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A. E. van Vogt

ENCHANTED VILLAGE

Explorers of a new frontier” they had been called before they left for Mars.

For a while, after the ship crashed into a Martian desert, killing all on board except—miraculously—this one man,

Bill Jenner spat the words occasionally into the constant, sand-laden wind. He despised himself for the pride he had

felt when he first heard them.

His fury faded with each mile that he walked, and his black grief for his friends became a gray ache. Slowly he

realized that he had made a ruinous misjudgment.

lie had underestimated the speed at which the rocketship had been traveling.

He’d guessed that he would have to walk three hundred miles to reach the shallow, polar sea be and the others had

observed as they glided in from outer space. Actually, the ship must have Bashed an immensely greater distance

before it hurtled down out of control.

The days stretched behind him, seemingly as numberless as the hot, red, alien sand that scorched through his

tattered clothes. A huge scarecrow of a man, he kept moving across the endless, arid waste—he would not give up.

By the time he came to the mountain, his food had long been gone. Of his four water bags, only one remained, and

that was so close to being empty that he merely wet his cracked lips and swollen tongue whenever his thirst became

unbearable.

Jenner climbed high before he realized that it was not just another dune that had barred his way. He paused, and as

he gazed up at the mountain that towered above him, he cringed a little. For an instant he felt the hopelessness of this

mad race he was making to nowhere—but he reached the top. He saw that below him was a depression surrounded by

hills as high as, or higher than, the one on which he stood. Nestled in the valley they made was a village.

He could see trees and the marble Boor of a courtyard. A score of buildings was clustered around what seemed to

be a central square. They were mostly low-constructed, but there were four towers pointing gracefully into the sky.

They shone in the sunlight with a marble luster.

Faintly, there came to Jenner’s cars a thin, high-pitched whistling sound. It rose, fell, faded completely, then came

up again clearly and unpleasantly. Fven as Jenner ran toward it, the noise grated on his ears, eerie and unnatural.

FIe kept slipping on smooth rock, and bruised himself when he fell. He rolled halfway down into the valley. The

buildings remained new and bright when seen from nearby. Their walls Bashed with reBeetions. On every side was

vegetation— reddish-green shrubbery, yellow-green trees laden with purple and red fruit.

With ravenous intent, Jenner headed for the nearest fruit tree. Close up, the tree looked dry and brittle. The large

red fruit he tore from the lowest branch, however, was plump and juicy.

As he lifted it to his mouth, he remembered that he had been warned during his training period to taste nothing on

Mars until it had been chemically ex-amined. But that was meaningless advice to a man whose only chemical

equip-ment was in his own body.

Nevertheless, the possibility of danger made him cautious. He took his first bite gingerly. It was bitter to his tongue,

and he spat it out hastily. Some of the juice which remained in his mouth seared his gums. He felt the fire on it, and he

reeled from nausea. His muscles began to jerk, and he lay down on the marble to keep himself from falling. After what

seemed like hours to Jenner, the awful trembling finally went out of his body and he could see again. He looked up

despisingly at the tree.

The pain finally left him, and slowly he relaxed. A soft breeze rustled the dry leaves. Nearby trees took up that

gentle clamor, and it struck Jenner that the wind here in the valley was only a whisper of what it had been on the Bat

desert beyond the mountain.

There was no other sound now. Jenner abruptly remembered the high-pitched, ever-changing whistle he had heard.

He lay very still, listening intently, but there was only the rustling of the leaves. The noisy shrilling had stopped. lie

wondered if it had been an alarm, to warn the villagers of his approach.

Anxiously he climbed to his feet and fumbled for his gun. A sense of disaster

shocked through him. It wasn’t there. His mind was a blank, and then he vaguely recalled that he had first missed the

weapon more than a week before. I-Ic looked around him uneasily, but there was not a sign of creature life. He braced

himself. He couldn’t leave, as there was nowhere to go. If necessary, he would fight to the death to remain in the

village.

