based upon the Third Prize ($15.00) Winning Plot of the Interplanetary Plot Contest won by Allen Glasser, 1610 University Ave., New York...

Many writers of science fiction, who have not given the matter much thought, assume that a man of intelligence from one planet would meet a cordial and sympathetic welcome on another world. It is assumed that people are everywhere educated, curious about other worlds and other cultures, and eager to help a visitor from an alien race. Unfortunately there is no assurance that such is the case. Even were the members of another race, on another world possessed of education, there would be bound to b

All through the night he travelled; and into the rising sun. The noonday heat forced him to take a prolonged rest, but he fought on as soon as possible; and sunset found him crawling weakly onward. The cool of night revived him somewhat. He knew that the strain under which he labored would hasten his time of sleep, and that worried him. Even now, he was often in a semi-conscious state. Still, he could not stop. When the sun rose again, it shone through trees; and far across the yellow sand his t

He awakened in shivering terror. His entire body was wet. Water was falling on him. It was falling on the ground all around and on the trees—thousands, millions of drops. He choked, as he tried to breathe the damp, saturated air. Desperately he looked around for some protection, but there was none. He covered his face as best he could with his folded arms, and cried out in fear. There came a shout; and he heard something moving toward him, but he did not care. Horror of the falling water crowded

He was breathing hard now, and his face was flushed. For a long time he sat very still and listened, but he heard no sound. At last, moving very slowly, he carried his cylinder to the door. He raised it, and placed the point against the metal lock, under the knob. He pressed his lips tightly together, and set his jaw.... With the end of the wire which he had not connected he touched a point on the cylinder. There was no sound. There was no movement of the cylinder. Yet the metal lock dissolved,

The Martian began to speak slowly, carefully. Through long days and nights he had rehearsed his story, knowing he would have to tell it. The pale young man helped him often, at points where he lacked words.... He told of the scarcity of water on Mars—of how there was only a little, that had to be preserved carefully. Here Blumberg interrupted. "How much water has this chap been drinking?" "Less than a cup, sir—in almost ten days," said Edgar. "The attendant was telling me ..." Blumberg grunted.