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19 - Tydores Gift · Outer Space Adventures in Sci-Fi

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  Speaker 1: Tidor's Gift by Alfred Copple. This is a LibriVox recording.
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  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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  Speaker 1: information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
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  Speaker 1: by Atomic Dragons of Mars Tidor's Gift by Alfred Copple,
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  Speaker 1: first published in Planet Stories September nineteen fifty one. So unpredictable,
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  Speaker 1: these dead World Tower dwellers take old Tidor, who placed
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  Speaker 1: such an inestimably valuable gift in the greed hands of
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  Speaker 1: one he hated. The sun was a shrunken red disc
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  Speaker 1: against the starfields, a distant, pale luminosity surrendering to the
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  Speaker 1: encroachment of the falling night. Or frost crunched under Marley's
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  Speaker 1: feet as he walked by the ste ill black waters
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  Speaker 1: of the canal, and then thin wind whispered over the
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  Speaker 1: sand and across the breasts of the ancient hills. Starlight
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  Speaker 1: gleamed in the dark water as the day faded. Earth
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  Speaker 1: hung low in the sky like an emerald pendant over
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  Speaker 1: the bosom of a sleeping woman. Marley pulled his silks
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  Speaker 1: and furs closer about his shoulders. The air was sharp
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  Speaker 1: and cold. His breath froze wraithlike in the icy evening.
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  Speaker 1: As he hurried down the path towards Tidor's tower, the
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  Speaker 1: green planet shone like a beacon in his eyes.
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  Speaker 2: Home.
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  Speaker 1: The thought brought impatience and a longing to walk under
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  Speaker 1: a pale sky and a warm sun. He looked about
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  Speaker 1: him with faint distaste. This peace, this solitude of low
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  Speaker 1: red hills and blue black nights, was alien to Marley.
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  Speaker 1: It was unreal. Mars was a dream, an ancient, wasted,
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  Speaker 1: slumbering dream. Marley's lips compressed as he thought of tide
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  Speaker 1: Or and their last meeting. It seemed that Tidor laughed
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  Speaker 1: at him. Tid Or withheld too much, and there was
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  Speaker 1: so little time left. There was an accrid core of
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  Speaker 1: decadence in the old Martian, Marley thought, a consciousness of
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  Speaker 1: too many millennia of civilization and decay. Devious was the word, perhaps,
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  Speaker 1: though it seemed a pallid one for the reality of
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  Speaker 1: the Martian's intricate mind. It was always impossible to know
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  Speaker 1: what he was thinking, how much he knew about my
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  Speaker 1: Marley being a spy, about the war on Earth. In
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  Speaker 1: spite of himself. Marley smiled. It sounded so melodramatic that way,
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  Speaker 1: but it was the way it really was. The Martians
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  Speaker 1: held the perfect weapon. Marley needed that weapon, and his
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  Speaker 1: nation had put forth a gigantic effort to get him
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  Speaker 1: to Mars so that he might steal it. Tidor's Tower
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  Speaker 1: loomed up before him in the fading light, a fay
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  Speaker 1: filigree of minarets and graceful flying buttresses, too delicate for
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  Speaker 1: a grosser world than Mars. The tower's reflection shimmered in
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  Speaker 1: the still dark waters of the canal, like an alter ego,
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  Speaker 1: extending deep into the liquid depths. Marley descended the steps
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  Speaker 1: of delicately wrought stone that led to the tower's underground entrance,
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  Speaker 1: with care for the drifted feric sand made them treacherous.
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  Speaker 1: How like the Martians, he thought, with some irritation, to
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  Speaker 1: make it necessary to travel down in order to enter
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  Speaker 1: a tower, Everything the long way, the hard and devious way.
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  Speaker 1: The outer doorway was shaped like a floor de les,
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  Speaker 1: and it opened from the top down, sliding into a
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  Speaker 1: recess of ancient oily machinery. It would be far too
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  Speaker 1: simple to make a door that looked and worked like
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  Speaker 1: a door. Everything Marley had seen during his months on
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  Speaker 1: Mars served only to increase his sense of alienage. He
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  Speaker 1: had seen only tie door. Of course, Of the living Martians,
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  Speaker 1: there were only a handful left, and they lived in
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  Speaker 1: their isolated towers along the still canals, surrounded by their
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  Speaker 1: tissue thin manuscripts and ancient read like music spools that
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  Speaker 1: filled the air of their retreats with skeins of weird
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  Speaker 1: and enharmonic melody. The weapon was tight Or's. He had
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  Speaker 1: rebuilt it from plants drawn by some ensorcelled armorer dead
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  Speaker 1: over five thousand years, rebuilt it in the paradoxical way
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  Speaker 1: that Martians seemed to do everything for. If there was
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  Speaker 1: one thing that no Martian needed, it was a weapon.
