N THE red of Mars two men stood before a primitive structure. Primitive in age, thought one of the men, but a technological marvel, its obsidian surface showing no grain or mark of cut. Perfect squareness announced its absoluteness—here was a thing ancient and divine, full of mystery and terror. The second man observed the first skeptically.

“Well, I’m fascinated by everything you’ve told me, marshal, but don’t you think it’s a little late in the century to be blaming a rock for human psychosis?”

The speaker, Mr. Brownlow, was a gentle-faced man, which belied his status as the new owner of the town of Little Hill, the only colony in western Mars.

There were five colonies on the east side of the planet, mainly scientific in mission. Little Hill was different.

“But it’s quite a beautiful thing, I’ll grant you that,” said Brownlow.

Marshal Felix Justus didn’t know too much about these kinds of things, but Brownlow’s dismissal struck him as glib. There were ways for the human brain to form associations with material objects—as long ago as 2049, the year he graduated high school, that theory was at the forefront of science as a new generation of astronauts prepared for life on the red planet. That adventure had run its course, like so many tired rings around Saturn, and the franchise purchased by the Brownlow Corporation. Agriculture, mining, and all low-skilled jobs attached were now the property of the company, and their currency changed to corporation credit.

“Mr. Brownlow, I don’t want to repeat what I said in our correspondence, but if worse comes to worst, and people keep going off…” said Felix.

The air just now was as gentle as could be as the two men stood overlooking a calm scene of paved roads, health clinics, and the clear-glass rotundas that made up most of the housing. There were no children in the street with kites, and no picket fences—it was a little sideways from what anyone would call quaint, but it lent Mr. Brownlow’s genial skepticism credibility as he indulged the marshal with a broad smile and a patronizing rub on the shoulder.

“Back to work, marshal, I know you know your job. If it makes you feel better, I agree about blocking the monolith off. Do what you have to do.”

***

T THE office the marshal played back six new voice messages. More of the same. He walked down the barracks hall and knocked on a door.

“Abrill? I’m going back to the hospital. Wanna come?”

The door was answered by his deputy, Abrill of the Sholki—a martian. Abrill was tall at six feet four inches, and although Felix was familiar with the habits of the people of the Nimula—their name for western Mars—he hadn’t gotten used to Abrill in a police uniform.

“It still doesn’t fit,” his deputy confirmed.

“You get enough rest?” asked Felix.

“Some,” said Abrill.

“I’m sorry this had to be your first week,” said Felix. “I’ll be honest, the new guy doesn’t seem in the least worried. He’s got something else coming if we can’t change his mind. This might be my last month on Mars, Abrill. I’m getting out to the outland station and going home to Earth.”

Abrill nodded. “I anticipated as much. This will be a great loss for the colony. Did you tell Mr. Brownlow of the theory of the fourth being?”

“Let’s worry about these dying people first,” said Felix.

The theory of the fourth being, or so it had been called until yesterday, posited the existence of a fourth type of martian.

The Sholki were lizard-like in appearance—scaly and reptilian—but shared a human frame and build, except for a sweeping tail. They were themselves colonists on the planet, many many thousands of years ago. In any case, they were the first recorded race on Mars.

The second were the aerial Ephemi, an insect race that the Sholki considered intelligent and around whom its first religions were based. That relationship remained an important factor in everyday life for the Sholki.

The third were human colonists. When the Martian atmosphere was finally completed—the project began in 1969—human settlements were an enormous accomplishment. More novel was the Small Settlement Commission—a new colony to establish ‘regular’ life. You didn’t have to be a scientist to earn your stripes. An experiment in ‘normalcy,’ supported by the leaps and bounds of new science.

The fourth being had long been part of the religious belief of the Sholki, translated from the beliefs of the Ephemi. Sholki stories depicted life with the fourth being as domestic. Later stories showed the fourth being as a single divine light, its fire encompassing the whole planet in red.

There was one thread that ran throughout the stories—the fourth being was dominant—all other races would live subserviently. Its discovery would change life forever.

