*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 61744 ***

                          The Tantalus Death

                           By ROSS ROCKLYNNE

            "Give us water, or we perish!" But the Conclave
           of Nations denied the Red Planet's frantic plea.
         So began the Reign of Terror ... a Martian judgement
              that plunged the Earth into hideous chaos.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Spring 1940.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The Master Conclave of the Sectional Governors of the World State was
in its first day of session. The Speaker, about to call for a motion
of adjournment, rose, looked about the packed tiers of seats as if
searching for someone. Relief came to his face--and was replaced by
annoyance as the huge, double doors swung open.

A being, resplendent in colorful uniform, of human shape but twelve
feet tall, entered.

In the resigned silence that followed, the doorman announced,

"Olduk, the Martian ambassador!"

All eyes followed the massive, wrinkled old form as it made its way
slowly through the aisles.

The Speaker bit his lip. He said, "The Conclave welcomes you, Olduk. We
had feared that you would not be present."

Olduk paused and bowed. He said, in his guttural, unnatural tones,
"Olduk thanks you."

"You wished to speak before the assembly?"

"Yes, please. The rostrum may I use?"

"Yes," said the Speaker, "the rostrum you may use."

A titter of laughter spread through the tiered seats.

Olduk paid none or small attention, even to the whisperings of two
secretaries that his receptive, large ears picked up.

"Why does he keep up with this farce?" one asked. "Every year he gets
up on the rostrum, and makes a speech, asking, as usual, for water.
He's been denied exactly ten times."

"He'll get it in the neck this time," Olduk heard the other say
knowingly. "The Spanish and Japanese Sectional Governors have had
several bills thrown out this session, and they're spoiling for an
argument. And whatever they say, they'll be speaking for the world."

Olduk--called jokingly the Old Duck--wended his way between the aisles
toward the rostrum, drawing his cape about him. The cape was not an
affectation. He realized that as a Martian he possessed several unhuman
appendages which human beings did not care to look upon.

He faced the session, his wrinkled old face expressionless, though his
double-lidded eyes conveyed the seriousness with which he faced his
problem.

"Honorable Speaker," he said, bowing to the Speaker. "Honorable fellow
delegates," he added, and bowed low. "I drink to you." He seized a
beaker of water in a horny hand, and drained it in a single gulp.

He set the beaker down. His reddish eyes swept the assembly.

He said, "I am ever thankful you me to speak allow. Think, I will tell
you what I wish, fellow delegates.

"Difficult me to talk this language, though here I have lived on
Earth twenty years, making friends with Earthmen. I am not as I was
in leaving Mars. I am changed with sundry operations, that I may live
here well. Thus my voice is hard to speak, and harder still to learn
difficult language. Laughing I will not like, please?"

He paused. His abnormally receptive ears again picked up the
whisperings of the two secretaries.

"He's said exactly the same thing the past five sessions."

Olduk said in his impersonal voice:

"Before I make my plea for the water my planet needs, let me tell a
myth that I read with enjoyment. It is the story of Tantalus, fellow
delegates. Tantalus was placed by the gods in a river of purest water;
when he wished to drink, recede the water would. So his thirst for ages
tortured him.

"Poor Tantalus," said Olduk.

He seized the refilled beaker, and drained it at a single gulp.

"Shall Mars be Tantalus? Or shall Earth be Tantalus?"

"Mars is Tantalus," a whisper floated from the gallery.

The laughter came again, a little insolently this time.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Japanese Sectional governor rose, and said, sucking in his breath,
"Why does not the thirsty Olduk speak, instead of drinking all the
Speaker's water?"

This time the laughter was more open. The speaker rapped with his
gavel, and order was restored.

Olduk said, "There is more water on Earth than five billion Olduks
could drink.

"But I will speak, as I have spoken years in and years over.

"I shall review the history of things. Forty-five years ago great
swarms of Martians descended on Earth and engaged in war. They wished
to conquer Earth. Fortunately succeeded not. There became a hatred
between the two peoples. This hatred has endured, without reason."

