"Well, lad. Certainly there's something up there to cause these stories to persist." Conley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it's an ancient city called M'Tonak and maybe it ain't. But men in search for it have disappeared too regularly, hardly men who wouldn't ordinarily fail to return from the Polar wastes. And—and if there is a M'Tonak, your brother may have reached it."
"I shall find my brother," Jim said with a soft certainty. "That's why I'm here. What about that Martian, the one you said accompanied Frank into the Cap? Is he here now?"
"He is, and you shall talk to him. But, lad, I'm afraid he can't tell you any more than I did in the letter."
"I want to hear it first hand."
"Sure," Conley nodded understandingly.
They walked in silence through the powdery sand, nearing the town. Jim glanced at Wessel, silent still, his hieratic smile barely perceptible. There was an uncanny aura to the man as if he were immersed in a world of his own where Jim and Conley had no part.
"There's Frank's mine," Conley pointed beyond the town toward a low line of hills. "If you look close you can see his shack over there. As you probably know, he was—well, the independent type. Refused to sell out to Tri-Planetary Mining. That's why he went on north when his claim petered out, in an effort to find the source of the radite veins. Want to go over there and look around?"
"Later," Jim said shortly.
They entered the sprawling town with its curious Martian dwellings. Jim had never ceased to marvel at them. They were conical and glistening, built of a reddish manufactured silica. They were surrounded by an ascending spiral dotted with entrances to the very top. Jim sometimes wondered, too, at the manner in which Martians tolerated so much from the Earthmen. But then, it was well known that activity to a Martian was the final degradation. They looked upon the exertions of the Earthman in a mixture of uncomprehending wonder and supercilious amusement, much as a human might watch the eternal hustle of a colony of ants. Theirs was a world of philosophic contemplation, peace and indolence.
Now, as they proceeded along the straggling main street of Riida, Jim wondered about them even more. From various ramps of the conical buildings residents watched them silently. Tall, wasp-waisted Martians, dark and leathery, passed them leisurely on the street without a word. They weren't sullen, it was as though they didn't care. Jim peered into their heavy-lidden eyes. Colorless eyes, always. He was startled at the somnolence he saw there. It struck a vague disturbing note in his brain that was dashed away by Conley's booming voice: