The Russian land is rich! And not only talents, but also... Martians. It turns out that for the past 15 years a Martian has been living among the Russians, who was reborn into the human body of Boris Kipriyanovich.

From a young age, the Martian has been talking about his civilization, saying that there are even underground megalithic cities and spaceships on the red planet. The alien also says that he has been to Earth before and visited the country of Lemuria, which sank in the depths of the ocean.

It must be admitted that the Martian boy has exceptional intelligence and innate abilities for yoga. His favorite pose is the lotus position. The alien says that this helps him maintain a mental connection with the Red Planet. When Boriska turned two years old, mom and dad don’t know where to go. Son only talks about other civilizations in space, planetary systems and other obscure things.

The rumor about the young Martian instantly spread throughout the city. Boriska became something of a celebrity. People were interested in the child, everyone wanted to understand how he could know so many things, and the boy told everyone about extraterrestrial civilizations, about the existence of an ancient race of people who were three meters tall...

Of course, many considered these stories to be fictitious, and the boy was a little crazy. The parents took the boy to a psychotherapist, but he did not notice anything unusual. He says that he is a mentally healthy alien, he just has a wild imagination and a lot of esoteric literature.

Boriska assures that there is life on Mars, but it is underground, since after a terrible catastrophe the planet lost its atmosphere.

"At that time, I often flew to Earth for research purposes, I was a spaceship pilot. It was in the days of the Lemurian civilization, and I had a friend there who died before my eyes.... A huge stone fell on the structure in which it was located my friend, and I couldn’t save him... Now we must meet on Earth..."

15-year-old Martian Boris claims that between 2012 and 2013 a terrible catastrophe will happen on Earth. That is why, he believes, so many talented children with special abilities are now born to help people.

When asked if he is afraid of death, Boriska replies that he is not, because he knows that life is eternal. Martians breathe carbon dioxide. When you are in this body, you must breathe oxygen. The Martians themselves do not like the air of the Earth, as it causes aging. The Martians are all relatively young, looking about 30-35 years old. The number of such “Martian” children born on Earth will increase, assures a 15-year-old Martian.

One day a boy told a story about a very ancient planet called Proserpina. A long time ago, she was hit by a beam and was broken into pieces. But the inhabitants managed to teleport to a parallel world and, together with people on Mars, watched the death of the planet. And the Earth, being a rational being, began to accept Proserpina’s children for “re-education”. That is why these people here felt like “strangers” and said that they were from another planet.

Boriska also tends to engage in moralizing. To keep people from getting sick and live happily, he advises adhering to the following philosophy:

“People are sick and unhappy because they live incorrectly. They must wait for the “cosmic halves”, and not interfere with the destinies of others, not break or destroy the natural integrity. And then the suffering of people will stop. You must live with kindness. When you are beaten, come and hug that person. When others wrong you, don't expect an apology, kneel down and ask for forgiveness from the angry person. If you are humiliated and insulted, thank them with a smile. Do you know why the Lemurians died? This is my fault too "They did not want to develop spiritually, they deviated from the path, and thereby destroyed the unity of the planet."

 

You can deceive several people all the time,

for a while you can deceive everyone,

but you can't fool all the people all the time

Abraham Lincoln

How many strange, mysterious, inexplicable things can be found on our planet, but even stranger things await us on other planets of our Solar System. Discovering oddities is hindered by the still large distances for our primitive technology. But even this level of its development makes it clear that many discoveries await us, which will change all our usual knowledge and foundations many times over.

Much is already known now. But even in this “much” the majority refuse to believe, and those who believe do not realize the seriousness of the situation in which we all find ourselves. An entire program of disinformation, with the goal of hiding, will ultimately disappear without a trace. Already, a lot of information is open and publicly available, but the conclusions to which we are being pushed, to put it mildly, “lead us astray”...

]]>That’s why I’ll leave it to you to draw conclusions today, and I’ll just move on to presenting the information. Perhaps many have already heard about Face on Mars. But the trouble is that the majority have heard explanations of this phenomenon by numerous “experts,” while each person should have his own opinion.

The story of the “Martian face” dates back to 1975. This year, the Viking 1 and Viking 2 satellites were sent to Mars. The ultimate goal of this program was landing on the planet. Well, what’s a landing without reconnaissance? It was photo reconnaissance of the surface that was carried out. Subsequently, analyzing these photographs, a well-known photograph of a “face” was discovered, number 35A72, taken in an area called Sidonia.

Of course, numerous hunters had already dubbed him “the face” before the sensations afterwards. The photo began to live its own life, acquiring more and more new explanations, and often just idle inventions, embellished by the wild imagination of their authors. Not only that, but there are now human faces on Mars!

NASA management could not tolerate this, and then an official statement was made at a press conference - everything was nothing more than a bizarre play of light and shadow. After the official explanation, all other theories were ridiculed. But the fun begins next. Few people know that in 1979 another photograph of a Face on Mars was discovered. The photo was taken 35 days later, after frame 35A72.

The photograph numbered 70A13 was incorrectly registered and placed in another folder, so it didn’t get around to it right away... An interesting picture emerges. We have two photographs taken more than a month apart, from different angles. Since the first photograph is a play of light and shadow, then the second would not show anything like that. However, the photo clearly shows the familiar Face on Mars...

But the official statement had already been made, and the people “swallowed it”, so the photograph remained in its original place - under layers of archival dust. But I'm exaggerating this. In fact, there were a great many who disagreed with this point of view. Take, for example, the work carried out by Mark Carlotto (a highly qualified specialist from the Analytic Sciences corporation, professionally engaged in image cleaning and restoration), confirmed the extreme anomalousness and unnaturalness of not only the “Martian face”, but also many other objects of Cydonia... Thanks to this work, the ranks of supporters of the official versions have noticeably thinned out.]]>The next move was up to NASA management, and it didn’t take long to wait. In 1985, the then-famous scientist Carl Sagan published a photo allegedly given to him by the company's management in the Parade magazine. In the photo, the Face on Mars really appears as an unremarkable accumulation of rocks and hills... But the deception was quickly discovered. It has been proven that the photo is simply the result of working with the original using special programs.

People don't like being deceived - it's extremely unpleasant. In 1996, the Mars Global Surveyor station was sent to Mars. The public insisted that the Sidonia area be re-photographed. On April 5, 1998, the station photographed a region of the Martian surface that was so interesting to everyone. On April 6 (!!!) new photographs of the “face” were already published on the Internet. High-resolution photographs clearly show that there is actually no “Martian face”!

This was an absolute victory for supporters of the official explanation of the “Martian phenomenon”... But times are changing and many of us no longer believe anything and check everything. The fact that the photo was faked was proven almost immediately. NASA management had no choice but to admit this fact... Since 2000, a huge number of photographs of the Martian surface have been published. Including the Sidonia region.
Face on Mars - photo taken from here.

Looking at these photographs, there is no doubt about the artificial origin of most Martian objects. But why did it take so long to deceive people? Why all this work on deliberate distortion and manipulation of facts? And why is all this being revealed now? Who knows what else has been discovered on the “Red Planet” since the launch of the Mars Global Surveyor station, perhaps the above-mentioned “face” in comparison with this one will really seem like a play of light and shadow...

• Hypotheses of the artificial origin of the Moon or an alien ship above our heads // 4th December 2011 // 1
• Traces of nuclear war on Earth and mysteries of the past. Against whom was nuclear war waged in ancient times // 2nd November 2011 // 7
• Menu for a raw foodist (what raw foodists eat). Part 1 // 26th September 2011 // 14
• Science will answer whether there is life after death, is it the beginning or the end // 5th September 2011 // 7
• Experiments with plants that showed that plants feel and even communicate with their counterparts on other planets // 24th June 2011 // 6

