The Landing On Mercury

: The Fire People

(Narrative continued by Alan Newland.)





With hardly more than a perceptible tremor our strange vehicle came to

rest upon the surface of Mercury. For a moment Miela and I stood regarding

each other silently. Then she left her station at the levers of the

mechanism and placed her hands gently on my shoulders. "You are welcome,

my husband, here to my world."



I kissed her glowing, e rnest face. We had reached our journey's end. My

work was about to begin--upon my own efforts now depended the salvation of

that great world I had left behind. What difficulties, what dangers, would

I have to face, here among the people of this strange planet? I thrilled

with awe at the thought of it; and I prayed God then to hold me firm and

steadfast to my purpose.



Miela must have divined my thoughts, for she said simply: "You will have

great power here, Alan; and it is in my heart that you will succeed."



We slid back one of the heavy metallic curtains and looked out through the

thick glass of the window. It was daylight--a diffused daylight like that

of a cloudy midday on my own earth. An utterly barren waste met my gaze.

We seemed to have landed in a narrow valley. Huge cliffs rose on both

sides to a height of a thousand feet or more.



These cliffs, as well as the floor of the valley itself, shone with a

brilliant glare, even in the half light of the sunless day. They were not

covered with soil, but seemed rather to be almost entirely metallic,

copper in color. The whole visible landscape was devoid of any sign of

vegetation, nor was there a single living thing in sight.



I shuddered at the inhospitable bleakness of it.



"Where are we, Miela?"



She smiled at my tone. It was my first sight of Mercury except vague,

distant glimpses of its surface through the mist coming down.



"You do not like my world?"



She was standing close beside me, and at her smiling words raised one of

her glorious red wings and spread it behind me as though for protection.

Then, becoming serious once more, she answered my question.



"We are fortunate, Alan. It is the Valley of the Sun, in the Light

Country. I know it well. We are very close to the Great City."



I breathed a sigh of relief.



"I'll leave it all to you, little wife. Shall we start at once?"



Her hand pressed mine.



"I shall lead you now," she said. "But afterward--you it will be who

leads me--who leads us all."



She crossed to the door fastenings. As she loosed them I remember I heard

a slight hissing sound. Before I could reach her she slid back the door. A

great wave of air rushed in upon us, sweeping us back against the wall. I

clutched at something for support, but the sweep of wind stopped almost at

once.



I had stumbled to my knees. "Miela!" I cried in terror.



She was beside me in an instant, wide-eyed with fear, which even then I

could see was fear only for me.



I struggled to my feet. My head was roaring. All the blood in my body

seemed rushing to my face.



After a moment I felt better. Miela pulled me to a seat.



"I did not think, Alan. The pressure of the air is different here from

your world. It was so wrong of me, for I knew. It was so when I landed

there on your earth."



I had never thought to ask her that, nor had she ever spoken of it to me.

She went on now to tell me how, when first she had opened the door on that

little Florida island, all the air about her seemed rushing away. She had

felt then as one feels transported quickly to the rarified atmosphere of a

great height.



Here the reverse had occurred. We had brought with us, and maintained, an

air density such as that near sea level on earth. But here on Mercury the

air was far denser, and its pressure had rushed in upon us instantly the

door was opened. Miela had been affected to a much less extent than I, and

in consequence recovered far more quickly.



The feeling, after the first nausea, the pressure and pain in my ears and

the roaring in my head, had passed away. A sense of heaviness, an

inability to breathe with accustomed freedom, remained with me for days.



We sat quiet for some minutes, and then left the vehicle. Miela was

dressed now as I had first seen her on the Florida bayou. As we stepped

upon the ground she suddenly tore the veil from her breast, spread her

wings, and, with a laugh of sheer delight, flew rapidly up into the air. I

stood watching her, my heart beating fast. Up--up she went into the gray

haze of the sky. Then I could see her spread her great wings, motionless,

a giant bird soaring over the valley.



A few moments more, and she was again beside me, alighting on the tip of

one toe with perfect poise and grace almost within reach of my hand.



I do not quite know what feelings possessed me at that moment. Perhaps it

was a sense of loss as I saw this woman I loved fly away into the air

while I remained chained to the ground. I cannot tell. But when she came

back, dropping gently down beside me, ethereal and beautiful as an angel

from heaven itself, a sudden rush of love swept over me.



I crushed her to me, glorying in the strength of my arms and the frailness

of her tender little body.



