.

When the armed ship leaped into space, the television
broadcast was over.

There were no more classes that day. I dragged across the
campus toward the haven of my rooms, for I needed rest and
quiet.

A shriek tore from my throat the instant I saw it. A hor-
rible, wriggling snake lay in my path! It was only a small,
harmless garden snake, my reason told me. But a million years
of instinct yelled danger, death! I stumbled and fell, trying to
run against gravity that froze my muscles. I shrank from the
squirming horror as it stopped and defiantly darted out its
forked tongue.

The outside world burst into my consciousness with a thun-
derclap of laughter. Tom Blaine was holding up the wriggling
snake. Once the first shock was over, I managed to keep my
nerves in check. '

It's only a garter snake," he mocked. "Sorry it frightened
you,

But what would they say if a hungry, clawing tiger sud-
denly appeared before them? How would they feel? I left
without a word, painfully compelling my trembling limbs to
move.

I was beaten. That thought hammered within my skull.

They had broken my spirit. I came to that conclusion after
staring up at a red star that winked soberly and seemed to
nod in pity. There was my true home. I longed to go back to
its canals and deserts. Harsh they might be, but not so harsh
as the unfeeling inhabitants of this incredibly rich planet.

I went to my rooms and started to pack.

Angry voices swiftly approached my door. The boys burst

in, led by Tom Blaine.

"Murderer!" Tom yelled. "A man was strangled in town two

"j

99

>7

32 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

hours ago, by a rope— or a tentacle! You looked murder at us
this afternoon. Why did you kill him? Just general hate for the
human race?"

How fantastic it sounded, yet they weren't mere boys, now.
They were a blood-lusting mob. All their hate and misunder-
standing for me had come to a head. I knew it was no use
even to remonstrate.

"Look, fellows! He was packing up to sneak away. He's the
killer, all right. Are you going to confess, Professor Zeerohs, or

do we have to make you confess!

It was useless to resist their burly savagery and strong
Earth muscles. They held me and ripped away the light metal
braces supporting my legs. Then I was forced outside and
prodded along. They made me walk up and down, back of

the dormitory, in the light of sub-atomic torches.

It became sheer torture within an hour. Without the braces,

my weak muscles sagged under my weight. Earth's gravity
more than doubled the normal strain.

"Confess!" Tom snapped fiercely. "Then we'll take you to
the police."

I shook my head, as I had each time Tom demanded my

confession. My one hopeless comfort was the prayer of an
earthly prophet, who begged the First Cause to forgive his
children, for they knew not what they did.

For another hour, the terrible march kept up. I became a
single mass of aching flesh. My bones seemed to be cracking
and crumbling under the weight of the Universe. My mental

* t

anguish was still sharper, for the tide of hate beat against me
like a surf.

Where was Dean Graham? Then I remembered that he had
gone to visit his relatives that evening. There was no one to
help me, no one to stop these half-grown men who saw their

chance to get rid of me. Only the winking red eye of Mars
looked down in compassion for the suffering of a humble son.
Oscar's coming!" warned a voice.

Ponderously the robot approached, the night-light in his

forehead shining. He made the rounds every night, like a
mechanical watchman. As he eyed the halted procession, his

«,

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 33

patterned reflexes were obviously striving to figure out what its
meaning could be.

"Boys will go to the dormitory," his microphonic voice
boomed. "Against regulations to be out after ten o'clock."

"Oscar, you may go," barked Tom Blaine.

The robot didn't budge. His selectors were set to obey only
the voices of teachers and officials.

Oscar—" I began with a wild cry.
A boy clamped his hand over my mouth. The last of my
strength oozed from me, and I slumped to the ground.

Though I was not unconscious, I knew my will would soon be
insufficient to make me resist. The boys looked frightened.

"Maybe we've gone too far," one said nervously.

"He deserves it" shrilled Tom uneasily. "He's a cowardly
murdererl"

Tom!" Pete Miller came running up, from the direction of
the town. "Just heard the news— the police caught the killer—
a maniac with a rope." He recoiled in alarm when he saw my
sprawled form. "What did you do, fellows? He's innocent, and

he really isn't such a bad old guy."

The boys glanced at one another with guilty eyes. Fer-
vently I blessed young Miller for that statement.

"Don't be sentimental," Tom Blaine said much too loudly.
"Martians are cowards. My father says so. I'm glad we did
this, anyway. It'll, drive him away for sure. We'd better beat
it now."

The group melted away, leaving me on the ground. Oscar
stalked forward and picked me up. Any fallen person must be
helped up, according to his patterned mind. But his steel arms
felt softer than Tom Blaine's heartless accusation.

The class gasped almost in chorus the next morning, when
their Martian professor entered quietly, as though nothing

had happened the night before.

"Examinations will continue," I announced.

It was small wonder that they looked surprised. First, that
I had appeared at all, weak and spent by the night's cruel

m - ■ *

ordeal. Second, that I had not given up and left. Third, that

34 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

I hadn't reported the episode to Dean Graham. The punish-
ment would have been severe.