"Without reason?" said the Japanese governor.

"Doubtless," said Olduk, "you have neglected to follow history, of own
people and of what occurred before Martians made war. Not until after
the war did Martians know that Earthmen could be peaceful. Before the
war, Earthmen slaughtered great numbers of Martians. So Martians did
not feel bad when they wished to slaughter numbers of Earthmen."

"There was the second war," sarcastically.

"The second war the war of water, as the first. Earth no good for us,
see? Wished water only. The second war we fought because Earth would
not sell us water any price at; so we would conquer her and levy water
tribute. Fortunately did not succeed. Try more friendly means, which is
why I, Olduk and seven of associates, changed by operations from real
Martians, are here."

Olduk paused. He resumed carefully, cocking his massive head to one
side.

"Come to Earth, I and seven. Give Earth scientific secrets. Learn Earth
language and customs. Prove friendliness for water."

The Spanish governor rose, cleared his throat. "Bribes!" he said loudly.

"Bribes?" said Olduk.

"Bribes! Gentlemen, Olduk has made his plea for ten years, and for ten
years, in the best interests of the World State, we have refused him.
Why? Because if you sell the Martians water, their population will
increase to the point where they are able to conquer Earth. Remember
that it was our numbers and not our science that won out over the
Martians in the two wars.

"This question has been an annoyance! From now on, I vote no on the
subject, and move to have this question off our hands for good.
Furthermore, I move that the Act which gave the Martians the right to
sit on the Master Conclave be stricken out of the World Constitution!"

Olduk said, "My people will die--" when every member of the Conclave
rose and shouted out his agreement with the Spanish governor.

Olduk drew his cape tighter around his twelve-foot body.

He said, "Then I have been refused forever. But I have no feelings of
enmity. Allow me fully to explain situation once more, so that you may
possibly feel sorry for my people. We are million in number--ideal,
yes? Not canned like sardines on Earth, yes? Million enough,
fortunately. But without water, in century, none. See? Our birth rate
falls.

"But no, my people do not suffer of thirst. There become less people
to drink. But it is cruel of Earth to kill a race because they hate.
Therefore, all read story of Tantalus--interesting, see?

"Poor Tantalus," in his expressively expressionless voice. "Poor
Tantalus. Many persons of Earth would not like to be Tantalus, thus
receive justice reserved for poets."

Olduk walked over to the Speaker and said something to him. The Speaker
frowned, and then resignedly signaled an orderly.

"A gallon of water for Mr. Olduk."

The session erupted with a wave of general laughter.

The water was brought. Olduk placed the beaker to his thin lips, tossed
the contents off.

He swept the assembly with his eyes.

His left arm--or what appeared to be a left arm, so covered with the
cape was it--fumbled at his right wrist.

He said once more, gutturally, "Yes, poor Tantalus."

He stepped down from the rostrum, and with slow dignified step left the
conclave room.

       *       *       *       *       *

The hundred odd members of the Conclave settled back in their seats
after Olduk had gone. The session was resumed.

The Speaker, listening to the monotonous reading of a bill, reached
absently for the water carafe, tilted it. The water did not pour. The
Speaker tilted the carafe further--and further--suddenly the water made
its exit.

It fell from the carafe, the entire contents, struck against the glass,
knocked the glass over, bounced off the table into the air, and thence
to the floor.

There the water, a half-gallon of it, tightly rolled into a neat,
compact sphere, bounced up and down several times, and then subsided on
the floor as clear and flawless as crystal glass.

The Speaker stared at it.

The members of the conclave stared at it.

The Speaker turned to the gaping orderly.

"That's a glass ball," he said harshly, accusingly.

"No, it isn't," the orderly chattered. "That's water! I filled the
carafe with water."

The Speaker looked at it again, and then walked to the sphere, the
Conclave watching him in fascination.

The Speaker scooped up the ball in two hands. Then he tried to drop it.
He couldn't. His fingers seemed curled around the ball, crushed close
together. His hands couldn't draw apart.