Carefully Jenner took a sip from his water bag, moistening his cracked lips and his swollen tongue. Then he

replaced the cap and started through a double line of trees toward the nearest building. He made a wide circle to

observe it from several vantage points. On one side a low, broad archway opened into the interior. Through it, he

could dimly make out the polished gleam of a marble floor.

Jenner explored the buildings from the outside, always keeping a respectful distance between him and any of the

entrances. He saw no sign of animal life. He reached the far side of the marble platform on which the village was built,

and turned back decisively. It was time to explore interiors.

He chose one of the four tower buildings. As he came within a dozen feet of it, he saw that he would have to stoop

low to get inside.

Momentarily, the implications of that stopped him. These buildings had been constructed for a life form that must

be very different from human beings.

He went forward again, bent down, and entered reluctantly, every muscle tensed.

He found himself in a room without furniture. However, there were several low marble fences projecting from one

marble wall. They formed what looked like a group of four wide, low stalls. Each stall had an open trough carved out of

the floor.

The second chamber was fitted with four inclined planes of marble, each of which slanted up to a dais. Altogether

there were four rooms on the lower floor. Froi-n one of them a circular ramp mounted up, apparently to a tower room.

J enner didn’t investigate the upstairs. The earlier fear that he would find alien life was yielding to the deadly

conviction that he wouldn’t. No life meant no food or chance of getting any. In frantic haste he hurried from building

to building, peering into the silent rooms, pausing now and then to shout hoarsely.

Finally there was no doubt. He was alone in a deserted village on a lifeless planet, without food, without

water—except for the pitiful supply in his bag— and without hope.

He was in the fourth and smallest room of one of the tower buildings when he realized that he had come to the end

of his search. The room had a single stall jutting out from one wall. Jenner lay down wearily in it. He must have fallen

asleep instantly.

When he awoke he became aware of two things, one right after the other. The first realization occurred before he

opened his eyes—the whistling sound was back; high and shrill, it wavered at the threshold of audibility.

The other was that a fine spray of liquid was being directed down at him from the ceiling. It had an odor, of which

technician Jenner took a single whiff. Quickly he scrambled out of the room, coughing, tears in his eyes, his face

already burning froin chemical reaction.

He snatched his handkerchief and hastily wiped the exposed parts of his body and face.

He reached the outside and there paused, striving to understand what had happened.

The village seemed unchanged.

Leaves trembled in a gentle breeze. The sun was poised on a mountain peak. J enner guessed from its position that

it was morning again and that he had slept at least a dozen hours. The glaring white light suffused the valley. Half

hidden by trees and shrubbery, the buildings Bashed and shimmered.

He seemed to be in an oasis in a vast desert. It was an oasis, all right, Jenner reflected grimly, but not for a human

being. For him, with its poisonous fruit, it was more like a tantalizing mirage.

He went back inside the building and cautiously peered into the room where he had slept. The spray of gas had

stopped, not a bit of odor lingered, and the air was fresh and clean.

He edged over the threshold, half inclined to make a test. He had a picture in his mind of a long-dead Martian

creature lazing on the floor in the stall while a soothing chemical sprayed down on its body. The fact that the chemical

was deadly to human beings merely emphasized how alien to man was the life that had spawned on Mars. But there

seemed little doubt of the reason for the gas. The creature was accustomed to taking a morning shower.

Inside the “bathroom,” Jenner eased himself feet first into the stall. As his hips came level with the stall entrance,

the solid ceiling sprayed a jet of yellowish gas straight down upon his legs. Hastily Jenner pulled himself clear of the

stall. The gas stopped as suddenly as it had started.

He tried it again, to make sure it was merely an automatic process. It turned on, then shut off.

Jenner’s thirst-puffed lips parted with excitement. He thought, “If there can be one automatic process, there may be

others.”

Breathing heavily, he raced into the outer room. Carefully he shoved his legs into one of the two stalls. The moment

his hips were in, a steaming gruel filled the trough beside the wall.

