Rebels of the Red Planet

Charles Louis Fontenay
the Red Planet, by Charles Louis
Fontenay

Project Gutenberg's Rebels of the Red Planet, by Charles Louis
Fontenay This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Rebels of the Red Planet
Author: Charles Louis Fontenay
Release Date: March 4, 2007 [EBook #20739]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REBELS
OF THE RED PLANET ***

Produced by Greg Weeks, Janet Blenkinship and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

REBELS OF THE RED PLANET
by

CHARLES L. FONTENAY

Charles L. Fontenay has also written:
TWICE UPON A TIME (D-266)

Copyright ©, 1961, by Ace Books, Inc. All Rights Reserved
Printed in U.S.A. ACE BOOKS, INC. 23 West 47th Street, New York
36, N.Y.

MARS FOR THE MARTIANS!
Dark Kensington had been dead for twenty-five years. It was a fact;
everyone knew it. Then suddenly he reappeared, youthful, brilliant,
ready to take over the Phoenix, the rebel group that worked to
overthrow the tyranny that gripped the settlers on Mars.
The Phoenix had been destroyed not once, not twice, but three times!
But this time the resurrected Dark had new plans, plans which involved
dangerous experiments in mutation and psionics.
And now the rebels realized they were in double jeopardy. Not only
from the government's desperate hatred of their movement, but also
from the growing possibility that the new breed of mutated monsters
would get out of hand and bring terrors never before known to man.
CHARLES L. FONTENAY writes: "I was born in Brazil of a father
who was by birth English and by parentage German and French, and of
a mother who was by birth American and by parentage American and
Scottish. This mess of internationalism caused me some trouble in the
army during World War II as the government couldn't decide whether I
was American, British, or Brazilian; and both as an enlisted man and an
officer I dealt in secret work which required citizenship by birth. On

three occasions I had to dig into the lawbooks. Finally they gave up and
admitted I was an American citizen....
"I was raised on a West Tennessee farm and distinguished myself in
school principally by being the youngest, smallest (and consequently
the fastest-running) child in my classes ... Newspaper work has been
my career since 1936. I have worked for three newspapers, including
The Nashville Tennessean for which I am now rewrite man, and before
the war for the Associated Press."
Mr. Fontenay is married, lives in Madison, Tenn., and has had one
other novel published by Ace Books.
* * * * *

1
It is a sea, though they call it sand.
They call it sand because it is still and red and dense with grains. They
call it sand because the thin wind whips it, and whirls its dusty skim
away to the tight horizons of Mars.
But only a sea could so brood with the memory of aeons. Only a sea,
lying so silent beneath the high skies, could hint the mystery of life still
behind its barren veil.
To practical, rational man, it is the Xanthe Desert. Whatever else he
might unwittingly be, S. Nuwell Eli considered himself a practical,
rational man, and it was across the bumpy sands of the Xanthe Desert
that he guided his groundcar westward with that somewhat cautious
proficiency that mistrusts its own mastery of the machine. Maya Cara
Nome, his colleague in this mission to which he had addressed himself,
was a silent companion.
Nuwell's liquid brown eyes, insistent upon their visual clarity, saw the
red sand as the blowing surface of unliving solidity. Only clarity was

admitted to Nuwell, and the only living clarity was man and beast and
vegetation, spotted in the dome cities and dome farms of the lowlands.
He and Maya scurried, transiting sparks of the only life, insecure and
hastening in the absence of the net of roads which eventually would
bind the Martian surface to human reality from the toeholds of the
dome cities.
In that opposite world which was the other side of the groundcar's seat,
Maya Cara Nome's opaque black eyes struggled against the surface.
They struggled not from any rational motivation but from long
stubbornness, from habit, as a fly kicks six-legged and constant against
the surface tension of a trapping pool.
Formally, Maya was allied to Newell's clarity and solidity, and she
could express this alliance with complete logic if called on. But behind
the casually blowing sand she sensed a depth. The shimmering
atmosphere, hostile to man, which sealed the red
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code

 / 62
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.