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  Speaker 1: No strife had marred the planet's piece for millennia, but
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  Speaker 1: built it he had in Marley's hands. Itched for the
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  Speaker 1: sleek deadliness of it, the smooth, grained stalk, the oddly
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  Speaker 1: wrought ornate muzzle. There was a vicious tang violence frozen
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  Speaker 1: into every line of the weapon, and it was the
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  Speaker 1: only handgun Marley had ever seen that chained the forces
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  Speaker 1: of the atom. With such weapons, an army could be invincible.
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  Speaker 1: Tidor stood to greet him with the elaborate courtesy of
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  Speaker 1: his kind. He performed the ritual gestures of welcome, his slender,
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  Speaker 1: finely veined hands tracing the ancient symbols in the air.
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  Speaker 1: The gods of sand and wind have brought you safely
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  Speaker 1: to my house, man of earth. I give thanks and
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  Speaker 1: pray you find peace and wisdom within my walls. The
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  Speaker 1: old Martian's chanting voice was like the fluting grace of
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  Speaker 1: a Scarlatti quarrel. It was one with the minuscule paintings
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  Speaker 1: that covered the walls, the finely wrought carvings on the
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  Speaker 1: antique flagstones under his feet. Marley was not at home
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  Speaker 1: in the fluid Martian tie ung, but the very sound
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  Speaker 1: of the words conjured for him the serried ranks of
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  Speaker 1: spectral generations that had reached their culmination in this one
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  Speaker 1: robed ancient. And yet he thought with irritation, Tidor's words
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  Speaker 1: mean not at all. What they said through the finely
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  Speaker 1: polished phrases of welcome ran a thread of hidden mockery,
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  Speaker 1: even hate for Marley and everything he represented. Never once
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  Speaker 1: said tid Or, by word or deed, indicated that he
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  Speaker 1: felt anything but friendship for his visitor from the silvery
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  Speaker 1: ship out on the desert, And yet there was no
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  Speaker 1: mistaking the nuance of contempt. Tidor despised Marley as an
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  Speaker 1: outworld savage, one with the despoilers of the holy places
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  Speaker 1: of Mars. Not that the Martians had gone. They had
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  Speaker 1: lived too long for that, and their deities existed only
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  Speaker 1: in their beautifully turned phrases and their hypercultured ritual. But
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  Speaker 1: the first men from Earth had looted the libraries and
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  Speaker 1: shattered the soaring towers. He was a thing no Martian
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  Speaker 1: would ever forget or forgive. It marked earth men for
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  Speaker 1: what they were in Martian eyes, precocious barbarians, targets for
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  Speaker 1: Martian subtlety. I give thanks for your welcome, Marley said, slowly,
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  Speaker 1: his tongue clumsy on the singing syllables. Tidor inclined his
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  Speaker 1: head slightly and indicated that Marley should follow him up
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  Speaker 1: the winding ramp that pierced the core of the tower.
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  Speaker 1: Each time Marley came, though, ritual was the same as
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  Speaker 1: unchanging as the still waters of the dark canals or
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  Speaker 1: the frozen loneliness of the red hills beyond, they would
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  Speaker 1: pass the first level, where the old engines supplied tide
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  Speaker 1: Or with what little heat and sustenance he needed. They
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  Speaker 1: would go on to the second level, where the music
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  Speaker 1: spools lay in ordered confusion amid the sonic transcribers that
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  Speaker 1: tide Or used to weave the sounds of the Martian
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  Speaker 1: night into atonal poems of melody. And then they would
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  Speaker 1: reach the level of the weapon. It would still be
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  Speaker 1: in its crystal case, guarded by a lock of bronze,
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  Speaker 1: a lock to which there was one key, and that
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  Speaker 1: one key on a silver chain around Tidor's neck. They
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  Speaker 1: would pass the weapon by and seek the top level,
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  Speaker 1: a platform shielded against the frigid night by a crystal canopy,
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  Speaker 1: and there they would begin their n knightly fencing with
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  Speaker 1: words and ideas under the guise of friendship. Marley's heart
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  Speaker 1: was pounding suddenly as he drew near to the weapon.