When I released her she looked up into my eyes archly.



"You do not like me to fly? Your wife is free--and, oh, Alan, it is so

good--so good to be back here again where I can fly."



She laughed at my expression.



"You are a man, too--like all the men of my world. That is the feeling you

came here to conquer, Alan--so that the women here may all keep their

wings--and be free."



I think I was just a little ashamed of myself for a moment. But I knew my

feeling had been only human. I did want her to fly, to keep those

beautiful wings. And in that moment they came to represent not only her

freedom, but my trust in her, my very love itself.



I stroked their sleek red feathers gently with my hand.



"I shall never feel that way again, Miela," I said earnestly.



She laughed once more and kissed me, and the look in her eyes told me she

understood.



The landscape, from this wider viewpoint, seemed even more bleak and

desolate than before. The valley was perhaps half a mile broad, and wound

away upward into a bald range of mountains in the distance.



The ground under my feet was like a richly metallic ore. In places it was

wholly metal, smooth and shining like burnished copper. Below us the

valley broadened slightly, falling into what I judged must be open country

where lay the city of our destination.



For some minutes I stood appalled at the scene. I had often been in the

deserts of America, but never have I felt so great a sense of desolation.

Always before it had been the lack of water that made the land so arid;

and always the scene seemed to hold promise of latent fertility, as though

only moisture were needed to make it spring into fruition.



Nothing of the kind was evident here. There was, indeed, no lack of water.

I could see a storm cloud gathering in the distance. The air I was

breathing seemed unwarrantably moist; and all about me on the ground

little pools remained from the last rainfall. But here there was no soil,

not so much even as a grain of sand seemed to exist. The air was warm, as

warm as a midsummer's day in my own land, a peculiarly oppressive, moist

heat.



I had been prepared for this by Miela. I was bareheaded, since there never

was to be direct sunlight. My feet were clad in low shoes with rubber

soles. I wore socks. For the rest, I had on simply one of my old pairs of

short, white running pants and a sleeveless running shirt. With the

exception of the shoes it was exactly the costume I had worn in the races

at college.



I had been standing motionless, hardly more than a step from the car in

which we had landed. Suddenly, in the midst of my meditations on the

strange scene about me, Miela said: "Go there, Alan."



She was smiling and pointing to a little rise of ground near by. I looked

at her blankly.



"Jump, Alan," she added.



The spot to which she pointed was perhaps forty feet away. I knew what she

meant, and, stepping back a few paces, came running forward and leaped

into the air. I cleared the intervening space with no more effort than I

could have jumped less than half that distance on earth.



Miela flew over beside me.



"You see, Alan, my husband, it is not so bad, perhaps, that I can fly."



She was smiling whimsically, but I could see her eyes were full of pride.



"There is no other man on Mercury who could do that, Alan," she added.



I tried successive leaps then, always with the same result. I calculated

that here the pull of gravity must be something less than one-half that on

the earth. It was far more than father had believed.



Miela watched my antics, laughing and clapping her hands with delight. I

found I tired very quickly--that is, I was winded. This I attributed to

the greater density of the air I was breathing.



In five minutes I was back at Miela's side, panting heavily.



"If I can--ever get so I breathe right--" I said.



She nodded. "A very little time, I think."



I sat down for a moment to recover my breath. Miela explained then that we

were some ten miles from the fertile country surrounding the city in which

her mother lived, and about fifteen miles from the outskirts of the city

itself. I give these distances as they would be measured on earth. We

decided to start at once. We took nothing with us. The journey would be a

short one, and we could easily return at some future time for what we had

left behind. We needed no food for so short a trip, and plenty of water

was at hand.



Only one thing Miela would not part with--the single memento she had

brought from earth to her mother. She refused to let me touch it, but

insisted on carrying it herself, guarding it jealously.



It was Beth's little ivory hand mirror!



We started off. Miela had wound the filmy scarf about her shoulders again

with a pretty little gesture.



"I need not use wings, Alan, when I am with you. We shall go together, you

and I--on the ground."



And then, as I started off vigorously, she added plaintively from behind

me: "If--if you will go slow, my husband, or will wait for me."



I altered my pace to suit hers. I had quite recovered my breath now, and

for the moment felt that I could carry her much faster than she could

walk. I did gather her into my arms once, and ran forward briskly, while

she laughed and struggled with me to be put down. She seemed no more than

a little child in my arms; but, as before, the heavy air so oppressed me

that in a few moments I was glad enough to set her again upon her feet.