He tried to shake the sphere away. He tried harder, and then violently,
working himself into a sudden frenzy. The sphere of water clung to his
hands, and his hands were locked as effectively as if handcuffs had
been placed around the wrists. He got control of himself and turned to
face the Conclave, white-faced.

"It can't be water," he said hoarsely, "but I think it is!"

And looking at the glass ball, he was conscious of a sudden thirst; but
he knew he couldn't drink, although he held in his hands four times
more water than he needed to quench his thirst.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the Martian Legation Building, Olduk faced his seven associates.

"It is done," he said, in the Martian dialect of his native state. "The
Earthmen have chosen their hell and will soon experience it. You have
your tickets? Then go at once."

The youngest of the attaches said pleadingly, "Sir, we can't go and
leave you. Who knows how long the Earthmen will hold out?"

"All that will happen will happen to Olduk. Go, before you are refused
permission to leave. Tell our people they are to be relentless, until
the Earthmen give in. Now go."

The attaches no longer questioned his commands. Olduk was left alone.

The gong sounded on his television screen; Olduk threw the switch. The
face of the manager of World Broadcasters appeared.

"You will appear and speak in two minutes," he said. Olduk stood before
the television screen, waiting until the proper second. He had planned
the time of this speech and the "hell" chosen by Earth would not begin
until he was well into it. The Speaker of the Conclave had not yet
thirsted. The moment came, and Olduk was introduced briefly, as his
image broadcasted.

"Olduk, the Martian ambassador, speaking for his people--"

Olduk said gutturally, "Olduk greets you, people of Earth, and regrets
that he cannot drink with you.

"All read story of Tantalus, people of Earth. An old Grecian myth it
is, come true. Interesting, see?

"Olduk is sorry. Will you believe Olduk? He is sorry. Olduk says,
please do not touch water. Please do not touch water...."

       *       *       *       *       *

The diving champion of the world puffed out his chest, feigning
complete nonchalance as five thousand admiring people looked up at him
where he stood as resplendant as an angel on the diving platform.

"Ladeeeeeees and gentlemannnnnnnn!" the loudspeaker blared. "Pedro
Morestes, the handsomest man in the world, and the most perfect
physical specimen by the Olivar Test, is about to break the world's
diving record of all time. Four hundred feet lie between him and the
glistening surface of this world-famed pool!

"Watch him, hold your breath, ladees and gentleman, there he
goooooooosssss--"

Pedro Morestes ran with light graceful steps toward the end of the
diving board. The board flung him upward, and he seemed to stop for an
infinitesimal second, poised like a bird, with the pool far below, and
gasping people staring upward.

One of those people watching had his wrist radio tuned to World
Broadcasters.

"Please," said Olduk's clearly audible radio voice, "do not touch
water. If things strange happen to water, do not touch, please?"

Pedro Morestes began his dazzling drop downward, twisting, twining,
going through all the intricate convolutions that four hundred feet
would allow him.

Now! A loop, a twist, straighten out for the last fifty feet, cut the
water as clean as an arrow cutting the air.

Pedro Morestes eyes popped. A hoarse scream escaped his lips.

Where was the flat surface that should receive him?

Where were the little wavelets that usually betokened the presence of
water?

Why did the entire pool bulge up in the middle, and drop at the sides?

Why was it that the whole pool had been replaced by an immense
_hemisphere of glass_?

Pedro Morestes screamed, squirmed, twisted, came down with a bone
crushing shock on the bulging surface, his posterior foremost.

He bounced upward for fifty feet, fell again, bounced again, fell,
bounced, fell--and was locked, flat on his back, by an invisible vise
that not only held him rigid, but threatened to crush him from all
sides.

The crowd stared in pure fright. The pool of water had become--a
hemisphere of glass? And Pedro Morestes, world's diving champion, lay
atop that gleaming sphere, ribs and one leg broken, unable to move a
muscle....