Share with friends: Introducing to the attention of readers Vadim Chernobrov's research about mysterious structures discovered in photographs of the Martian surface, we accompany his article with an unusual continuation. There are rumors abroad about the similarity of the face of the Martian “Sphinx” with the image of a human face on the famous Shroud of Turin. By publishing Gennady Lisov’s detailed material about this Christian shrine, we invite our readers to think for themselves about the similarities and their possible reasons...
In 1979, the disappointment and despondency inspired by the lifeless Martian landscapes among the American operators at the Mission Control Center was so great that they, with almost complete indifference, framed a photograph with a woman’s face received from the Viking. So what? I still remembered the example with “channels”, I had a vision of straight lines on the red planet, and now I saw a woman... apparently due to fatigue.
Subsequently, the “optical illusion image” was bought by a West German programmer, who entered its parameters into the computer in order to somehow bring the image closer, to look at it not from an orbital height of hundreds of kilometers, but from only one and a half kilometers. When the computer printed the result, he... was stunned - the optical illusion completely disappeared, a woman was really looking at him! (There were skeptics who believed, as in the case of Leonardo’s “La Gioconda,” that the face was precisely a man’s.) For its unblinking gaze directed to the sky and for its characteristic “ancient Egyptian hairstyle,” this statue received the nickname “Martian Sphinx.”
The head of the Viking program, K. Snyder, the same one who leaked the valuable photograph, did not hide his irritation, stated that “the discovered image is just rock formations that have taken on bizarre shapes as a result of the play of light and shadows.” Soviet academician Sagdeev warmly supported this idea, saying that there will be no new self-deception, such as happened with the channels. We also studied photographs at the Institute of Geochemistry and Analytical Chemistry named after. Vernadsky. According to the candidate of geographical sciences R. Kuzmin, “it’s all about oblique lighting: the light of the low-lying Sun casts shadows from ordinary tubercles, and as for the nostrils and the necklace on the face, these are ordinary interference that arose during the transmission of the image to Earth!”
Indeed, according to the laws of probability theory, the insidious play of light and shadow can suddenly create any image, one on the entire planet, right down to the inscription: “Hello, earthlings.” But if this is not a real image, then you just need to change the direction of the lighting and the whole effect will immediately disappear. But how can this be done on Mars, since the Viking spacecraft have long served their purpose and will no longer be able to photograph this area again under different lighting? However, we must pay tribute to the aforementioned Snyder, NASA workers rummaged through thousands of photographs and found another, previously rejected image, taken on a different orbit and, therefore, at a different time. Although the Sphinx was barely visible, it nevertheless did not disappear!
Using a couple of images, American specialists began computer construction of a stereo image. For some reason, the nostrils, necklace, and other points that were considered interference did not disappear in the new image, but the computer confidently drew the pupils of the eyes and even the teeth in the slightly open mouth.
It was still very difficult for us to compete with America in the field of computer graphics, but the solution found by Samara scientist Vladimir Tyurin-Avinsky was liked for its simplicity and clarity even overseas. Thanks to working with a plasticine copy of the sphinx, he achieved just such a shape in which the effect of resemblance to a human face did not disappear in any lighting.
Now it has become possible to estimate the approximate size of the giant. The length from the chin to the hair is 1.5 km, the width is 1.3 km, the height from the desert surface to the tip of the nose is 0.5 km! As you understand, it is simply impossible to find anything like this on Earth. “No,” the skeptics said again, “only a very powerful civilization can build such a giant, but it is not on Mars, and if it were, then why would it need a statue that can only be seen from space?” And the Sphinx again became a coincidence, only now not of light and shadow, but as a result of the weathering of rocks. With a certain degree of stretch, one could agree with such a statement if this were... an isolated case.




The first panoramic view of the Martian landscape, taken by the Viking station in the second half of the Martian day. The horizon line is removed by 3 km. Viewing angle 300 degrees. In the square is a section of the panorama taken with high magnification.
The structures, located 7 kilometers from the sphinx, were noticed a little later. Structures is an understatement; Tyurin-Avinsky counted as many as 11 pyramids in this place - an entire city! About 10 years have passed since his research; computer technology has come a long way during this time, so what entire institutes once worked on has become possible for just one programmer. Alexander Palachev, to whom I had to turn with this request, very quickly wrote a program, and... now one of the most powerful computers today shows a three-dimensional image of the Acidalian plain on Mars.

