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I like Martian music by Charles E. Fritch.
Longtree played.
His features relaxed into a gentle smile of happiness
and his body turned a bright red orange.
Longtree set before his hole in the ground
and gazed thoughtfully among the sandy red hills
that surrounded him.
His skin at the moment was a medium yellow,
a shade between pride and happiness
at having his brief symphony almost completed,
with just a faint tinge of red
to denote that uncertain cautious approach
to the last note which had eluded him thus far.
He sat there unmoving for a while
and then he picked up his blowstring
and fitted the mouthpiece between his thin lips.
He blew into it softly,
and at the same time gently strung the three strings
stretching the length of the instrument.
The note was a firm, clear one
which would have made any other musician proud,
but Longtree frowned,
and at the disappointment his body flushed a dark green
and began taking on a purple cast of anger.
Hastefully he put down the blowstring
and tried to think of something else.
Slowly his normal color returned.
Across the nearest hill came his friend, channel jumper,
striding on the long, thin, ungainly legs
that had given him his name.
His skin radiated a blissful orange.
Longtree, channel jumper,
exclaimed enthusiastically,
collapsing on the ground nearby
and folding his legs around him.
How's the symphony coming?
Not so good, Longtree admitted sadly,
and his skin turned green at the memory.
If I don't get that last note,
I may be this color the rest of my life.
Why don't you play what you've written so far?
It's not very long,
and it might cheer you up a bit.
You're a good friend, channel jumper,
Longtree thought,
and when Red Sand and I are married
after the music festival
will have you over to our whole for dinner.
As he thought this,
he felt his body take on an orange cast
and he felt better.
I can't seem to get that last note,
he said, picking up the blowstring again
and putting it into position.
The final note must be conclusive,
something complete in itself,
and yet be able to sum up the entire meaning
of the symphony preceding it.
Channel jumper hummed sympathetically.
That's a big job for one note.
It might be a sound no one has ever heard before.
Longtree shrugged.
It may even sound alien,
he admitted,
but it's got to be the right note.
Play, and we'll see,
channel jumper urged.
Longtree played,
and as he played,
his features relaxed
into a gentle smile of happiness
and his body turned orange.
Delicately,
he strummed the three strings
of the blowstring
with his long-nailed fingers.
Softly, he perched his frail lips
and blew expertly into the mouthpiece.
From the instrument came sounds
the like of which channel jumper
had never before heard.
The Martian sat and listened
in evident rapture,
his body radiating a golden glow of ecstasy.
He sat and dreamed,
and as the music played,
his spine tingled with growing excitement.
The music swelled,
surrounding him,
permeating him,
picking him up in a great hand
sweeping him into new and strange
and beautiful worlds.
Worlds of tall metal structures,
of vast stretches of greenness,
and of water,
and of trees,
and of small pale creatures
that flew giant metal insects.
He dreamed of these things,
which his planet Mars had not known
for millions of years.
After a while,
the music stopped,
but for a moment,
neither of them said anything.
At last channel jumper sighed.
It's beautiful,
he said.
Yes,
he admitted.
But channel jumper seemed puzzled,
but somehow it doesn't seem complete,
almost, but not quite,
as though, as though,
long tree sighed.
One more note would do it?
One more note.
No more, no less.
At the end of the crescendo,
could tie the symphony together
and end it.
But which one?
I've tried them all,
and none of them fit.
His voice had risen higher
in his excitement
and channel jumper warned.
Careful,
you're beginning to turn purple.
I know long tree said,
mournfully,
and the purple tint changed
to a more acceptable green.
But I've got to win first prize
at the festival tomorrow.
Red sand promised to marry me
if I did.
You can't lose channel jumper
told him,
and then remembered,
if you can get that last note.
If long tree echoed
despairingly,
as though his friend had asked
the impossible,
I wish I had your confidence,
Chan,
your orange most of the time,
while I'm a spectrum.
I haven't your artistic
temperament channel jumper told him,
besides,
oranges such a homely color,
I feel ashamed to have it all the time.
As he said this,
he turned green with shame
and long tree left
at the paradox.
Channel jumper left, too,
glad that he had diverted
his friend's attention
from the elusive
and perhaps non-existent note.
Did you know
the space rocket is
due pretty soon,
he said,
perhaps even in time
for the music festival.
Space rocket?
Oh, I forgot,
you were busy composing
and didn't get to hear it,
did you hear it,
channel jumper said?