The valley broadened steadily as we advanced. For several miles the look

of the ground remained unchanged. I wondered what curious sort of metal

this might be--so like copper in appearance. I doubted if it were copper,

since even in this hot, moist air it seemed to have no property of

oxidation.



I asked Miela about it, and she gave me its Mercutian name at once; but of

course that helped me not a bit. She added that outcroppings of it, almost

in the pure state, like the great deposits of native copper I had seen on

earth, occurred in many parts of Mercury.



I remembered then Bob Trevor's mention of it as the metal of the apparatus

used by the invaders of Wyoming.



We went on three or four miles without encountering a single sign of life.

No insects stirred underfoot; no birds flew overhead. We might have

been--by the look of it--alone on a dead planet.



"Is none of your mountain country inhabited, Miela?" I asked.



She shook her head.



"Only on the plains do people live. There is very little of good land in

the Light Country, and so many people. That it is which has caused much

trouble in the past. It is for that, many times, the Twilight People have

made war upon us."



I found myself constantly able to breathe more easily. Our progress down

the valley seemed now irritatingly slow, for I felt I could walk or run

three times faster than Miela. Finally I suggested to her that she fly,

keeping near me; and that I would make the best speed forward I could. She

stared at me quizzically. Then, seeing I was quite sincere, she flung her

little arms up about my neck and pulled me down to kiss her.



"Oh, Alan--the very best husband in all the universe, you are. None other

could there be--like you."



She had just taken off her scarf again when suddenly I noticed a little

speck in the sky ahead. It might have been a tiny bird, flying toward us

from the plains below.



"Miela--look!"



She followed the direction of my hand. The speck grew rapidly larger.



"A girl, Alan," she said after a moment. "Let us wait."



We stood silent, watching. It was indeed a girl, flying over the valley

some two or three hundred feet above the ground. As she came closer I saw

her wings were blue, not red like Miela's. She came directly toward us.



Suddenly Miela gave a little cry.



"Anina! Anina!"



Without a word to me she spread her wings and flew up to meet the oncoming

girl.



I stood in awe as I watched them. They met almost above me, and I could

see them hovering with clasped hands while they touched cheeks in

affectionate greeting. Then, releasing each other, they flew rapidly away

together--smaller and smaller, until a turn in the valley hid them

entirely from my sight.



I sat down abruptly. A lump was in my throat, a dismal lonesomeness in my

heart. I knew Miela would return in a moment--that she had met some friend

or relative--yet I could not suppress the vague feeling of sorrow and the

knowledge of my own incapacity that swept over me.



For the first time then I wanted wings--wanted them myself--that I might

join this wife I loved in her glorious freedom of the air. And I realized,

too, for the first time, how that condition Miela so deplored on Mercury

had come to pass. I could understand now very easily how it was that

married women were deprived by their husbands of these wings which they

themselves were denied by the Creator.



Hardly more than ten minutes had passed before I saw the two girls again

flying toward me. They alighted a short distance away, and approached me,

hand in hand.



The girl with Miela, I could see now, was somewhat shorter, even slighter

of build, and two or three years younger. Her face held the same delicate,

wistful beauty. The two girls strongly resembled one another in feature.

The newcomer was dressed in similar fashion to Miela--sandals on her feet,

and silken trousers of a silvery white, fastened at the ankles with golden

cords.



Her wings, as I have said, were blue--a delight light blue that, as I

afterward noticed, matched her eyes. Her hair was the color of spun gold;

she wore it in two long, thick braids over her shoulders and fastened at

the waist and knee. She was, in very truth, the most ethereal human being

I had ever beheld. And--next to Miela--the most beautiful.



Miela pulled her forward, and she came on, blushing with the sweet shyness

of a child. She was winding her silken silver scarf about her breast

hastily, as best she could with her free hand.



"My sister, Anina--Alan," said Miela simply.



The girl stood undecided; then, evidently obeying Miela's swift words of

instruction, she stood up on tiptoe, put her arms about my neck, and

kissed me full on the lips.



Miela laughed gayly.



"You must love her very much, Alan. And she--your little sister--will love

you, too. She is very sweet."



Then her face sobered suddenly.



"Tao has returned, Alan. And he has sent messengers to our city. They are

appealing to our people to join Tao in his great conquest. They say Tao

has here with him, on Mercury, a captive earthman, with wonderful strength

of body, who will help in the destruction of his own world!"