The Martians captured the North Pole with its ice cap on October 12, 1972. The diameter of the cap is 1000 km. Its topography and curved contours are created by protruding, slightly concave slabs of ice. Each slab consists of 20-40 layers, each about a kilometer thick.
The most daring forecasts were confirmed. Moreover, instead of 11 pyramids and buildings, 25 (5 large, 20 small) appear on the diagram, roads and a strange round area appear. The roads are clearly not laid out randomly, two of them approach the pyramids, and three immediately converge to the circle in the center of the city. The dimensions here are amazing: the largest central pyramid is almost ten times (!) larger than the famous Pyramid of Cheops in Egypt. If the pyramids are at least somehow close and understandable to us, then we can argue endlessly about the purpose of a circle with a diameter of a kilometer: a cosmodrome, a training ground, a laboratory like an accelerator, the central square of the city?.. Judging by the abundance of suitable roads, the last option is the most preferable. Again, based on the fact that two routes were laid to the pyramids, we can say that they were not used or were used not only as religious buildings and tombs (the roads to the Egyptian tomb pyramids have long been overgrown).
...Unnoticed, we began to use past tense verbs. Indeed, there is no doubt that the city was built a very long time ago and is currently uninhabited. Judge for yourself: large meteorites do not fall on the surface of planets very often, but in the photographs of the city you can see at least 2 direct hits of such meteorites on the left large pyramid and at the crossroads. Neither one nor the other was restored, probably because there was no one left to restore it! Of course, there is no one. If earlier on Mars there was water, air, rivers flowed (the dry beds of which were photographed by our ships) and, as we are now convinced, there was life, then in our time there are no conditions for human life on Mars: extremely rarefied (only 0.6% of terrestrial) atmosphere of carbon dioxide, lack of water, temperature from -139 to +22 degrees Celsius! No, people had to die here or leave this world (of course, to Earth, nowhere closer). People also had the option to use their medical technologies and buy Bisoprolol at a pharmacy, but for some reason they missed this moment and flew to Earth. I hope it’s also clear why the word “people” was mentioned in the conversation about the Martians? Their sphinx has a very human face.

Olympic Volcano is the largest volcano in the Solar System - 500 km across, 29 km high, with a caldera diameter of 70 km. For comparison: the largest volcanic system on Earth - Hawaiian - has a diameter at the ocean floor of about 200 km and a height of 9 km.
Mars lost its atmosphere for a very long time, slowly turning from a planet with rivers and seas into a planet with cold deserts. Does this mean that the city died out millions of years ago? No! We do not know what material the Sphinx and the pyramids were built from, and therefore we cannot say that in such a long time they would have collapsed; but we know for sure that in 5-10 thousand years, due to frequent dust storms, only memories could remain from the roads. Another argument in favor of the comparative youth of the city: some roads were clearly built to bypass meteorite craters! This means that people built roads even when meteorites were not retained by the rarefied atmosphere, that is, Martian people worked in an extremely rarefied atmosphere, such as we have at an altitude of up to 20-40 km. You can not only work in such an atmosphere, but you can just be there for a matter of seconds! It turns out that the Martians worked in spacesuits with the help of robots? Or maybe, more simply, they made very strong roads on high ground, so that they would not be covered with sand?
In any case, all this looks like science fiction, which is why this article has been waiting in the wings for several years. Our spacecraft had to clarify the data about the sphinx and the city; this task was assigned to all ships in recent years. But... communication with the two Phobos disappeared, and in August 1993 the American Mars Observer disappeared in Martian orbit. This planet is strange, we sent 10 spacecraft there, not one of them completed the program to the end, only two made it to Mars (the same number for the Americans), the majority completely disappeared into the vast expanses. And the point here is not the poor quality of the technology: twice as many ships flew to Venus, whose atmosphere is much less hospitable, for the most part successfully (14 landed in our country, 1 in the USA).
It is unlikely that there is a missile defense system near Mars, but such sad statistics should alert anyone. The next attempt to unravel the mystery of Mars will be made by the Russian spacecraft in 1997. We will assume that he (if he breaks through the “barrage”) will be able to clarify a lot, which is why there is no point in summing up the story about the Martians just yet.


The city of Kydonia on Mars. Bird's eye view of the city from the side of the destroyed pyramids (that is, from the east) and a drawing by Vadim Chernobrov.
Just one thought does not come out of my head. Several thousand years ago, people lived on the red planet, built huge structures, erected the large city of Kydonia next to the picturesque Table Mountains of Kydonia on the beautiful Acidalia Plain, and then the city died along with the planet... whether due to an artificially caused environmental disaster, or because for the atomic bombing (did a meteorite blow one of the pyramids to pieces?), or maybe the death of Mars was caused by completely natural reasons, the Martians only accelerated the course of events and were unable to save the situation? Will we find out what happened to the inhabitants of Cydonia? They left the city just when civilization began to develop on Earth; did they really all fly to Earth and give a powerful impetus to the development of earthlings (so that thousands of years later they would once again approach the threat of environmental catastrophe)? I would like to believe that they were all saved. But why then is the face of the Martian sphinx so sad? Both Russian and American computers noticed and identified a small (only 50 meters) “point” on the right cheek. A tear!
For whom is the Martian woman crying, whose gaze is fixed on the sky of the northern hemisphere?