Well, big wind,
who has a telescope in his hole,
told me a rocket is coming
through space
towards us,
possibly from the third planet.
Oh,
long tree said,
not particularly interested.
I wonder if they'll
look like us,
channel jumper wondered.
If they're intelligent,
of course they will,
long tree said,
certainly not caring.
Their culture will probably
be alien, though,
and their music,
he paused and turned
a very deep yellow.
Of course,
they might even
be able to furnish
the note I need to
complete my symphony.
Channel jumper shook
his head.
You've got to compose
it all yourself,
he reminded,
or you don't qualify,
and if you don't qualify,
you can't win,
and if you don't win,
you can't marry red sand.
But just one little note,
long tree said.
Channel jumper shrugged,
helplessly,
and turned sympathetically
green.
I don't make the rules,
he said.
No.
Well,
long tree went on
in sudden determination.
I'll find that last note
if I have to stay
permanently purple.
Channel jumper
shuddered gestingly at this,
but remained
pleasantly orange.
And I'll leave you alone,
so you can get to work,
he said,
unfolding himself.
Goodbye,
long tree said,
but Channel jumper's
long legs had already
taken him over
to the nearest sand dune
and out of sight.
Alone,
long tree picked up the
blowstring once more,
placed it against his stomach,
and gave out
with a clear,
beautiful,
experimental note,
which was,
again,
one he desired.
He still had not
found it an hour
later when the sound
came.
The sound was a
low, unpleasant
rumble, a
sound lower than
any long tree had
ever heard,
and he wondered
what it was.
Thinking of it,
he remembered he had
seen a large flash of
fire in the sky a
moment before the
roar came,
but since this last
was clearly not
likely at all,
he dismissed the whole
thing as
imagination and tried
again to
cope some new note
from the blowstring.
A half-hour
channel jumper came
bounding excitedly
over a sand dune.
They're here,
he cried,
screeching to a halt
and emitting yellow
flashes of color.
Who's here,
long tree demanded
turning violet
and annoyance at
the interruption?
The visitors
from space,
channel jumper
explained,
they landed near my
hole.
Their little creatures
only half as big as
we are,
but thicker and
grey-colored.
Grey-colored,
long tree repeated
incredulously trying
to picture the
improbability.
When the outside
channel jumper went
on, they have an
outside shell that
comes off,
and inside they're
sort of pink
orange.
A-ha,
long tree said,
as though he'd
suspected it all the
time.
Evidently, they wear
grey suits of some
kind, probably for
protection.
They took them
off anyway,
channel jumper said,
eager to impart his
knowledge, and they
were sort of pink
orange underneath.
There are only two of
them, and one has
long hair.
Strange,
long tree mused
trees.
Wonder what they
want.
Channel jumper
shrugged to indicate
he didn't know.
The short-haired
one followed me, he
said.
Long tree felt the
chill blue of fear creep
along his spine,
but immediate anger at
himself changed it
conveniently to purple,
and he was certain
channel jumper hadn't
noticed.
When he had
controlled himself, he
said, well, it
doesn't matter.
I've got to get on
with my symphony.
That last note.
He's here,
channel jumper
announced.
What?
He was eagerly
and long tree's eyes
followed the direction
to where the aliens
stood at the top of a
nearby dune staring
at them.
Long tree could feel his
skin automatically
turning red with caution,
blending with the
sand, while the ever
trusting channel jumper
remained bright orange.
Good gosh, the alien
exclaimed.
Not only do they
look like modified
grasshoppers, they
change color too.
What did he say?
Long tree demanded.
How should I
know?
Channel jumper said
it's in another
language.
The voice
long tree exclaimed
almost disbelieving
it.
Low.
Lower than even our
drums rumble.
And they talk in
squeaks yet the alien
told himself aloud.
Long tree regarded
the alien carefully.
As channel jumper had
said, the creature was
short and had
close cropped hair on
its head.
The legs were brief
and pudgy, and
long tree felt a
shade of pity for the
creature who could
obviously not get around
as well as they.
It was undoubtedly
intelligent, the
space rocket testified
to that, and the
fact that the creature's
skin color state a
peaceful pink orange
helped a short
long tree the
alien's mission was
friendly.
The alien raised a
short arm and stepped
slowly forward.
I come in peace, he said,
in the language they
could not understand.
My wife and I are
probably the only humans
left alive, when we
left earth most of the
population had been
wiped out by
atomic.
I think we were the only
ones to get away.
Long tree felt his
redness subside to
orange as he wondered
idly what the
alien had said.