Felix and Abrill arrived at the hospital on the dune skiff. Fr. Germain was already at work administering the last rites. He finished and looked up at the policemen.

“I’m so sorry,” he said solemnly.

Felix scrutinized the face of the woman who lay there, eyes wide open and mouth agape.

“Close them shut,” said Felix.

He accepted that it was her face.

“She breathed her last just as you stepped inside,” said Fr. Germain.

“I’m next,” said Felix bluntly. “If it’s a genetics thing, I’m next. I was staring right at it less than an hour ago.”

“It may not work so systematically as all that,” said Fr. Germain. “There are a number of those dead with direct blood relatives still alive.”

Felix shook his head.

“It’s accelerating exponentially. We’ll all be dead before the end of the month. Maybe the end of the week,” said the marshal. “I’m sorry to be so blunt. If you have any unfinished business, I recommend you do it today. Please don’t call me again for dead bodies.”

Murderers he could stop. Even among the good people of the colony, evil rose up in the human heart. Twelve thousand souls guaranteed it. Though they never found it effective to execute anyone—in an old fashioned way, criminals under capital sentences always returned to Earth—he did find occasion for use of his sidearm.

As Felix and Abrill rode back, he turned to his deputy and asked him the one question on his mind.

“Do you believe the Sholki are immune?” he asked.

“Undoubtedly,” said Abrill. “In any case, I thought that was why you hired me.”

“True, I suspected it,” said Felix. “Do you think there are enough Sholki interested in helping with research?”

“Of course there are,” said Abrill. 

The relationship with the Sholki had been a strange one, but not so terrible. There were tensions of course, and murders between the Sholki and colonists occurred. Before the atmosphere had been built, the Sholki were an unvocative race. Now they had formulated speech and language, and were friendly people. They shared many commonalities with humans—a dominant monotheistic religion, a patriarchal societal structure, and a deep sense of territoriality. Their literature was fascinating, especially the early pictorial literature of their pre-vocative era. Ideographists and logographists found connections in Sholki writings and early human pictorial writings.

“Know anyone in particular?” asked Felix.

“I believe so,” said Abrill. “At least, they will be able to help connect us. But understand, Sholki scientists are very different from human scientists. They gaze under telescopes, yes, but our medicine is necessarily different.”

“I need a miracle,” said Felix. “I’m reaching in the dark for anything at this point.”

***

ROWNLOW SEEMED already ragged. His eyes were nearly as bloodshot as Felix’s own. He read the man’s thoughts as they passed behind his eyes, underneath the glacial expression on his face. He was about to be fired. That was more of a relief than anything.

“Marshal, the head of the hospital called my office. I don’t appreciate the scene you made just now.”

“You look very tired,” said Felix absentmindedly.

“Take the evening off,” said Brownlow blandly. “Get some sleep. Meet me back here in twelve hours.”

The marshal wandered back to headquarters. Shakily he walked down the barracks hall, trying to find his room, but the hallway seemed much longer. He opened a random door. The room was empty. 

Good enough.

***

UDITH PONTO and Tim Valestreri went back a ways, back to their days at Boulder University. She got top honors. He followed just behind. Both were scientists studying the fabric of space around Earth. Mars gave them the opportunity to continue from a distance, comparing planetary axis shift-patterns. Their first new project was studying the behavior of the new flora and fauna on Mars, and the climatological changes it caused. They were surprised at how often the introduction of a simplified Earth genus allowed a brand new Martian genus to grow alongside it, and how well they bred together.

The rolling plains of red-tinged grass, now spreading beyond the town borders, were the result of this successful marriage. The science colonies in East Mars reported success with coconut trees.

There was little room left for doubt. Mars was now nearly fully sustainable. The stock of pre-packed food in the warehouses could be safely eaten without worry. Larger animal life could be introduced sometime in the next ten years. Little Hill Colony was a success. 

Except for the virus.

“It may not be a virus,” said Valestreri.

