The Second Fredric Brown Megapack

Something Green

The big sun was crimson in a violet sky. At the edge of the brown plain, dotted with brown bushes, lay the red jungle.

McGarry strode toward it. It was tough work and dangerous work, searching in those red jungles, but it had to be done. And he’d searched a thousand of them; this was just one more.

He said, “Here we go, Dorothy. All set?”

The little five-limbed creature that rested on his shoulder didn’t answer, but then it never did. It couldn’t talk, but it was something to talk to. It was company. In size and weight it felt amazingly like a hand resting on his shoulder.

He’d had Dorothy for—how long? At a guess, four years. He’d been here about five, as nearly as he could reckon it, and it had been about a year before he’d found her. Anyway, he assumed that Dorothy was of the gender sex, if for no better reason than the gentle way she rested on his shoulder, like a woman’s hand.

“Dorothy,” he said, “reckon we’d better get ready for trouble. Might be lions or tigers in there.”

He unbuckled his sol-gun holster and let his hand rest on the butt of the weapon, ready to draw it quickly. For the thousandth time, at least, he thanked his lucky stars that the weapon he’d managed to salvage from the wreckage of his spacer had been a sol-gun, the one and only weapon that worked practically forever without refills or ammunition. A sol-gun soaked up energy. And, when you pulled the trigger, it dished it out. With any weapon but a sol-gun he’d never have lasted even one year on Kruger III.

Yes, even before he quite reached the edge of the red jungle, he saw a lion. Nothing like any lion ever seen on Earth, of course. This one was bright magenta, just enough different in color from the purplish bushes it crouched behind so he could see it. It had eight legs, all jointless and as supple and strong as an elephant’s trunk, and a scaly head with a beak like a toucan’s.

McGarry called it a lion. He had as much right to call it that as anything else, because it had never been named. Or if it had, the namer had never returned to Earth to report on the flora and fauna of Kruger III. Only one spacer had ever landed here before McGarry’s, as far as the records showed, and it had never taken off again. He was looking for it now; he’d been looking for it systematically for the five years he’d been here.

If he found it, it might—just barely might—contain intact some of the electronic transistors which had been destroyed in the crash-landing of his own spacer. And if it contained enough of them, he could get back to Earth.

He stopped ten paces short of the edge of the red jungle and aimed the sol-gun at the bushes behind which the lion crouched. He pulled the trigger and there was a bright green flash, brief but beautiful—oh, so beautiful—and the bushes weren’t there any more, and neither was the lion.

McGarry chuckled softly. “Did you see that, Dorothy? That was green, the one color you don’t have on this bloody red planet of yours. The most beautiful color in the universe, Dorothy. Green! And I know where there’s a world that’s mostly green, and we’re going to get there, you and I. Sure we are. It’s the world I came from, and it’s the most beautiful place there is, Dorothy. You’ll love it.”

He turned and looked back over the brown plain with brown bushes, the violet sky above, the crimson sun. The eternally crimson sun Kruger, which never set on the day side of this planet, one side of which always faced it as one side of Earth’s moon always faces Earth.

No day and night—unless one passed the shadow line into the night side, which was too freezingly cold to sustain life. No seasons. A uniform, never-changing temperature, no wind, no storms.

He thought for the thousandth, or the millionth, time that it wouldn’t be a bad planet to live on, if only it were green like Earth, if only there was something green upon it besides the occasional flash of his sol-gun. It had breathable atmosphere, moderate temperature ranging from about forty Fahrenheit near the shadow line to about ninety at the point directly under the red sun, where its rays were straight down instead of slanting. Plenty of food, and he’d learned long ago which plants and animals were, for him, edible and which made him ill. Nothing he’d ever tried was outright poisonous.

Yes, a wonderful world. He’d even got used, by now, to being the only intelligent creature on it. Dorothy was helpful, there. Something to talk to, even if she didn’t talk back.

Except—Oh, God—he wanted to see a green world again.

Earth, the only planet in the known universe where green was the predominant color, where plant life was based on chlorophyll.