He stared at the greasy-looking stuff with a horrified fascination—food—and drink. He remembered the poison fruit

and felt repelled, but he forced himself to bend down and put his finger into the hot, wet substance. He brought it up,

dripping, to his mouth.

It tasted flat and pulpy, like boiled wood fiber. It trickled viscously into his throat. His eyes began to water and his

lips drew back convulsively. He realized he was going to be sick, and ran for the outer door—but didn’t quite make it.

When he finally got outside, he felt limp and unutterably listless. In that depressed state of mind, he grew aware

again of the shrill sound.

He felt amazed that he could have ignored its rasping even for a few minutes. Sharply he glanced about, trying to

determine its source, but it seemed to have none. Whenever he approached a point where it appeared to be loudest,

then it would fade or shift, perhaps to the far side of the village.

He tried to imagine what an alien culture would want with a mind-shattering noise—although, of course, it would

not necessarily have been unpleasant to them.

He stopped and snapped his fingers as a wild but nevertheless plausible notion entered his mind. Could this be

music?

He toyed with the idea, trying to visualize the village as it had been long ago. Here a music-loving people had

possibly gone about their daily tasks to the accompaniment of what was to them beautiful strains of melody.

The hideous whistling went on and on, waxing and waning. Jenner tried to

put buildings between himself and the sound. He sought refuge in various rooms, hoping that at least one would be

soundproof. None were. The whistle followed him wherever he went.

He retreated into the desert, and had to climb halfway up one of the slopes before the noise was low enough not to

disturb him. Finally, breathless but immeasurably relieved, he sank down on the sand and thought blankly:

What now?

The scene that spread before him had in it qualities of both heaven and hell. It was all too familiar now—the red

sands, the stony dunes, the small, alien village promising so much and fulfilling so little.

Jenner looked down at it with his feverish eyes and ran his parched tongue over his cracked, dry lips. He knew that

he was a dead man unless he could alter the automatic food-making machines that must be hidden somewhere in the

walls and under the Boors of the buildings.

In ancient days, a remnant of Martian civilization had survived here in this village. The inhabitants had died off, but

the village lived on, keeping itself clean of sand, able to provide refuge for any Martian who might come along. But

there were no Martians. There was only Bill Jenner, pilot of the first roeketship ever to land on Mars.

He had to make the village turn out food and drink that he could take. With-out tools, except his hands, with

scarcely any knowledge of chemistry, he must force it to change its habits.

Tensely he hefted his water bag. He took another sip and fought the same grim fight to prevent himself from

guzzling it down to the last drop. And, when he had won the battle once more, he stood up and started down the

slope.

He could last, he estimated, not more than three days. In that time he must conquer the village.

He was already among the trees when it suddenly struck him that the “music” had stopped. Relieved, he bent over a

small shrub, took a good firm hold of it— and pulled.

It came up easily, and there was a slab of marble attached to it. Jenner stared at it, noting with surprise that he had

been mistaken in thinking the stalk came up through a hole in the marble. It was merely stuck to the surface. Then he

noticed something else—the shrub had no roots. Almost instinctively, Jenner looked down at the spot from which he

had torn the slab of marble along with the plant. There was sand there.

He dropped the shrub, slipped to his knees, and plunged his fingers into the sand. Loose sand trickled through

them. He reached deep, using all his strength to force his arm and hand down; sand—nothing but sand.

He stood up and frantically tore up another shrub. It also came up easily, bringing with it a slab of marble. It had no

roots, and where it had been was sand.

With a kind of mindless disbelief, Jenner rushed over to a fruit tree and shoved at it. There was a momentary

resistance, and then the marble on which it stood split and lifted slowly into the air. The tree fell over with a swish and

a crackle as its dry branches and leaves broke and crumbled into a thousand pieces. Un-derneath where it had been

was sand.

Sand everywhere. A city built on sand. Mars, planet of sand. That was not completely true, of course. Seasonal

vegetation had been observed near the polar

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