NEW LAMPS
By Robert Moore Williams
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Other Worlds May 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ronson came to the Red Planet on the strangest mission of all ... heonly knew he wanted to see Les Ro, but he didn't know exactly why. Itwas because he knew that Les Ro had the answer to something that hadnever been answered before, if indeed, it had ever been asked! For LesRo traded new lamps for old—and they were the lamps of life itself!
On Mars, the dust is yellow, and microscopically fine. With the resultthat it penetrates to the sensitive lung tissues of a human being,causing distress. Crossing the street toward the dive set into thetowering wall of the cliff overhead, Jim Ronson sneezed violently.He wished fervidly that he might get another glimpse of what RobertHeinlein, two centuries before, had nostalgically called The CoolGreen Hills of Earth, and again smell air that had no dust in it.Deep inside of him a small voice whispered that he would be very luckyif he ever saw the green hills of Earth again.
Somewhere ahead of him, in the granite core of the mountain, wassomething that no human had ever seen. Rumors of what was here hadreached Jim Ronson. They had been sufficiently exciting to lift himout of an Earth laboratory and to bring him on a space ship to Mars,feverishly sleep-learning the Martian language as he made the hop, toinvestigate what might be here in this granite mountain near the southpole of the Red Planet. Some Martians knew what was here. In Mars Port,Ronson had talked to one who obviously knew. But the Martian eithercould not or would not tell what he knew.
Across the street, squatting against the wall, were a dozen Martians.One was segregated from the rest. They watched the human get out ofthe dothar drawn cart that had brought him from the jet taxithat had landed on the sand outside this village, pay his fare, andcome toward them. Taking a half-hitch around his courage, Ronson movedpast them. He glanced down at the one sitting apart from the rest, thenaverted his eyes, unease and discomfort rising in him. The Martian wasa leper. Ronson forced himself to look again. The sores were clearlyvisible, the eyes were dull and apathetic, without hope. As if some ofthe leper's hopelessness were communicated to him, Ronson felt a touchof despair. In this place, if the rumors were true, how could therebe a leper? How—He paused as one of the Martians squatting on thesidewalk rose to bar his way.
On the Red Planet, humans were strictly on their own. If they gotthemselves into trouble, no consular agent was available to help them.If they got killed, no representative of Earth law came to ask whyor to bring the killers to human justice. No amount of argument orpersuasion on the part of delegates from Earth had ever produced atreaty guaranteeing the lives or even the safety of humans who wentbeyond the limits of Mars Port. The Martians simply could not see anyreason for protecting these strange creatures who had come uninvitedacross space. Let humans look out for themselves!
The Martian who rose in front of Ronson was big and looked mean. Fourknives hung from the belt circling his waist. Ronson did not doubt thatthe fellow could stab very expertly with the knives or that he couldthrow them with the accuracy of a bullet within a range of thirty feet.In the side pocket of the heavy dothar-skin coat that h