       *       *       *       *       *

"Damn that kid," said Sam, throwing his newspaper to the floor.

"I wanna drink," wailed the damned kid, from the bedroom.

"All right, keep your pants on," growled Sam surlily. He went out to
the kitchen, leaving the radio on. It had been jabbering for some time,
something about Olduk.

"Please," said the radio voice of Olduk, "do not touch water. Tell your
friends, my friends, not to touch water...."

Sam got a glass out of the cupboard, held it under the faucet, turned
the faucet on.

The water came out, well enough, but it wasn't water.

"What the hell," Sam said incredulously.

A big drop was suspended from the faucet, was growing bigger as the
faucet fed it.

Sam watched while it became six inches, a foot in diameter.

The glass fell from his paralyzed fingers. "What the hell!" he yelled
hoarsely.

"I wanna glass of water," the damned kid wailed.

Olduk said, clearly and distinctly, "I am sorry you are not able to
drink, see?..."

"All right, you'll get your water," Sam panted excitedly, only vaguely
conscious that the radio was going.

He watched the spheroid grow and grow. Still suspended from the faucet,
it touched the sink. Then the "drop" grew up around the faucet until
the faucet was completely enclosed.

The drop began to overlap the sink, still maintaining a spherical
shape. Suddenly there was a loud, metallic _pop_. The drop broke away
from the faucet, of its own weight, fell to the linoleumed floor with a
dull barrrrooooommmmmmm.

It was three feet in diameter; and another one was growing from the
faucet.

"I wanna drink of water," said the damned kid, waddling into the
kitchen, rubbing its eyes.

Those eyes brightened as they saw the gleaming sphere. A grimy hand
reached out and touched it. Against his will, the whole arm of the kid
was drawn against the sphere, and the rest of the body was drawn with
it, legs snapped together, one arm locked to its side, the other curled
to the breaking point over its head.

Sam roared but he was too late. The bewildered kid's nose touched the
sphere, and his whole face was drawn, in, so that all air was cut off.

Sam grabbed hold of him, and pulled frantically, madly, until he was
panting. Then he let go, screaming, and ran for the cupboard. It was
some seconds before he found an ax. By the time he got back, the second
drop had fallen, had merged with the first, forming a sphere five feet
in diameter, with the kid plastered against it.

Sam swung the ax. The sharp blade hit, actually penetrated the sphere.
Sam yelled. The ax was literally sucked in. Sam refused to let go,
and his hands went into the water after the ax. There was a terrible
contratcile force on his wrists. Then something seemed rushing up his
arms. The something enclosed his body with the speed of a striking
snake.

The next thing he knew, water had smothered his nose, his mouth, and he
was _inside_, looking _out_.

He was staring into the smothered face of the damned kid.

Shortly after that he drowned. He couldn't get out. Another drop fell,
another, and another, another, another, adding themselves to the
original mass....

       *       *       *       *       *

On the high seas, the S.S. _Wilcox_ battered through rising, flooding
seas.

The captain stood on the bridge, yelling orders to his men below.

The first mate flung water from his face, gritted, "We'll never make
port."

A sailor came up the companionway, steadying himself on the handrail.

"There's water pouring through a hole in a forward section," he gasped
hoarsely. "We can't caulk it. She's sinking at the stem."

"Mr. Jones," said the captain, "sound the signal to abandon ship."

The first officer said to himself, "In these seas?" But he obeyed and
went down to the cargo hold where the alarm apparatus was stationed.
Above the roar of the elements sounded seven short hoarse blasts, and a
long one. The "all hands on deck" signal vibrated through the ship.

The captain watched while sailors donned lifebelts, jumped to boat
stations. Boats were swung out, and eased down by the rail. Passengers,
herded by calm officers, came on to the deck. The ship gave another
sickening roll. A lifeboat was dashed to matchsticks.

"It's no use," the quartermaster said hoarsely. He gripped the rail,
staring out over the raging sea, where mountainous waves were sending
the S.S. _Wilcox_ to her doom.