And here we see that this is really the top of the plateau. This formation in the Cydonia region on Mars is most likely a lava dome, which is a separate hill or, in other words, a hill. Compare this image with the original 1976 Viking orbiter photo (below), which created an incredible furor, including a whole culture of new theories, books, talk shows and even feature-length documentaries. Alas, it's just a hill.

The face on Mars is already a well-known landform in the Cydonia region of Mars. (Photo: NASA/JPL/University of Arizona)

Original image of “Faces on Mars”, Viking orbiter 1976. (Photo: NASA)

Viking had lower spatial resolution than HiRISE and a different lighting geometry, resulting in a face-like structure. Indeed, she looks like the face in this photo. But things aren't always what they seem, especially in low resolution and poor lighting. These new, better images from the Mars Orbiter Camera aboard the Mars Global Surveyor (which photographed the Cydonia region in 1998 and 2001) and now HiRISE - which is revealing incredible detail 300km below the surface - certainly put all doubt to rest. Unfortunately, even this is not able to convince some people.

Viking 1 photo from 1976, Mars Global Surveyor (MGS) photo from 1998 and MGS photo from 2001. (Photo: NASA)

This is a 3D image of a Face on Mars, created from a MOC camera image, viewed from the side.

(Photo : NASA/Jim Garvin (NASA) and Jim Frawley (Herring Bay Geophysics)).

Black and white image from HiRISE camera.

Photo HiRISE 2007 of the year. (Photo : NASA /JPL/ University of Arizona).

And this is one of the best pictures. Jim Garvin, senior scientist in the SED division of the Space Flight Center. R. Goddard, NASA, has created a supposed "face" walking route map with a funny description. “The length of the route is approximately 5.5 km in one direction, the ascent height is about 300 meters. At the beginning of the route the slopes are gentle, but in the middle of the route there are very steep sections. Take plenty of water and oxygen with you.”

Proposed walking route map for the elevation formerly known as the Face on Mars. (Photo: NASA/Jim Garvin)

If you're still in doubt, watch a video created from real 'face' images taken by ESA's Mars Express spacecraft and take a full tour around the hill.

It is unlikely that, when he first crossed the threshold of a university in Minnesota, a bespectacled young man named Paul Anderson could have thought that in a few years his books would be very popular. He chose the profession of physicist and truly became an outstanding physicist; his science fiction, historical and detective works brought him wide fame.
The fantastic story “To Kill a Martian” is directed against those who sow discord between peoples and who justify colonial oppression.

The night whisper brought an alarming message. Born many miles away, it flew across the desert on the wings of the wind. Bushes rustled about him, dilapidated lichens and dwarf trees rustled. Nimble animals, huddling under snags, in caves, in shady dunes, passed it on to each other. Not put into words, echoing in vague waves of horror in the brain of the Kriega warrior, a warning came: the man had gone hunting!

A sudden gust of wind made Kriga shudder. All around, over the hills that smelled bitterly of iron, in a whirlpool of sparkling constellations, endless night stretched across thousands and thousands of light years. Kriga plunged his trembling nerve endings into it, tuning into the wave of bushes, wind, nimble rodents hiding in holes under his feet, ready to perceive the voice of the night.

Alone, all alone. Not a single Martian for hundreds of miles around. Only wild animals, trembling bushes and the thin sad voice of the wind.

A silent death cry rushed through the thickets of thorns, from plant to plant, echoing in the nerves of the animals, clenched with fear. Somewhere nearby, living beings writhed, shriveled and charred in the sparkling stream of death that rained down on them from the rocket.

Kriga leaned against a high wind-cut cliff. His eyes, frozen with fear, hatred and slowly growing determination, glowed in the darkness like two yellow moons. He noted grimly that the death-wreaking rocket had made a full circle, about ten miles in diameter. And he found himself in a giant trap, inside this circle. And soon the hunter will appear...

Kriga raised his eyes to the indifferent light of the stars, and a spasm ran through his body. Then he sat down comfortably and began to think.

It all started a few days ago, in the spacious office of a Wisby merchant.
“I came to Mars,” said Riordan, “to shoot the eagle owl.”

Even in such godforsaken holes as Port Armstrong, the name of Riorden was well known. The heir to millions of a transport company, which, thanks to his vigorous activity, turned into a real monster that entangled the entire Solar region with its tentacles, he was perhaps better known as a great hunter. From the fire-breathing dragons of Mercury to the giant lizards inhabiting the eternal ice of Pluto, all game worth its salt experienced the devastating power of his gun. Except, of course, the Martian. Hunting for this “game” has long been prohibited.

