“Cosmic radiations were the answer. Ages of exposure to those rays had resulted in an inherent immunity to harmful effects. Once every fourteen days each of these people exposed himself to a full charge of the energy; by doing so old age was held back. But after such exposure they gave off for a few days rays that would kill any ordinary man who came in contact with them. They knew this, of course; I was given a series of injections immediately to keep the emanations from harming me.
“There’s not much left to tell you, gentlemen. Lodi went with me in my repaired plane. We landed near Dakar the following day; I chartered a ship for our trip to America. Unknown to me, however, Lodi had exposed herself to the customary charge of cosmic energy shortly before we left her people. As long as she wore proper clothing no one would be harmed; but by undressing in her cabin, she left a concentration of the rays. By the time we reached this country she was no longer a threat to other people; but the Mathers were unfortunate enough to occupy the cabin too soon afterward.”
I spread my hands. “Except for one more incident, that’s the story. The incident concerns a group of Communist agents who learned what had caused the Mathers’ deaths. They assumed I had brought back a machine that produced cosmic energy, and to force me to turn it over to them they kidnapped my wife. In getting her back, I’m afraid, a few people got hurt. It makes for a nice touch: in kidnapping my wife to force me into giving them the machine, they had the machine all along!”
I sat down and knocked the ash from my cigarette gently into a tray. No one said anything for almost a minute. Then Winston Blake carefully lifted his pince-nez and placed it firmly astride his nose.
“Of all the arrant nonsense I ever heard,” he snarled, “this concoction I’ve just listened to takes the prize. By what evolutionary freak did a race of people shoot up ahead of cavemen to produce the wonders you told us about? And this air raid; I suppose it came from Saturn!”
I shook my head politely. “No, sir. From Venus. And evolution had nothing to do with the people of the caves, Mr. Blake. They came originally from Mars!”
I got out of my chair and helped Lodi to her feet. “You want proof, Mr. Blake. Then by God you’ll get proof!”
Before any of them realized what was happening, I tore away the veil covering Lodi’s face, then hooked my fingers under the high neckline of her dress and ripped it and the underclothing beneath completely from her lush and lovely body.
“Go ahead, you lousy ghouls,” I said. “Take a good look!”
The collective gasp was like the rustling of a strong breeze. For the skin of the most beautiful woman of two worlds was a rich and luminous green!
X
It was after two o’clock by the time we drove into New York City and by that time the newspapers were out with the story. At Lodi’s insistence I stopped at a stand and bought two of them. The banner head on the Gazette said: “HOW GREEN WAS MY MARTIAN,” and the managing editor had made his bid for a salary increase by having the words printed in green ink. The Standard headline was less imaginative but more factuaclass="underline" “TERRIS MYSTERY BRIDE FROM MARS!”
We were nearly to the Westchester county line before Lodi put aside the papers and leaned back to let the air cool her burning cheeks. I said. “That’s only a small sample, baby. They’ll crucify you from now on.”
“I don’t mind, Karl. If you don’t.”
“You’ll mind,” I said. “You’d have to have the skin of a rhinoceros not to mind. To the rest of the world you’re a freak and freaks pay a high price for living.”
“Will it matter so much to you, Karl?”
“It won’t get a chance to,” I said harshly. “We’re going back, Lodi. Back to your people for the rest of our lives. I’ve had enough of my kind; let them blow themselves to hell and I’ll like it fine.”
She laid one of her delicate hands over mine on the wheel. “They are your people, darling. You can’t run out on them, on the responsibilities your great wealth gives you. You’d be terribly unhappy before long.”
It was my turn to squeeze her hand. “Not as long as we’re together, Lodi.”
After several miles of silence, Lodi said, “At least they’re not going to try to find where my people are.”
“Not after they got the details of the power they’d be up against,” I said. “The theory of the rest of the world will be: ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’ — no matter how tempted any nation gets to pull a fast one.”
Shortly before five-thirty I swung off the Taconic Parkway and followed the private road on up the hill to the house. The late afternoon sun dappled the lawn through the trees and a tired breeze moved the leaves with a whispering sound. Lodi opened the car door and picked up her veil preparatory to getting out.
I said, “Forget the veil, baby. You’ll never wear it again.”
She smiled, the slow warm smile that had knocked me for a loop the first time I’d seen it. “You’re sure you want it to be that way, Karl?”
“Absolutely.”
She left it lying crumpled on the seat and we went up the porch steps together. I unlocked the front door and followed her into the entrance hall — and a tall slender blond man stepped from behind the short wall of the dining room and pointed a gun at us.
He flashed his teeth and said, “I was beginning to think you hadn’t paid the rent. Close the door, please — and keep your hands away from your body.”
He looked like a Swedish diplomat, all right, and there were the three pock marks high up on his left cheek. Sergi Porkov. It couldn’t have been anyone else. And just to wrap it up for sure, Ann Fullerton, in figured crepe silk that did a lot for her wheat-field hair, appeared in the opening behind him. She was carrying a good-sized patent-leather bag under one arm and she looked cool and neat and very, very lovely.
I started to say something but Porkov cut me off with a small gesture of the gun. From where I stood I judged it to be one of the old model Walther P-38’s. Not exactly a cannon, but at the moment he didn’t need a cannon. He said, “I think you had better lift your hands quite high and turn around. Both of you. Slowly.”
We had a choice. We could turn around or we could refuse — and get shot down on the spot. We turned. He slithered up behind me and let a soft meaty hand prowl my body. He was smart enough to hold the gun so that it actually wasn’t against me. He snaked out the .45 from under my arm, made sure it was the only weapon I carried, then went to work on Lodi. She couldn’t have hidden a penknife in what she was wearing, but that didn’t keep him from trying. I heard her gasp slightly a time or two, and while my muscles crawled I kept them from getting away from me.
He finally stepped back. “I think we will go up the stairs now. In case of unexpected visitors.”
We went up the stairs and into the sitting room between the two master bedrooms. Porkov waved us into a couple of the lounge chairs there and then sat down on the edge of one across from Lodi and me. The Fullerton girl remained near the hall door, just standing there looking a little pale, a pinched expression around her full lips.
Lodi leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. She had the Oriental trick of turning completely impassive when things weren’t going right. Porkov crossed his legs and wagged the gun carelessly at her. “Green or not,” he said admiringly, “you’re still the best-looking woman I’ve ever seen.”
I said, “Maybe you’d like to change off for a night or two.”
He turned his teeth on again. “It is a thought. Rather a good one. But I’m afraid not. No. I have other plans for your very charming and very beautiful green wife.”