Only I knew I was back because it would be cowardly to
leave. Mentally and physically I was sick, but not beaten.
Besides, I had heard young Miller insist that I was not such
a bad old guy, after all. It was like a well of cool water in a
hot desert.

Examinations began. Oscar entered, handed me a space-
gram and clanked out again. Nervously I opened and read
the message. My tentacles twitched uncontrollably at the
ends, then curled around the chair arms and clung desper-
ately. Everything vanished before my eyes except the hideous,

shocking words of the spacegram.

My world was ended. Mars or Earth— it made no difference.

I could not go on. But existence must continue. I could not
let this break me. Grimly I folded the paper and laid it aside.

I looked with misted eyes at their lowered heads. I needed
a friend as never before, but hostility and hatred were the
only emotions they felt for me as I turned to them one by one.
They hated their teacher, though they knew him to be wise,
humble, patient, as Martians are by nature.

And I was beginning to hate them. They were forcing me
to. Savagely I hoped they would all fail in their examinations.

I switched back to young Miller, who was biting his pencil.
Forehead beaded with sweat, he was having a difficult time.
Thoughts were racing through his brain.

Wanted so much to pass . . . enter Space Point . . . join
the Space Patrol some day . . . Not enough time to study
• . . job in spare time after school hours . . . help parents
... In what year did the first explorer step on Neptune's
moon? Why, Nineteen-seventy-six! Funny how that came all
of a sudden . . . Now what was the root for "planet," in

Martian? Why, jad, of course! It isn't so hard after all . . .
Wish that old Martian wouldn't stare at me as if he's read-
ing my mind . . . How many moons has Jupiter? Always get

it mixed up with Saturn. Eighteen, six found by space ships!

Funny, I'm so sure of myself . . . I'll lick this exam yet . . .

THE TEACHER FROM MARS 35

Dad's going to be proud of me when I'm wearing that uni-
form. ...

I turned my eyes away from Miller's happy face. A deserv-
ing boy, he would be a credit to the Space Patrol. Others
had their troubles, not just I.

Abruptly there was an interruption. Oscar came clanking
in.

«

»

'Dean Graham wishes all classes to file out on the campus,
for a special event," he boomed.

The boys whispered in curiosity and left the classroom at
my unsteady order. The campus was filled with the entire
school faculty and enrollment. My group of senior classmen
was allowed to stand directly in front of the bandstand. I felt
weak and in need of support, but there was no one to give
it to me.

Dean Graham raised a hand." "A member of the Space
Patrol is here," he spoke, "having come from Space Point by
rocket-strato for an important announcement. Major Dawson.

A tall, uniformed man, wearing the blue of the Space
Patrol, stepped forward, acknowledging the assembly's unre-
strained cheer with a solemn nod. The Patrol is honored
throughout the System for its gallant service to civilization.

"Many of you boys," he said, "hope to enter Space Point
some day, and join the Service. This bulletin, received an
hour "ago, will do honor to someone here."

He held up the paper and read aloud.

"Captain Henry Blaine, in command of Patrol ship Grey-
hound, yesterday was wounded in the daring rout of pirates
off the Earth-Mars run."

All eyes turned to Tom Blaine, who was proud of the

ceremony in honor of his father. The official held up a radium-
coated medal— the Cross of Space, for extraordinary service
to the forces of law and order in the Solar System. Dean
Graham whispered in his ear. He nodded, stepping down
from the rostrum and advancing.

My gasp of surprise was deeper than those of the others as
he brushed past Tom Blaine. Stopping before me, he pinned
the glowing medal on my chest. Then he grasped my hand.

36 MY BEST SCIENCE FICTION STORY

"I think you'll be proud to wear that all your life!" He

turned, reading further from his bulletin. "Captain Blaine's

life was saved by a youthful Martian recruit, who leaped in
front of him and took the full blast that wounded the Earth-
man. His name was—"

I found myself watching Tom Blaine. He didn't have to

hear the name. He was staring at the spacegram he had stolen

from my desk, but hadn't had a chance to read till now. He
had sensed my momentary agitation over it, and had hoped
perhaps to use it against me. It read:

WE DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU OF THE
DEATH OF YOUR SON, KOL ZEEROHS, IN HEROIC

SERVICE FOR THE SPACE PATROL.

-THE HIGH COMMAND,

SPACE PATROL.

But now my weakness overwhelmed me. I was aware only
of someone at my side, supporting me, as my knees threat-
ened to buckle. It must have been Oscar.

No— it was a human being!

"Every one of us here," Tom Blaine said, tightening his
grip around me, "is your son now— if that will help a little.
You're staying of course, Professor. You couldn't leave now if
you tried." * - • '

We smiled at each other, and my thin hand was nearly
crushed in his young, strong grasp. Yes, the teacher from
Mars would stay.