"I can't remember. I don't think I ever knew, really."
A vague rustling sound came into existence. The Piper continued playing, paying no heed to it. From the darkness, across the star-jewelled horizon, came mysterious shapes, creeping, creeping.
"Mars is a dying world," the old man said. "Nothing ever happens of much gravity. The Piper, I believe, is an exile."
The stars trembled like reflections in water, dancing with the music.
"An exile." The old man continued. "Something like a leper. They called him THE BRILLIANT. He was the epitome of all Venerian culture until the Earthmen came with their greedy incorporations and licentious harlots. The Earthlings outlawed him, sent him here to Mars to live out his days."
"Mars is a dying world," repeated the boy. "A dying world. How many Martians are there, sir?"
The old man chuckled. "I guess maybe you are the last pure Martian alive, boy. But there are millions of others."
"Where do they live? I have never seen them."
"You are young. You have much to see, much to learn."
"Where do they live?"