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  Speaker 1: His patience was failing him. At long last, he knew
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  Speaker 1: he was sick of Mars, sick of tide Or, sick
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  Speaker 1: of posing as a humble seeker after knowledge. If he
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  Speaker 1: could not trick the Martian into parting with the weapon soon,
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  Speaker 1: he knew that he must chance violence. He had not
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  Speaker 1: dared it before because he could never be sure that
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  Speaker 1: tide Or and his kind were as defenseless as they seemed.
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  Speaker 1: It was paradoxical that they should possess a weapon such
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  Speaker 1: as the weapon and yet be unwilling or unable to
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  Speaker 1: use it. Still, it seemed to Marley that such must
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  Speaker 1: be the case. He could only explain it to himself
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  Speaker 1: by saying that they had lived too long amid too
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  Speaker 1: much deviousness and inverted purpose to be quite virile. They were.
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  Speaker 1: The word came readily to mind from his day's training
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  Speaker 1: on Earth. Decadent and the meek did not inherit the
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  Speaker 1: earth or anything else, he told himself with satisfaction. Only
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  Speaker 1: the militant, the ruthless. The time had come, Marley thought,
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  Speaker 1: for the calculated risk direct action he could scarcely contain
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  Speaker 1: himself as they passed the weapon and climbed to the
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  Speaker 1: top level. You seem preoccupied tonight, Marley, Tidor said, pouring
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  Speaker 1: two tiny gobblets of wine. Can it be you grow
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  Speaker 1: tired of mars? Marley sipped the wine thoughtfully. To him,
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  Speaker 1: it seemed completely insipid and without flavor subtlety. Again, he
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  Speaker 1: doubted it. I mean to ask a favor of you, Tidar,
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  Speaker 1: he said, And I but ponder how I should begin.
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  Speaker 1: My house is yours, the martian replied, softly, and all
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  Speaker 1: that it contains. Marley's eyes narrowed. Did he imagine the
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  Speaker 1: accent on the last phrase, or was it actually there?
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  Speaker 1: He decided to be very cautious. I came here, as
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  Speaker 1: you know, he said, to learn everything I might about
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  Speaker 1: your kind. As you know we have earthed, are a
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  Speaker 1: young race, still much in need of guidance and knowledge.
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  Speaker 1: You have learned much, Tidor said. Marley's tone grew harder,
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  Speaker 1: but not enough. Tidoor's eyebrows arched delicately. So you have
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  Speaker 1: read my books, listens to my music. You have tasted
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  Speaker 1: the wines and eaten the fruits of Mars. You have
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  Speaker 1: seen the stars and the sand, the waters and the lichens.
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  Speaker 1: Have you not known my world? I want more, Marley
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  Speaker 1: said flatly. Tidor smiled. In that smile, Marley saw a
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  Speaker 1: flash of more distilled venom and ancient hatred than he
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  Speaker 1: could have imagined existed. The utter virulence of it left
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  Speaker 1: him shaken, and his illogical fear brought anger. He got
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  Speaker 1: to his feet the tiny goblet in hand. It was
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  Speaker 1: old and delicate, a tiny gem of carved jade and
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  Speaker 1: ivory to one such as tid Or, priceless. Brutally, Marley
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  Speaker 1: crushed it to shards in his hands and dropped it
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  Speaker 1: to the flagstones. The fragments tinkled as they fell. So
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  Speaker 1: it must always be, said Tidor, in a soft voice.
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  Speaker 1: I have not come here to listen to music, tied Or,
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  Speaker 1: Marley said, nor to read your books or to know
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  Speaker 1: your world. You have one thing that I want. You
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  Speaker 1: will give it to me, or I will take it
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  Speaker 1: from you. He ground his heel onto the remains of
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  Speaker 1: the goblet with a grating sound. The weapon. The martian said,
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  Speaker 1: you want the weapon.
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  Speaker 2: You may have it. You need not have broken my goblet.
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  Speaker 2: Marley was almost sorry that he had won so easily.
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  Speaker 2: He suddenly wanted to crush the old Martian as he
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  Speaker 2: had crushed the goblet. In both there was a quality
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  Speaker 2: that eluded him, and it was maddening. Titor handed him
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  Speaker 2: the key.
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  Speaker 1: Come, we will get it together. Marley followed him, cautiously,
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  Speaker 1: alert for any trickery. Presently they stood before the case,
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  Speaker 1: and Marley unlocked it, reaching greedily for the polished stock.
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  Speaker 1: He cradled the gun in his arms, lovingly savoring the triumph.
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  Speaker 1: With this in his hands, he could defy a world.
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  Speaker 1: There is no other like it, nor any but I
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  Speaker 1: to make one, Ti Door said, with a strange smile.
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  Speaker 1: Why did you make it? Asked Marley. I made it
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  Speaker 1: for you. Marley laughed aloud. It was an alien sound
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  Speaker 1: in the thin, cold air of the tower. You're a liar,
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  Speaker 1: tied or You built this weapon long before I ever
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  Speaker 1: left Earth, and you know it. By you, I meant
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  Speaker 1: simply men like you, Ti Door said, When the first
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  Speaker 1: earth men came and befouled Mars with their presence, I
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  Speaker 1: knew that I must make the weapon, he smiled, showing
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  Speaker 1: even white teeth, a small triumph. But things are not
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  Speaker 1: to be measured whether they are great or small, rather
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  Speaker 1: by their flavor, their grace, and their neatness. Marley, you
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  Speaker 1: speak of triumph, old man, snorted Marley derisively. While your
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  Speaker 1: precious weapon is in my hands, tight or shrugged, as
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  Speaker 1: I knew it would be. One day, when I spread
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  Speaker 1: the tails of what the weapon would do, it drew
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  Speaker 1: you as a loadstone draws a sliver of iron. Marley
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  Speaker 1: felt a pang of panic. You mean this thing is
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  Speaker 1: a fake, tight Or shook his head. No counterfits. It
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  Speaker 1: will do what I said it would do. Kill. What
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  Speaker 1: more can one ask of a weapon? It was Marley's
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  Speaker 1: turn to smile. Nothing. There's only this one. And if
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  Speaker 1: you were to die, tight Or smiled a veiled smile.
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  Speaker 1: It is as the gods of sand and wind decree.
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  Speaker 1: Marley pointed the weapon at tight Or. He had only
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  Speaker 1: to kill the old Martian and return to his ship.
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  Speaker 1: The mission was over completed. He was done with Mars
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  Speaker 1: and with tight Or and his subtle scorn. He cradled
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  Speaker 1: the weapon lovingly, laying his cheek to the carven stock
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  Speaker 1: Old Tidor had built well. There was a perfect balance
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  Speaker 1: in the feel of it. His finger curled around the trigger,
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  Speaker 1: and he sighted carefully down the long barrel at the
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  Speaker 1: robed figure of the Martian. Tidor was smiling in the
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  Speaker 1: face of death, and Marley wanted to laugh out loud.
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  Speaker 1: This is the way the world ends, he was thinking.
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  Speaker 1: Not with a bang, but a whimper. He squeezed the trigger.
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  Speaker 1: The universe exploded in Marley's face. There was a streak
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  Speaker 1: of searing pain that carried away half his face, and
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  Speaker 1: as he fell he could hear a strange sound for
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  Speaker 1: the first time. Tidor was laughing aloud. It was a
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  Speaker 1: hideous sound, a voice for the torment and hatred of
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  Speaker 1: a race that had lived too long, planned too much.
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  Speaker 1: Marley felt the tower pinwheel around him. The flagstones leapt
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  Speaker 1: up to meet him, greeting the searing agony of his
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  Speaker 1: face with the soundless laughter of a million. Intricate patterns
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  Speaker 1: of lonely death, and blackness welled up out of the
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  Speaker 1: stones to engulf him, but not before he knew Tidor
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  Speaker 1: had made the weapon, with the muzzle resembling the stock.
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  Speaker 1: It was as simple as that, and that is the
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  Speaker 1: end of Tidor's Gift by Alfred Copple