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Horizons, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, October 1940
Page 12
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THE DRY PLANET by SAM MOSKOWITZ Jerdac squared his great, brown shoulders and gazed disdainfully down at his fellow humans who grovelled meekly in the dust. It had been this way for a long time now. Ever since the earthmen, weakened by the horror of a twenty year world war, had been prey for the Martian invasion which finally, to the astonishment of H.G. Wells and Orson Welles alike, finally had [underlined] come. The Martians, great, brutal creatures with enormous chests and creaky, drawn oout limbs made short work of subjugating the populations of earth (what there was left of them) and proceeding to run things to suit themselves. Their major purpose seemed to be to transport as much water as possible from earth to their own arid world. Conquest of the earthmen was just a minor part of their task. They had little use for earth, its with crushing gravitational force of almost two and a half times Mars normal. It was doubtful whether or not they would have tolerated the earth men at all were it not for the fact that the man of earth were used to the gravitational pull of their planet and could accomplish infinitely more work. Work, the world knotted in Jerdac's brain and convulsed his features in vivid hate. Work. Work to build the towering super-structures which contained the necessary equipment for breaking water down into its simplest form, rushing it across the cosmic immensity of space 45,000,000 miles to be reassembled by other great machines back into its nature form and poured into the dry, gaping lips of the network of canals which spanned the planet. Every day the Martians would tread laboriously past the improvised living quarters of their slaves. Ray guns in hand ready to project a stream of paralyzing intensity into the man who showed the slightest sign of antagonism, they were ever on guard. They grovelled the hapless humans. Men like sheep, women like cows. While these usurpers of their world marched their grotesque caricatures of human forms in taunting scorn before them. They grovelled. All except him, Jerdac. Nothing could break his spirit. While the powerfully muscled, work-hardened arms hung at his sides they never would. He stood erect and sneered at them as they passed. And they hated him for it and often as not seared him with a low intensity heat ray. But he stood unflinching and smiled as the blisters rose and burst on his hairy chest and the skin of his face blackened and crusted. But they would never kill him. Never. He was the only one who could lead this frightened horde off human cattle. He it was who could uphold their lagging spirits and keep them working when even hope had gone. Without him they would never complete their fiendish towers. Never send a drop of water to their so scorched dying planet. And they knew it. And hated him all the more for it. And he sneered at them and worked the masses on. On to complete their death warrant. And when they sometimes asked him why he worked on upholding a project that meant the ultimate death of all humankind he spat at them and walked away. And they smiled their hideous crooked smile and judged him a coward at heart, feeding and maintaining the earth slaves. ..................................................................................... It was complete! Beautiful and evil it rose in ironic splendor toward the position of Mars in the sky. And tremendous ball bearings at his base revolved ever so slowly keeping its point always projecting toward the spot where Mars was as it moved in its orbit around the sun. Weeks before, all but a skeleton crew of Martians had left for "home" to supervise the procedure at the receiving end of Mars. They left with a threat. A threat that if the earth men should rebel and conquer in their absence they would return to wipe every last living thing off the face of the earth.
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THE DRY PLANET by SAM MOSKOWITZ Jerdac squared his great, brown shoulders and gazed disdainfully down at his fellow humans who grovelled meekly in the dust. It had been this way for a long time now. Ever since the earthmen, weakened by the horror of a twenty year world war, had been prey for the Martian invasion which finally, to the astonishment of H.G. Wells and Orson Welles alike, finally had [underlined] come. The Martians, great, brutal creatures with enormous chests and creaky, drawn oout limbs made short work of subjugating the populations of earth (what there was left of them) and proceeding to run things to suit themselves. Their major purpose seemed to be to transport as much water as possible from earth to their own arid world. Conquest of the earthmen was just a minor part of their task. They had little use for earth, its with crushing gravitational force of almost two and a half times Mars normal. It was doubtful whether or not they would have tolerated the earth men at all were it not for the fact that the man of earth were used to the gravitational pull of their planet and could accomplish infinitely more work. Work, the world knotted in Jerdac's brain and convulsed his features in vivid hate. Work. Work to build the towering super-structures which contained the necessary equipment for breaking water down into its simplest form, rushing it across the cosmic immensity of space 45,000,000 miles to be reassembled by other great machines back into its nature form and poured into the dry, gaping lips of the network of canals which spanned the planet. Every day the Martians would tread laboriously past the improvised living quarters of their slaves. Ray guns in hand ready to project a stream of paralyzing intensity into the man who showed the slightest sign of antagonism, they were ever on guard. They grovelled the hapless humans. Men like sheep, women like cows. While these usurpers of their world marched their grotesque caricatures of human forms in taunting scorn before them. They grovelled. All except him, Jerdac. Nothing could break his spirit. While the powerfully muscled, work-hardened arms hung at his sides they never would. He stood erect and sneered at them as they passed. And they hated him for it and often as not seared him with a low intensity heat ray. But he stood unflinching and smiled as the blisters rose and burst on his hairy chest and the skin of his face blackened and crusted. But they would never kill him. Never. He was the only one who could lead this frightened horde off human cattle. He it was who could uphold their lagging spirits and keep them working when even hope had gone. Without him they would never complete their fiendish towers. Never send a drop of water to their so scorched dying planet. And they knew it. And hated him all the more for it. And he sneered at them and worked the masses on. On to complete their death warrant. And when they sometimes asked him why he worked on upholding a project that meant the ultimate death of all humankind he spat at them and walked away. And they smiled their hideous crooked smile and judged him a coward at heart, feeding and maintaining the earth slaves. ..................................................................................... It was complete! Beautiful and evil it rose in ironic splendor toward the position of Mars in the sky. And tremendous ball bearings at his base revolved ever so slowly keeping its point always projecting toward the spot where Mars was as it moved in its orbit around the sun. Weeks before, all but a skeleton crew of Martians had left for "home" to supervise the procedure at the receiving end of Mars. They left with a threat. A threat that if the earth men should rebel and conquer in their absence they would return to wipe every last living thing off the face of the earth.
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