The captain said slowly, "I wish I were what Cadmus wished he was. I
wish I could command the waves of the sea to vanish."

... An astounding thing happened.

As if a gigantic beer skimmer had been run over the surface of the sea
in all directions, the tops of the waves seemed abruptly to round.
The troughs filled, the crests dropped. The roar of water against the
flanks of the ship ceased. The waves ceased, though the wind still
roared, and whined.

The quartermaster's eyes widened in startled terror, and he looked
askance at his captain.

The captain said blankly, "God or the Devil or me!"

The waves were gone. The S.S. _Wilcox_ ceased pitching. A sailor came
up and told the captain that although the hole was still there, the
water of the open sea visible through it had seemed to turn into a
rigid surface that wouldn't let the water in. The ship was no longer
sinking.

As far as the eye could see the Atlantic Ocean was a calm smooth
stretch of water, with the inflexible rigidity of glass....

       *       *       *       *       *

The champion of the world was saved by the bell. His excited,
panic-stricken manager picked up a pitcher of water, and threw the
entire contents in the heavy-weight's face. The entire contents was in
the form of a hard sphere of water. The sphere struck the dazed, almost
unconscious fighter on the forehead. It was the only case on record of
a fighter being knocked out between rounds....

       *       *       *       *       *

"I am sorry you are not able to drink, when there is so much water
around you. But you must not touch it, see? Olduk must not touch it
either. Tell all your friends. Thank you," Olduk concluded.

He bowed and turned away, leaving the station manager to do the rest.

Then he placed his twelve foot body into a specially made chair, and
waited. The waiting was not long. A knock came on the door, and the
door was thrust open. Five men in civilian clothes stood there.

"You, Olduk," said one in an ugly tone. "You're under arrest."

The five men circled him.

Olduk drew his cape tighter about him. "Very well," he complied, and
led the way out of the room, thinking wistfully of his native planet.

       *       *       *       *       *

He was taken before the chief of the secret service of the World State.
The Speaker of the Master Conclave, and the Japanese and Spanish
sectional Governors were there. He was forced to a seat.

Olduk's eyes rested on the sphere of the water in the Speaker's hands.
His eyes flickered briefly. The Speaker glared at him wildly.

"The longer I hold this thing," he whispered, panting, "the thirstier I
get. And I can't drink! What will I do?"

Olduk said emotionlessly, "Honorable sir, you will have to hold it
until there is an agreement to give my people water. Now we are all
Tantaluses."

The iron-gray individual who was the chief of the secret service, ran
his tongue around in his dry mouth.

"You did this?" he said huskily.

"Yes," said Olduk.

The man took a paper off his desk, unfolded it in front of Olduk's
eyes.

Olduk read the headline emotionlessly:

                           WORLD IN TURMOIL;
                          DRINKING IMPOSSIBLE

"I did that, yes," said Olduk quietly. "Many people will die. Tantalus,
yes? But there is a Tantalus on Mars, too."

The iron-gray man struck him harshly across the mouth.

"How did you do it?" he rasped.

"A water-tight ship lies buried ten miles beneath the surface of the
Atlantic Ocean. A simple radio signal started the mechanism that
eventually released the force."

"What force?"

"The force that will make it impossible for people of Earth to drink,
honorable sir."

"What signal will make the mechanism stop?" Again Olduk was struck
across the face, harshly, brutally. A thin yellow ichor started to run
down Olduk's impassive face.

"The signal is known only to my people on Mars. Thus it was arranged."

"You're a liar, Olduk!"

The man lit a cigar, and while the Speaker turned away, sickened, he
brought it closer to Olduk, meanwhile talking rapidly.

"Liners are stranded in the ocean, unable to move. Their passengers
can't drink. The power house at Niagara is useless; the water comes
over the falls in drops as big as houses. People are beginning to
suffer from thirst. I know a Martian named Olduk who's going to burn
alive if he doesn't tell us how to stop the mechanism."

The cigar contacted, lingered. There was a sulphurous odor.

