Colony of the Unfit
by MANFRED A. CARTER
Mars had become the prison planet for Earth's
afflicted, for the Leaders had exiled them to
a living death beneath its red surface. But the
Leaders had erred in their cold-blooded
calculations—Mars held a secret beyond their ken.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
John Greely looked at Hilda's freshly gloved, artificial hand, asshe adjusted her note book to a clip concealed in the palm. The handfascinated him horribly. Beauty should never be crippled. She sensedhis morbid stare, but smiled and rose gracefully, saying, "O.K., Boss.Let's go."
She flashed bantering eyes at her editor, with a last pat of herheavily ringed right hand on the rich rolling waves of blonde hair thatwere always in place. The startling pale beauty of her young facewas contrasted by glowing dark brown eyes. Theirs was a comfortablefriendship, this of the young editor and his society staff andsecretary, but a limited one. He said, gruffly, "Let me carry theraditype."
"No, you're the dignity, I'm the beast of burden. Come on, hurry! We'veonly five minutes to reach the district hospital."
John slipped on his transparent all-weather coat and helped Hilda withhers. His reddish brown hair flipped in the March wind as they steppedout from the Daily Home Recorder building. His almost boyishly roundcheeks glowed with color. Hilda liked the way his shoulders snapped upas he faced the cold. She liked the way he took her arm, but she mustalways be casual....
"Do you suppose it's just another rumor?" she asked, as they steppedinto a low, cigar shaped car.
"Look like straight dope to me. The Universal News Service is prettyconservative."
"How could things have changed so while we were away? It doesn't seemlike the same world. Those men in Washington must be mad."
"I know, Hilda, but perhaps we are the ones who are out of step. Thisis the day of directed evolution."
"But, John—how horrible, to take all those sick folks and banish themon a Space Tramp!"
John drove past the old wooden houses of their small city and then letout speed on the highway before he answered, "The Leader says that iswhat we should do—harden our emotions for the sake of a better race.You and I are in the minority. Those years on the Moon trip have leftus out of date."
They were silent for a little while before she continued, "Do yousuppose we really are in the minority? The people who listen in to ourraditype service seem just about as they did before we went away. Theirletters prove that. I saw an old lady's scrap book the other day, ofher clippings. I read it through because I had been wondering how muchof the printed recording was ever reread. Most people are content toglance at the screen when the news first comes on. She had saved theold type sentimental items, just as an old lady would have five or tenyears ago."
"Yes, the small towns are slow to change. That's why they hate thelittle news services like ours. Prepared news hastens the new day."
"Do you suppose they'll talk to us?"
"They'll have to," he said grimly, "with all those folks watching andlistening in. I wonder what the patients think about the new idea—orif they know."
"Where do you think they will be sent? Why don't the authorities justput them to sleep with a lethal drug?"
"Search me, Honey. Well, here we are."
Their street roller drew up silently before a huge gray building in theopen country and John turned the magnetic parking control. They steppedout from the grass-lined curb, and John p