Other planets, even in the solar system, Earth’s neighbors, had no more to offer than greenish streaks in rare rocks, an occasional tiny life-form of a shade that might be called brownish green if you wanted to call it that. Why, you could live years on any planet but Earth, anywhere in the cosmos, and never see green.

McGarry sighed. He’d been thinking to himself, but now he thought out loud, to Dorothy, continuing his thoughts without a break. It didn’t matter to Dorothy. “Yes, Dorothy,” he said, “it’s the only planet worth living on—Earth! Green fields, grassy lawns, green trees. Dorothy, I’ll never leave it again, once I get back there. I’ll build me a shack out in the woods, in the middle of trees, but not trees so thick that the grass doesn’t grow under them. Green grass. And I’ll paint the shack green, Dorothy. We’ve even got green pigments back on Earth.”

He sighed and looked at the red jungle ahead of him.

“What’s that you asked, Dorothy?” She hadn’t asked anything, but it was a game to pretend that she talked back, a game to keep him sane. “Will I get married when I get back? Is that what you asked?”

He gave it consideration. “Well, it’s like this, Dorothy. Maybe and maybe not. You were named after a woman back on Earth, you know. A woman I was going to marry. But five years is a long time, Dorothy. I’ve been reported missing and presumably dead. I doubt if she’s waited this long. If she has, well, I’ll marry her, Dorothy.”

“Did you ask, what if she hasn’t? Well, I don’t know. Let’s not worry about that till I get back, huh? Of course, if I could find a woman who was green, or even one with green hair, I’d love her to pieces. But on Earth almost everything is green except the women.”

He chuckled at that and, sol-gun ready, went on into the jungle, the red jangle that had nothing green except the occasional flash of his sol-gun.

Funny about that. Back on Earth, a sol-gun flashed violet. Here under a red sun, it flashed green when he fired it. But the explanation was simple enough. A sol-gun drew energy from a nearby star and the flash it made when fired was the complementary color of its source of energy. Drawing energy from Sol, a yellow sun, it flashed violet. From Kruger, a red sun, green.

Maybe that, he thought, had been the one thing that, aside from Dorothy’s company, had kept him sane. A flash of green several times a day. Something green to remind him what the color was. To keep his eyes attuned to it, if he ever saw it again.

It turned out to be a small patch of jungle, as patches of jungle went on Kruger III. One of what seemed countless millions of such patches. And maybe it really was millions; Kruger III was larger than Jupiter. But less dense, so the gravity was easily bearable. Actually it might take him more than a lifetime to cover it all. He knew that, but did not let himself think about it. No more than he let himself think that the ship might have crashed on the dark side, the cold side. Or than he let himself doubt that, once he found the ship, he would find the transistors he needed to make his own spacer operative again.

The patch of jungle was less than a mile square, but he had to sleep once and eat several times before he had finished it. He killed two more lions and one tiger. And when he finished it, he walked around the circumference of it, blazing each of the larger trees along the outer rim so he wouldn’t repeat by searching this particular jungle again. The trees were soft; his pocketknife took off the red bark down to the pink core as easily as it would have taken the skin off a potato.

Then out across the dull brown plain again, this time holding his sol-gun in the open to recharge it.

“Not that one, Dorothy. Maybe the next. The one over there near the horizon. Maybe it’s there.”

Violet sky, red sun, brown plain.

“The green hills of Earth, Dorothy. Oh, how you’ll love them.”

The brown never-ending plain.

The never-changing violet sky.

Was there a sound up there? There couldn’t be. There never had been. But he looked up. And saw it.

A tiny black speck high in the violet, moving. A spacer. It had to be a spacer. There were no birds on Kruger III. And birds don’t trail jets of fire behind them—

He knew what to do; he’d thought of it a million times, how he could signal a spacer if one ever came in sight. He raised his sol-gun, aimed it straight into the violet air and pulled the trigger. It didn’t make a big flash, from the distance of the spacer, but it made a green flash. If the pilot were only looking or if he would only look before he got out of sight, he couldn’t miss a green flash on a world with no other green.

He pulled the trigger again.

And the pilot of the spacer saw. He cut and fired his jets three times—the standard answer to a signal of distress—and began to circle.