“Not a recognizable virus,” countered Judith.

“We’re the scientists—not Brownlow. I know what a virus looks like after mutation.”

“You might be surprised to learn he knows a lot more about it than we do,” said Judith. “He’s also interested in archaeology. Did you know that?”

“So he’s one of those nuts trying to look for the meaning of life in cold space. Except he can finance his own conspiracy quests across the solar system. It figures. Who told you that, anyways?”

“You hear things,” said Judith. “But admit it, Tim, there’s stuff we know nothing about. Think about it—we’ve been stuck doing mostly agriculture, standing on the shoulders of the giants who put us here. We’re doing the equivalent of fifth grade sloppy joe volcanoes.”

“Compiling new planetary climatological data in real time is not fifth grade anything,” said Valestreri. “If Brownlow’s a scientific giant, why can’t they tell us anything about the source of it, much less begin a cure?”

“Who knows. But the hard fact is that people are going to keep dying until they figure it out. We could die here. It can happen. So let’s dry up and be helpful.”

“I’ve already been working on it,” he said.

“So have I,” said Judith.

“Then let’s compare notes and find out how we match up against our new master,” said Valestreri.

***

R. GERMAIN stood before Brownlow. He was careful to not show his confusion as the new owner of their town paced in front of him wearing a white lab coat. He had read the biographical material on Brownlow, and this aspect of the man came as a surprise.

“This is all so crazy to me,” said Brownlow. “I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner, but the way everyone seemed to say the same thing...I just couldn’t believe it.”

“It may seem that way, yes,” said Fr. Germain. “For an inanimate object to hold so much power, well, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

“I’m not...religious,” said Brownlow, casting his arms open, though he meant it skeptically. “But we were raised with the same catechism. I don’t remember superstitions like this being part of that systemology.”

“Yes, that’s true,” said Fr. Germain. “I can’t explain what is happening. I certainly would not guess at the root cause, whether it is merely psychological, or if there is a biological infiltrator we have not discovered.”

“Now, it’s interesting that you mention that,” said Brownlow.

“But—and I think you understand this—I cannot discount a spiritual impact made manifest,” said the priest.

“Divine retribution?”

The priest hedged his answer.

“Not exactly. Spiritual exposure, perhaps, although I’m afraid I can’t explain that without...well, putting my own spin on things. I don’t want to do that. In any case, the Sholki and yourself seem to be on the path to discovering the cause.”

“We are,” said Brownlow. “But just in case, let me hear your version.”

“Is it the monolith that’s causing it?” asked Fr. Germain. He was doing his utmost to keep the secret of the fourth being. Brownlow could not believe such a thing unless he saw it himself.

“No,” said Brownlow. He chuckled. “No. You’re right about the undetected virus. It will most likely be something everyone carried with them from Earth which gestated over decades.”

At first approach Mr. Brownlow seemed thin, timid, his face withdrawn, even afraid. The man standing before him stalked confidently across the echoing lab, his coat whipping dramatically around his ankles with every movement between the dissection table. Marshal Felix Justus lay there under the x-ray tunnel. Brownlow was making ready to incise the cranium.

He turned to Fr. Germain expectantly.

“Well?”

“It’s almost a cliche...rather it is a cliche...that space is Hell.”

“Hence the madness.” Brownlow cut to the quick. “Is Earth the only planet immune?”

“A strange word for it, but it is the place where we were created, and meant to be…”

“And not in space. Yes, well,  going back to our schooling, even the Jesuits taught the holocentric model and not the medieval one, Fr. Germain. On the other hand, here we are and...you’re halfway right. We aren’t adapted to this atmosphere that we created for ourselves. We can’t anticipate every adverse mutation. But we’ll adapt. That’s why—”

He motioned his scientific dress.

“I have full confidence you, and the Sholki, will discover the cause,” said Fr. Germain.

“But not faith?” asked Brownlow.

“Yes, and faith,” said Fr. Germain, and quickly left.