Tiny muscles on the Martian's face began to tense. Sweat broke out on
his face.

"You cannot harm me," he said steadily. "Can only kill me. If you kill
me, mankind die. We of Mars have then a planet of water to ourselves.
That's my warning. Heed me."

Fifteen minutes passed. Olduk's face was a mass of blood and burns.
Every nerve in his body was quivering. He had answered none of the
questions hurled at him. He had refused to divulge the location of the
buried ship. Finally his muscles relaxed, and his double-lidded eyes
sagged shut.

The chief of the secret service said ragingly, "Throw him into a cell,
the dirty--! We'll work on him later!"

After Olduk was taken away, the iron-gray man looked at the Speaker.

"What do we do now?"

The Speaker looked in horror at the sphere of water in his hand. "We'll
have to give in--"

"Damned if we will," the other snarled, pacing up and down. "If we
could find out where that ship is, we could send a super-tension ship
down and blow it to--" He stopped, his eyes lighting. He wheeled.
"Didn't Olduk say 'ten miles' below the surface? Damn! There aren't
many places that deep--" He snapped his fingers, and reached for a
phone.

       *       *       *       *       *

Three hours later, a bullet-shaped rocket ship, able to withstand
thousands of tons' pressure, and reinforced with an intangible
force-field, fled away from the continent, bound for the Maracot Deep;
for such was the first choice, and, as it happened, it was the last.

High above the ocean, the pilot turned the craft nose-down, and poured
full power into his jets.

The craft plunged for the surface of the hard ocean, at frightful
velocity; struck; penetrated; was under, velocity broken almost
in three by the terrific impact. The ship bored down, powerful
searchlights playing on swarms of startled fishes. Down, down. The
pilot made an exclamation, grinned his triumph. Here, ten miles down,
they saw the hulk of the ship that was causing such destruction in the
world above.

The pilot signaled one of his subordinates. The man pulled a lever. The
craft's entire load of super-explosives sank downward toward the menace.

The pilot sent his ship blasting for the surface. Seconds later he
heard and felt the tremendous vibration that, he knew, heralded the end
of the menace. He went toward the surface, and when within fifty feet
of it, sent a blast of power into his jets.

The ship struck something, like a wall, hard, unyielding, and the pilot
and his assistants were thrown against the instrument board. They
recovered their senses.

The pilot looked at the other men.

"Ten tons of helio-hydrogen didn't do the trick," he said softly.
"What will? You know, I almost forgot. The science of the Martians is
way ahead of ours. Naturally, that ship wouldn't be exactly tender...."

He knew it was useless. He had no more explosives. He shoved every atom
of power he had into his jets, but the ship could not move more than
forty miles an hour under water. For a moment it seemed the blunt nose
of the ship was going to penetrate the incredibly tough under-surface
of that film, but no....

The pilot said, grinning crookedly, "Say your prayers, boys, and here's
hoping they give the Old Duck what he wants--quick."

Two days passed. Three billion people stared into the face of eternity.
Rivers, lakes, oceans were full. There were reservoirs of clear,
sparkling water, from which laboring pumps could take water, pumping it
to homes, making it accessible, forcing it out of faucets.

But it was untouchable. The water came out in impenetrable spheres.

They lay like jewels in the homes of most people. People stood around
and stared at them, longingly, yet not daring to touch them. They had
heard several stories about people who _had_ touched them.

Within the spheres, the water was clearly visible for what it was;
which made it all the harder to resist. The world now knew, by the
word of scientists, that nothing but a thin surface of molecules,
strengthened by a million times, lay between them and the water their
bodies thirsted for. Surface tension, acted upon by a strange force,
broadcasted from a mechanism ten miles beneath the surface of the
Atlantic.

Another day passed. The mills of industry, working by steam, and the
things that depended on water, came to a halt. Power was weak, for
it was fed from fast depleting accumulators. The tide machines were
useless, for the ocean no longer fell or rose more than a foot in any
one place.