McGarry stood there trembling. So long a wait, and so sudden an end to it. He touched his left shoulder and touched the five-legged pet that felt to his fingers as well as to his naked shoulder so like a woman’s hand.

“Dorothy,” he said, “it’s—” He ran out of words.

The spacer was closing in for a landing now. McGarry looked down at himself, suddenly aware and ashamed of himself, as he would look to a rescuer. His body was naked except for the belt that held his holster and from which dangled his knife and a few other tools. He was dirty and probably smelled, although he could not smell himself. And under the dirt his body looked thin and wasted, almost old, but that was due of course to diet deficiencies; a few months of proper food, Earth food, would take care of that.

Earth! The green hills of Earth!

He ran now, stumbling sometimes in his eagerness, toward the point where the spacer was landing. He could see now that it was a one-man job, like his own had been. But that was all right; it could carry two in an emergency, at least as far as the nearest planet where he could get other transportation back to Earth. To the green hills, the green fields, the green valleys.

He prayed a little and swore a little as he ran. There were tears running down his cheeks.

He was there, waiting, as the door opened and a tall slender young man in the uniform of the Space Patrol stepped out.

“You’ll take me back?” he shouted.

“Of course,” said the young man calmly. “Been here long?”

“Five years!” McGarry knew that he was crying, but he couldn’t stop.

“Good Lord!” said the young man. “I’m Lieutenant Archer. Of course I’ll take you back, man, as soon as my jets cool enough for a takeoff. I’ll take you as far as Carthage, on Aldebaran II, anyway; you can get a ship out of there for anywhere. Need anything right away? Food? Water?”

McGarry shook his head dumbly. Food, water—What did such things matter now?

The green hills of Earth! He was going back to them. That was what mattered, and all that mattered. So long a wait, then so sudden an ending. He saw the violet sky swimming and then it suddenly went black as his knees buckled under him.

He was lying flat and the young man was holding a flask to his lips and he took a long draught of the fiery stuff it held. He sat up and felt better. He looked to make sure the spacer was still there; it was, and he felt wonderful.

The young man said, “Buck up, old-timer; we’ll be off in half an hour. You’ll be in Carthage in six hours. Want to talk, till you get your bearings again? Want to tell me all about it, everything that’s happened?”

They sat in the shadow of a brown bush, and McGarry told him about it, everything about it. The five-year search for the other ship he’d read had crashed on the planet and which might have intact the parts he needed to repair his own ship. The long search. About Dorothy, perched on his shoulder, and how she’d been something to talk to.

But somehow, the face of Lieutenant Archer was changing as McGarry talked. It grew even more solemn, even more compassionate.

“Old-timer,” Archer asked gently, “what year was it when you came here?” McGarry saw it coming. How can you keep track of time on a planet whose sun and seasons are unchanging? A planet of eternal day, eternal summer—He said flatly, “I came here in twenty-two forty-two. How much have I misjudged, Lieutenant? How old am I—instead of thirty, as I’ve thought?”

“It’s twenty-two seventy-two, McGarry. You came here thirty years ago. You’re fifty-five. But don’t let that worry you too much. Medical science has advanced. You still have a long time to live.”

McGarry said it softly. “Fifty-five. Thirty years.”

The lieutenant looked at him pityingly. He said, “Old-timer, do you want it all in a lump, all the rest of the bad news? There are several items of it. I’m no psychologist but I think maybe it’s best for you to take it now, all at once, while you can still throw into the scale against it the fact that you’re going back. Can you take it, McGarry?”

There couldn’t be anything worse than he’d learned already. The fact that thirty years of his life had already been wasted here. Sure, he could take the rest of whatever it was, as long as he was getting back to Earth, green Earth.

He stared at the violet sky, the red sun, the brown plain. He said, very quietly, “I can take it. Dish it out.”

“You’ve done wonderfully for thirty years, McGarry. You can thank God for the fact that you believed Marley’s spacer crashed on Kruger III; it was Kruger IV. You’d have never found it here, but the search, as you say, kept you—reasonably sane.” He paused a moment. His voice was gentle when he spoke again. “There isn’t anything on your shoulder, McGarry. This Dorothy is a figment of your imagination. But don’t worry about it; that particular delusion has probably kept you from cracking up completely.”