“Tend the sheep!” Brownlow called after him.

When the priest had gone the scientist threw off his white garment and hurried outside. A fervent joy was inside him as he tore open the door of the enclosure. He fell to his knees, as a lover to the bed, and prayed at the obsidian structure.

***

BRILL MOURNED little the death of Felix. It was not in the Sholki culture to mourn until all danger had passed. And there was much danger about him. He’d begun to doubt his immunity as well. Perhaps the Sholki had merely evaded what was inevitable.

The appearance of the fourth being disturbed him deeply. 

The Sholki had been on Mars for millenia, but the appearance of this being had never been recorded, according to the Sholki. Its existence was communicated by the Ephemi, but they had since disappeared.

After drinking from his canteen, Abrill holstered his gun and mounted the skiff. The population had been reduced by one fourth since Felix’s death. Sheer calamity. Gravestones populated the hillsides.

The town council was made up of entirely new members now. He met Timothy Valestreri at the gate and found his seat among the others. He was head of council now.

“Alright, Abrill, you're the marshal now. What did he say?”

“That the cure will be developed before anyone can help us from the outside,” said Abrill.

Valestreri looked to his left where the aging Mathildus Darby and his wife Gilda sat. Next to her, their son, Jim.

“The districts, as a structure, are basically nonexistent,” said Jim. He was Abrill’s target for the next deputy. “Our district has fewer people, and we’re borrowing everything from the east district. I’m asking for some relief—we’ve lost most of our labor force.”

“What are your actual numbers now?” asked Valestreri.

“One-thousand, seven-hundred and one, exactly,” said Jim.

“Since Mr. Brownlow technically owns everything, does he want to have a say in this? We should make sure he’s always invited to town meetings.”

Judith. Valestreri caught her eye and nodded.

“He expects Little Hill to be run the same way as before,” said Jill Huang, the agriculture committee chair. “But we have to make up our harvest with less labor, somehow.”

Some of the other two-hundred councillors spoke, and the local sheriffs. In every testimony, the monolith dominated. Victims spoke of the monolith with their dying breath. Even those who believed strictly in a material cause sensed that the virus was communicated through the monolith. Could this object evoke such fear in the beholder, awakening dormant elements in the human body to form a virus? Was it possible that so many had interacted with the monolith? 

There were many theories.

One young man invited as a witness revealed himself as a deacon of the Church of Mother Mary, where Fr. Germain cared for those in grief. He became infected himself, and died on the steps of the church, slumped over like a crash dummy.

The question poised itself like a missile in mid-air—was this their final fate?

Abrill wondered if he was the only one left who knew of the fourth being’s appearance. The suffering around him was now so great that he doubted its importance. Who was he to introduce a new terror amid all that they faced already?

But he could not deny what he had seen. As Felix, Fr. Germain, and himself witnessed the death of the monolith’s first victim, they saw the glimmering light in the thickly clouded night sky. Wrapped within it was the unmistakable shape of a humanoid being. The face was inscrutable, if it had a face. Looking upon the monolith, the fourth being stayed suspended above the three men.

Had it been an illusion? Was there a material explanation?

***

AS NOW the time to reveal his true intentions? Brownlow Mused. No. He still needed one successful experiment. He wasn’t exerting enough control over the monolith itself. He had appeased its commands, but unlike its twin in Arizona, this did not result in the symbiotic melding he had achieved there.

“I’m still interested in trying,” said the superintendent. His name was Bill Evans, head of construction in Little Hill.

“We’ll discuss it later, superintendent. Satisfy me on one point, if you can: why are there so many people here with no interest in the scientific details of their situation? Why are people living here exactly as they did on Earth? Don’t they have the education to bear any curiosity?”

“I don’t have a satisfactory answer for that, sir,” said Evans. “Little Hill is a colony of mostly hardworking, family-oriented people...definitely some bad apples among them. But the experiment of the program was putting regular people up here, in the hopes it would be an extension of Earth life.”