Numberless ships were stranded on the oceans, their screws able to
turn, but their bows unable to push against the enormous contractile
force that the surface of the ocean possessed.

Crowds roved through the streets, aimless, purposeless, their voices
dry, racking, their eyes bloodshot, cheeks sunken. Beer and soft
drinks, the only drinkable liquids that were not affected, were selling
for ten dollars a bottle. The supply was fast dwindling, and the price
was being jacked up.

Water was all around them, but they were the children of Tantalus.

Newspapers began to demand, in stringent tones, that the situation be
remedied. Crowds gathered outside the World Administration Building,
shouting for water, and they were fully willing to go to the extreme of
meeting the demands of the Martians to get it.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Speaker of the Master Conclave, and the Japanese and Spanish
sectional governors, stood in a room on the upper floor of the World
Administration Building.

The room was a kitchen.

On the floor lay a huge, polished, glistening drop of water.

"That's what it is, gentlemen," said the Speaker. "A drop of water,
just what you'd expect if the surface tension of water increased a
million times. The surface film acts like a tight skin or jacket
surrounding a drop of water, and the jacket contracts down to the least
possible area, a sphere. If you put your hands on it--the way I've got
my hands on this damned _thing_--you increase the 'coastline,' and the
surface film doesn't like that. It tries to decrease the coastline
formed by your fingers, so your fingers are crushed together. If you
managed to actually penetrate the film, and get your hands wet, the
terrific capillary action of the molecules would cause the surface film
to literally envelop you, and you'd be inside, and you couldn't get
out.... What are we going to do about it?"

His face was drawn and haggard and sunken.

The Spanish Governor said hoarsely, "We couldn't give in, could we?"

"No!" the Japanese Governor lashed out savagely; but in a moment a
fleeting smile crossed his face. "Send for Olduk," he said.

Olduk entered the room, unsteadily, supported by two plain-clothesmen.
His face was clean of blood, but the little, horrible marks inflicted
on him were all too evident.

"You wished to see me?" he said in a hoarse whisper. His eyes were
bloodshot.

"Yes. What do you want of Earth, explicitly?"

"Water, honorable sir. Water for my people. As much as we wish, when we
wish it, at a reasonable price; and we also desire friendship, so that
we may help each other."

The Japanese sucked in his breath, quivering angrily. "You want our
friendship. Yet you do this to our people!"

"You do no less to my people, honorable sir. Olduk is sorry, see?" He
weaved, caught onto a chair to support himself. His leathery, parchment
face seemed more wrinkled and bloodless than ever before. His reddish
eyes held a deep, pleading hope.

"We are children of Tantalus, all," he whispered. "It is not right
that we live in a mythical Hades, see, honorable sirs? Give my people
water--"

He pitched forward on his face. The Speaker started toward him, his
eternal sphere of water in his hands, but the Japanese stopped him,
held him back from the sprawling, twelve-foot figure.

He said, "Have you ever studied Martian psychology?"

"N-no," said the Speaker, puzzled.

"The theory is that they are incapable of dishonesty, and therefore
they do not believe it exists. Of course, it's only a theory, and
nobody believes it, but why couldn't we try it out?"

The Speaker was startled. "You mean we should give them our word, and
then back out on it?"

"Yes," the Japanese sucked in his breath. He saw the hesitation on the
Speaker's face, and said with icy, mocking disdain, "Are you going
to give water to a race whose sole purpose will be to increase their
population so they can conquer Earth? Think, fool! Do you want to
hold that sphere of water in your hands forever?" He smirked. "In the
interval of peace, we can go to the Maracot Deep, lift that sunken ship
out without having to worry about a surface film. We can take it to dry
land, and with a little work, cut the ship open, destroy the mechanism.
With that destroyed--"

His contempt, and his reference to the maddening sphere of water the
Speaker held, wilted the Speaker.

