When you've been to Mars, when you've struggled
with men and ships and supplies like some tremendous
Herculean figure in the morning of the world,
you'll never really feel at home on Earth....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Steve found the mirror in the great northwestern desert. It was lyinghalf-buried in the sand, and the wind howled in fury over it, and whenhe bent to pick it up the sun smote him like a shining blade, dividinghis tall body into blinding light and wavering shadow.
I knew it was a Martian mirror before he straightened. Thecraftsmanship was breathtaking and could not have been duplicatedon Earth. It was shaped like an ordinary hand mirror; but its glasssurface was like a lake of fire, with depth beyond depth to it, andthe jewels sparkling at its rim were a deep aquamarine which seemed totransmute the sun-glow into shimmering bands of starlight.
I could have told Steve that such mirrors, by their very nature, weredestructive. When a man carries a hopeless vision of loveliness aboutwith him, when he lives with that vision night and day, he ceases to bethe undisputed master of his own destiny—
"She's alive, Jim," Steve said. "A woman dead fifty thousand years.A woman from a civilization that flourished before the dawn of humanhistory."
"Take it easy, Steve," I warned. "The Martians simply knew how topreserve every aspect of a mirrored image. Say howdedo to her if youlike. Press your lips to the glass and see what happens. But don'tmistake an imitation of life for the real thing."
"An imitation of life!" Steve flared. "Man, she just smiled at me.She's aware of us, I tell you."
"Sure she is. Her brain was mirrored too, every aspect of itselectro-dynamic structure preserved forever by a science that's lostforever. Get a grip on yourself, Steve."
I was hot and tired and dusty. My throat was parched and I didn't feelmuch like arguing with him. But I had my reasons for being stubborn.
"Men have found Martian mirrors and gone mad," I said. "Don't take anychances, Steve. We don't know yet what it's rigged with. Why not playit safe? A thousand cycles of direct current should melt it down."
"Melt her down!" Steve's eyes narrowed in sudden fury. "Why, it wouldbe murder!"
Steve got up and brushed sand from his knees. He held the mirror up sothat the red Martian sunlight caught and aureoled the splendor of aface that offered a man no chance of help if he ever let go.
A pale, beautiful face, the eyes fringed with long, dark lashes, thelips parted in a mocking smile. A living image capable of mercurialchanges of mood, unnaturally still one moment, smiling and animated thenext.
One thing at a time, I thought. Don't drive him too hard.
"Some men have carried them about for years," I said. "But justremember what falling in love with an image can mean. You'll never holdher in your arms, Steve. And compulsions can kill."
"She's alive as flesh-and-blood is alive," he said, glaring at me.
"Easy, Steve!"
I could see that I was going to have trouble with my stout-heartedbuddy, Captain Stephen Claymore.
He could have stared at a mountain of gold unmoved. He could have kneltwith a wry chuckle, and let a handful of diamonds trickle through hiswiry, bronze-knuckled hands, in utter contempt for what diamonds couldbuy on Earth.
He could have thrown back his head and laughed, at wealth, at glory,at anything you want to name that men prize high