Except for a
natural curiosity, he
didn't really care.
For he remembered
suddenly the symphony he
had to finish by
tomorrow if he were to
marry red sand.
But there was the
element of politeness
to consider, so he
nudged Channel
Jumper.
Don't just stand there,
say something.
Channel Jumper
flustered and turned
several colors in
rapid succession.
He stammered,
or welcome to our
planet, a visitor
from space and motion
the alien to sit
down.
That's not very
creative, long tree
accused.
What's the difference
Channel Jumper
pointed out when he
doesn't understand us
anyway?
You guys don't really
look like grasshoppers,
the man from Earth
apologized coming
forward.
It's just the long
legs that fooled me
from up there.
Boy am I glad to find
somebody intelligent on
Mars.
From the air we
couldn't see any
cities or areas
or anything, and we
were afraid the
planet didn't have
any life.
I wish we could
understand each other,
though.
Long tree smiled
pleasantly, and wish
the creature would go
away, so he could
search for the last note
to his symphony.
He picked up his
blowstrings, so the
alien wouldn't sit
on it.
Play for him, Channel
Jumper suggested,
seating himself by
segments.
Just the last part to
see how he reacts.
Music is universal.
You know,
Long tree was going to
do just that thing for
despite Channel
Jumper's warning
that he might
compose every single
note by himself, he
felt an alien
viewpoint might be
helpful.
He started playing.
Channel Jumper sat
dreaming, glowing
radiantly, but the
alien seemed
somewhat perturbed by
the music and fidgeted
nervously.
Could it be, long tree
wondered, that the
incredible beauty of
his composition might
not translate
acceptably to alien
ears?
He dismissed the thought
as unlikely.
Or that's a bit
high, isn't it?
The creature said
shaking his head.
Lost in the sweeping
melodies, neither
long tree nor Channel
Jumper paid any
attention to the
meaningless syllables.
Long tree played on,
oblivious to all else
soaring toward the
great screaming
crescendo that would
culminate with the
missing note.
Vagely, he became
aware that the
creature had gotten
up, and he turned a
small part of his
attention to the
action.
Long tree smiled
inwardly, pleased, and
turned yellow with
pride to think that
even a man from
another planet should
so appreciate his
symphony that he got
up and danced a
strange little dance
and even sang to the
music.
The alien held onto
his ears and leaped
erratically, singing,
no, no, stop!
It's too high!
My head's bursting!
Channel Jumper
2 seemed pleased by this
show of appreciation,
though neither of
them understood the
words, and long tree
swept into the final notes
of the rising
crescendo with a
gusto he had not
previously displayed.
He stopped where he
had always stopped,
and the final note came.
It startled the
Martians.
Then the realization
swept over them in glad
tides of color.
The symphony was
complete now.
With that final alien
sound, long tree could
win both the festival
prize and red sand
with it.
The last note was a
soft popping sound that
had come from the
creature from another
planet.
They looked to see him
sagging to the ground,
his head soft and
pulpy.
My symphonies
complete long tree
exclaimed
brilliantly a brilliant
yellow now.
But Channel Jumper's
yellow happiness was
tinged with green.
A pity, he said, the
creature had to give its
life in exchange for the
note.
I believe it really
wanted to long tree said
turning solemn.
Did you see how it
danced to the music as
though in the
throes of ecstasy, and
it didn't change color
once, it must have
died happy to know it gave
itself to a good cause.
You could probably get
by with claiming to use
the creature as an
auxiliary instrument,
used Channel Jumper,
practical once more,
and eliminate any claim
that he might have
assisted you.
But what about the
festival?
This one looks as though
he doesn't have another
note in him.
There's the other one
long tree reminded, the
one with long hair.
We can save that one
until tomorrow.
Of course, Channel Jumper
agreed standing up.
I'll go get it, and you
can keep it safe here in
your hole until tomorrow
night.
You're a good friend,
Channel Jumper.
Long tree began, but
the other was already
bounding out of sight
of San Dune.
Blissfully, he raised the
blowstring into position
and played the opening
notes to his symphony.
The alien lay unmoving
with its head in a
sticky puddle.
But long tree took no
notice.
He didn't even consider
that after the festival,
he would never be able
to play his symphony
again in all its
glorious completeness.
His spinal column
tingled pleasantly, and his
skin turned the
golden yellow of
unbearable happiness.
The music was
beautiful.
End of
I Like Martian
Music by Charles E.
Fritch
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