McGarry put up his hand. It touched his shoulder. Nothing else. Archer said, “My God, man, it’s marvelous that you’re otherwise okay. Thirty years alone; it’s almost a miracle. And if your one delusion persists, now that I’ve told you it is a delusion, a psychiatrist back at Carthage or on Mars can fix you up in a jiffy.”

McGarry said dully, “It doesn’t persist. It isn’t there now. I—I’m not even sure, Lieutenant, that I ever did really believe in Dorothy. I think I made her up on purpose, to talk to, so I’d remain sane except for that. She was—she was like a woman’s hand, Lieutenant. Or did I tell you that?”

“You told me. Want the rest of it now, McGarry?”

McGarry stared at him. “The rest of it? What rest can there be? I’m fifty-five instead of thirty. I’ve spent thirty years, since I was twenty-five, hunting for a spacer I’d never have found, since it’s on another planet. I’ve been crazy—in one way, but only one—most of that time. But none of that matters now that I can go back to Earth.”

Lieutenant Archer was shaking his head slowly. “Not back to Earth, old-timer. To Mars if you wish, the beautiful brown and yellow hills of Mars. Or, if you don’t mind heat, to purple Venus. But not to Earth, McGarry. Nobody lives there any more.”

“Earth is—gone? I don’t—”

“Not gone, McGarry. It’s there. But it’s black and barren, a charred ball. The war with the Arcturians, twenty years ago. They struck first, and got Earth. We got them, we won, we exterminated them, but Earth was gone before we started. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to settle for somewhere else.”

McGarry said, “No Earth.” There was no expression in his voice. No expression at all.

Archer said, “That’s the works, old-timer. But Mars isn’t so bad. You’ll get used to it. It’s the center of the solar system now, and there are three billion Earthmen on it. You’ll miss the green of Earth, sure, but it’s not so bad.” McGarry said, “No Earth.” There was no expression in his voice. No expression at all.

Archer nodded. “Glad you can take it that way, old-timer. It must be rather a jolt. Well, I guess we can get going. The tubes ought to have cooled enough by now. I’ll check and make sure.”

He stood up and started toward the little spacer.

McGarry’s sol-gun came out of its holster. McGarry shot him, and Lieutenant Archer wasn’t there any more. McGarry stood up and walked to the little spacer. He aimed the sol-gun at it and pulled the trigger. Part of the spacer was gone. Half a dozen shots and it was completely gone. Little atoms that had been the spacer and little atoms that had been Lieutenant Archer of the Space Patrol may have danced in the air, but they were invisible.

McGarry put the gun back into its holster and started walking toward the red splotch of jungle near the horizon.

He put his hand up to his shoulder and touched Dorothy and she was there, as she’d been there now for four of the five years he’d been on Kruger III. She felt, to his fingers and to his bare shoulder, like a woman’s hand.

He said, “Don’t worry, Dorothy. We’ll find it. Maybe this next jungle is the right one. And when we find it—”

He was near the edge of the jungle now, the red jungle, and a tiger came running out to meet him and eat him. A mauve tiger with six legs and a head like a barrel. McGarry aimed his sol-gun and pulled the trigger, and there was a bright green flash, brief but beautiful—oh, so beautiful—and the tiger wasn’t there any more.

McGarry chuckled softly. “Did you see that, Dorothy? That was green, the color there isn’t much of on any planet but the one we’re going to. The only green planet in the system, and it’s the one I came from. You’ll love it.”

She said, “I know I will, Mac.” Her low throaty voice was completely familiar to him, as familiar as his own; she’d always answered him. He reached up his hand and touched her as she rested on his naked shoulder. She felt like a woman’s hand.

He turned and looked back over the brown plain studded with brown bushes, the violet sky above, the crimson sun. He laughed at it. Not a mad laugh, a gentle one. It didn’t matter because soon now he’d find the spacer so he could go back to Earth.

To the green hills, the green fields, the green valleys. Once more he patted the hand upon his shoulder and spoke to it, listened to its answer.

Then, gun at ready, he entered the red jungle.