"We'll do it," he said slowly, casting an uneasy look at the sprawled
Martian.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thirty minutes later, the three men watched the sphere of water in the
Speaker's hands. A radiogram had been sent across 126,000,000 miles to
Mars. Mars' answer, if it was affirmative and entirely trusting, would
come not in the form of a radiogram but in the immediate return of
Earth to its natural fluid state.

They watched the rigid sphere in fascination. Even now, the radio
signal that would cause the mechanism to cease might be winging its way
across space between two planets.

When the sphere broke, if it did, three billion thirsty human beings
would drink with the maddening impatience of Tantalus himself, released
from his eternal doom.

... The sphere seemed to quiver. Suddenly it sagged, flattened out
without a sound, its sphericity gone. The Speaker uttered a cry, and
dashed his hands to his face, gulping in as much of the precious stuff
as he could before it dribbled away from his hands. The Japanese and
Spanish Governors turned rapidly to faucets, and the water, clear,
sparkling, normal, streamed out....

For a short time the three of them were like animals. Then, gradually,
they stopped drinking, and stood back, slightly ashamed.

The Spanish Governor said, suggestively, "We'd better get that ship
fished out before the Martians realize they are not going to get water
after all. Otherwise--"

The Speaker nodded. He turned away, to go into his study, when he
stumbled over the prone body of Olduk, the Martian. A twinge of guilt
assailed him. He stooped and turned Olduk over.

Olduk's double-lidded eyes were open. Olduk's skin was as dry as his
native sands. Olduk was either dead or dying.

The Speaker troubledly called a doctor. The doctor made a brief
examination, handling the body distastefully. Suddenly he stifled an
exclamation.

"I can't believe this!" he said hoarsely. He got to his feet, stared
first at the Speaker, then at Olduk again.

"Do you know what he died from?" he stammered. "Do you know, gentlemen!"

And the Speaker knew.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Master Conclave was again assembled, for the fourth and last day,
its members well-watered, and well satisfied with themselves.

The Speaker said, standing on the rostrum where Olduk had stood four
days before, "I want to make a short talk, and call for a standing vote.

"Earth has water again. We acquired it by a simple trick, that of
dishonesty. I was fully to blame. Men are now at work in the Maracot
Deep, in super-tension ships raising the Martian ship to the surface.
There is no reason to doubt that a means to destroy the mechanism
that caused so much trouble will be found. We won't have to keep our
agreement with the Martians. I want to know if this action of mine
meets with your approval."

The entire body stood to its feet.

"We were forced to it," the Japanese Governor said to the assembly at
large.

The Speaker waved them to their seats again. "I did not call for a
standing vote, yet. I have more to say before I ask for your filial
decision."

He resumed carefully, giving each word its proper significance.

"The Old Duck was a Martian--but in body he was not a Martian. He told
us that. He had been changed with 'sundry operations,' so that he could
live in this climate, so different from that of Mars. Air pressure,
oxygen content, moisture, content gravity. To each he was acclimated by
surgical operations.

"Yes," continued the Speaker, something catching in his voice, "he
was changed in such a way that the terrific amount of moisture in the
atmosphere of the Earth could be taken care of by his body. In order
to make that possible, _his twelve-foot body was given a capacity for
water proportionately three times greater than that of any Terrestrial_!

"Gentlemen," said the Speaker, while an air of startled tenseness grew
in the tiered seats, "Olduk died of thirst."

He was silent.

He said strainedly, "I wanted to know if my action of deceit met with
your approval. I require a standing vote."

The Japanese Governor rose slowly. He had to. He sent a look at the
Spanish Governor. The Spanish Governor kept his seat.

The Japanese Governor stood alone, like a monument to the thoughtless
guilt of the others.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Speaker sat that night before his desk, drinking a glass of water.

He said to the shadows, "I drink with you, Olduk!"

He slowly wrote out a treasury requisition, and in the space marked
REASON FOR APPLICATION wrote: "For the free transportation of
a gift of ten million gallons of water to the Martians, as a gesture of
friendship from Earth."





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tantalus Death, by Ross Rocklynne

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