Message From Mars
By CLIFFORD D. SIMAK
Fifty-five pioneers had died on the "bridge of
bones" that spanned the Void to the rusty plains
of Mars. Now the fifty-sixth stood on the red planet,
his only ship a total wreck—and knew that Earth
was doomed unless he could send a warning within hours.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"You're crazy, man," snapped Steven Alexander, "you can't take off for Mars alone!"
Scott Nixon thumped the desk in sudden irritation.
"Why not?" he shouted. "One man can run a rocket. Jack Riley's sick and there are no other pilots here. The rocket blasts in fifteen minutes and we can't wait. This is the last chance. The only chance we'll have for months."
Jerry Palmer, sitting in front of the massive radio, reached for a bottle of Scotch and slopped a drink into the tumbler at his elbow.