“Mostly from the United States,” said Brownlow.

“That’s not correct, sir. There was a Russian branch of the colony, but after ten years there was no need to distinguish between the two, and everyone voted to be brought under one umbrella.”

“Yes, I remember now. The Zbignev Program.”

They were in the lab, where he spent a great deal of his time now. Evans looked at the corpse that lay on the stainless steel table. He recognized Father Germain.

Brownlow noticed.

“Did you know him?”

“Yes, my church is across the street from the Catholic Church,” said Evans.

“I won’t waste your time any longer, superintendent. As far as your request—I don’t plan on allowing you to try to tear down the monolith. It’s a superstitious, ill-founded idea. You’re giving paranoia a bad name. We’re closing in on a solution, however. Before too long not a body will be affected by this Earth virus mutation. We may, in due time, bring back some of the souls that have been suspended from their presence among us.”

He smiled inwardly at Evans’s predictable reaction to that proposition.

“I’ll let you work at it, sir,” said Evans.

Brownlow returned quickly to the monolith. He had trouble concentrating without seeing it daily. Twice today.

***

T WAS the first time Abrill had been alone with Brownlow. He noticed the dark corners of the lab, and the curtains set up against the walls. He hadn’t thought so dramatically of the meeting with Brownlow and its consequences, but now he was surrounded by men outfitted in armor bearing the Brownlow Corporation insignia. Had Felix mentioned the shuttle carrying more than one passenger?

“I’ll get to the point,” said Brownlow. “Did you know about the existence of the fourth being?”

Had there been another appearance of the fourth being, or had Brownlow, somehow, witnessed it also?

“No, I did not know,” Abrill lied. “If what you say is true—”

“Of course it’s true.”

“...then many Sholki prophecies have been fulfilled.”

“What?”

“Excuse me, sir, I lied just now. I did know. I witnessed its appearance with Fr. Germain and Marshal Felix. It coincided with the exact time of death of Preston Lewis, the first victim of this virus.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the fourth being may be the carrier of the virus?”

It did seem plausible. Likely.

“No,” said Abrill.

“You’ve killed thousands with your silence.” Brownlow was almost shouting now, his small face distorted with a multitude of twisted creases.

“I resign immediately,” said Abrill. He cast his holster on the floor.

“Not good enough. This crime carries the sentence of death.”

They took Abrill by his scaly arms. Their grip was infinitely strong and metallic.

***

HE MONOLITH’S reaction to Abrill’s death was minimal. No more than what it exhibited with anyone else. The Sholki were too similar to humans. On the other hand, the monolith was not a computer, responding to electric jolts. It was a mystical device that opened the spiritual function of a soul. It could not rob a soul from its body—only death could do that—but it could overtake the soul’s exertions of physical will.

Brownlow had hoped that the deaths of the three persons who’d witnessed the fourth being could forge the connection. Over time he’d formed a theory that it wasn’t only powerful people who affected the universe—many of them were tiresome—but everyday people who held strongly to their beliefs. He’d overestimated Little Hill.

Why had its twin acceded so much in the cavern in Arizona? The knowledge of those persons who touched its surface pulsed throughout his body. So much knowledge put into the tiny space of a human brain was like putting the energy of a race car into an acorn. Knowledge, no matter how it was gained, was always at the mercy of fraying memory nerves.

Brownlow remembered how his mother, the queen of England—no, that was an obvious, wishful mixup. He tried to remember his mother. He could see his birth, but it felt like any other birth, like pulling a warm blanket off during a chill night.

He’d been born a Sholki. No, that was also an error.

It wasn’t an error. It was a connection. A grin—all the grins in existence—spread across his inner mind as he walked, quasi-ceremoniously, into the shed. He knelt before the monolith and leant his forehead against its cool surface, gazing deeply into the reflection of his eyes. He was startled by the appearance of another face staring back. Was this a fellow traveller, communing from across space?

They spoke for hours that night, laughing into the disintegrating atmosphere of the red planet.