November 2005: A Bad Day for Jack*
by Geffrey Wanamaker

	Sitting in a one room apartment Jack was smoking a cigarette and 
reflecting on his past. He could somehow sense death in the air, he knew 
his time was coming.
	Jack was in his mid thirties; he was a good looking man. His hair 
was gray with the problems of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow. He 
had dark eyes. One could not quite make out if they were black or brown, 
but they were the kind of eyes that could go right through you. Thoughts 
swarmed through his head like bees from a hive. He could remember the 
day he was forced to leave Earth and come to this strange planet. He 
peered out the window and looked at the orange rain pouring down from 
the green skies above. He took the last swig from his bottle of refuge 
and shouted at his companion. "Go get me another bottle of UNCLE JACK!"
	The short Martian got up and walked quickly to the kitchen. The 
Martian was called Kaw-Klaba-La-Klowshe, but the words got lost in 
Jack's mouth, so he just called him Ray.  The Martian was about four 
feet tall and had huge golden eyes, which you could not quite see when 
he was looking at you. His skin was the color of the sky back on Earth.
	The silence scared Jack. He felt alone and he felt he had to do 
something to keep busy. His world was running round; he could see the 
world spinning. He felt the numbness in his stomach. He thought his food 
was going to come up, and he would see dinner for the second time. 
	Jack asked, "Why are you keeping me here?"
	The Martian's golden eyes faded into a light brown as he quietly 
spoke, "You are a security risk to the underground movement. When we 
found out the Earthlings were coming we moved into another dimension. We 
created the illusion that we had died from a simple human disease. You 
people are easily deluded. We are a peaceful nation, but Earthlings 
think only of themselves. They have made these ugly buildings and 
destroyed our envorinment with their senseless mining and construction. 
	You destroyed our Blue Mountains with your mining, so I must 
dispose of you. You shouldn't have gone into the old worship ground 
where our door lies, the passage way between our dimensions.
	Jack wasn't listening. He recognized brainwashing techniques from 
his former days at the Interplanetary Academy, before his life spiraled 
down the commode. At 19 he was expelled for stealing, but that was long 
ago.
	Despite his reckless tendencies, Jack was a clever man. More than 
anything, he was a survivor who had volunteered for the colonization of 
Mars as an alternative to fifteen years in a federal prison. He stole. 
It was among his diagnosed diseases: stealing, drinking, insolence. 
"What the hell is there to steal on Mars?" the probation judge asked. 
Jack could steal from a bare cupboard.  In the new colony he found 
minerals and a wrecked tranport ship, abandoned from the 21st Century 
explorations. He was in business again. Dilithium smuggling. There was 
so much raw dilithium here and strip mining was allowed.

	He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of Martian 
Mania. He rolled the spliff and lit it. Ray had returned with the bottle 
and he poured Jack a shot. He thought to himself, "I'll be damned if this 
Martian is killing me. He's only four feet tall. I'm going to finish 
this last drink and take him out."
	 He had become a little less afraid after finishing the shot of 
whiskey. And he decided that this must end. He had been here two days 
and this was the first time he had spoken to the Martian about why he 
was being held against his will. The Martian was sitting at the window 
looking out at the rain. Jack rose and walked toward the kitchen.
	"Where are you going?" the Martian demanded.
	"I am going to the kitchen to get some ice for my drink, Jack 
responded. He opened a drawer and took out a knife. He looked around. He 
retraced his footsteps into the room, walked behind the Martian, and 
drew the knife back. He could not control it; the knife flew into his 
leg. He could not feel the wound. 
	"Remember, I can control things with my mind," Ray said smiling, 
looking confidently, almost insolently away from Jack.
	Jack bolted toward the knife and swept it up and into the Martian 
with a single motion. Jack felt warm nothingness. He looked at his leg, 
which suddenly pumped pain through his nerves. He pulled back the silk 
liner from the knife slash in his poly-metallic suit. He fell to the 
floor.
	He woke up in a street in New New York. It was dark. His leg was 
fine; nothing was wrong. The police were standing in front of him. They 
cuffed him and took him to the station. "Is this your dope?" the 
officer demanded.
	Jack said, "Wait, I can explain everything." He tried 
unsuccessfully.
	One of the officers told him he was high. Jack knew he was fine. 
	"I'll take him down to his cell," Officer Brown said and took him 
down a long passage. It was dark and had a pungent odor; the smell 
reminded him of vomit. Sam took him into a small cell, locked it and 
turned around to leave. Then he stopped. The cell was dark and empty, 
four walls, with nothing inside. Sam turned into a blur. The next thing 
Jack knew he was standing in front of Ray whose voice came from within 
Jack's head.
	"You can't get rid of me so easily. Did you know that I willed you 
to stab me, as I can will you to stab yourself?"
	Ray put the knife in Jack's hand and twisted it through the human 
liver.
	Back at the main desk the other officers heard a scream that 
sounded like a cat being run over. They ran down to the red cell and 
found two mutilated bodies: one human, one unknown.

*Based on an assignment to write a chapter for Ray Bradbury's The 
Martian Chronicles