He casually stretched out in a chair - a tall and muscular man, still a relatively young man. In his presence, the office seemed smaller, and the power hidden in it, as well as the cold gaze of his light greenish eyes, overwhelmed the merchant.

But it’s illegal, you know,” Wisby said. - You will be given twenty years if caught.

Uh! The Earth Consul is located in Ares, on the other side of the planet. If we keep everything quiet, who will know? - Paradise Order took a sip from his glass. “In a couple of years, they will plug up all the holes so much that hunting will become truly impossible.” This is the last chance for a person to catch an eagle owl. That's why I'm here.

Wisby hesitated, looking out the window in confusion. Port Armstrong was a collection of hermetic buildings connected by tunnels. It grew straight out of the red desert, stretching in all directions to the unusually close horizon. An earthling in a pressure suit with a transparent helmet walked down the street, several Martians leaned idly against the wall. And there is nothing else alive - silent mortal boredom reigning under the dim, shriveled sun. Life on Mars is not very pleasant for an earthling.

I hope you haven’t become infected, like everyone else on Earth, with an idiotic love for these “eagle owls”? - Riorden asked contemptuously.
“Oh no,” said Wisby. “Here, in the area of ​​my fort, they know their place.” But times are changing. It's nothing you can do.
“Yes, there was a time when they were just slaves,” Riordan said. “Now these slobbering liberals on Earth are demanding that they be given the right to vote.”
He snorted contemptuously.
“Yes, times change,” Wisby repeated softly. - When the first people landed on Mars a hundred years ago, the difficulties of exploring an alien planet embittered them. The settlers quickly became suspicious and violent. It’s impossible otherwise - otherwise they wouldn’t survive. They could not reckon with the Martians, perceive them otherwise as intelligent animals. In addition, the inhabitants of Mars made excellent slaves. After all, they require so little food, heat and oxygen. They are so hardy that they can survive without air for almost a quarter of an hour. And hunting for a wild Martian... It was a real sport! Of course - intelligent game, which often managed to elude the hunter, and sometimes even finish him off.

I know, I know,” Riordan said. “That’s why I want to shoot at least one.” What's the point if the game has no chance of escape?
“But everything is different now,” Wisby said. - The positions of the earthlings have become sufficiently strengthened. In addition, liberals made their way to power on Earth. Naturally, one of the first reforms was the abolition of slavery for the Martians.
Riordan swore. The legally mandated return of the Martians who worked on space lines cost him a pretty penny.
“I don’t have time for your philosophizing,” he said. “If you can arrange a hunt for a Martian, okay. I’m ready to thank you.”
- In what specific size? - Wisby asked.
After haggling properly, they shook hands. Riorden had a small rocket and hunting equipment, and Wisby had to get radioactive materials, a falcon and a hound.
- Well, where can I get a Martian? - Riorden asked. He pointed a finger outside the window. “Maybe we should catch one of them and release it in the desert?”
Now it was Wisby's turn to grin contemptuously.
- One of them? Ha ha! City slackers! A city dweller from Earth would have been able to stand up for himself better.

The Martians were rather unsightly in appearance. No more than four feet tall, they walked on skinny, clawed legs. Their bony four-fingered hands looked frail. The Martian's chest is wide, but his waist is ridiculously thin. It looked like it could be broken in half. The inhabitants of Mars were viviparous and warm-blooded creatures. They fed their young with milk, but their skin was covered with gray feathers. Their round heads with a large curved beak, huge amber eyes and ears protruding from the top of their heads, covered with feathers, earned them the nickname “eagle owl”. They wore only wide belts with large pockets, replacing a loincloth, and a sheath on their side. Even the most liberal-minded earthlings did not dare to grant them the right to use modern tools and weapons. The memory still retained many bloody feuds.

The Martians have always been good fighters,” Riordan said. “In the old days they massacred many human settlements.
“Former Martians, yes,” agreed Wisby, “but not these.” They are just stupid hard workers, as dependent on our civilization as we ourselves are. What you need is a real wild old-timer, and I know where to find one. - He spread a map on the table. “Here, in the Hrafnin Mountains, about a hundred miles from here.” Martians live a long time, two hundred years, and this guy Krieg has been muddying the waters in the area since the time of the first settlements. He even commanded several Martian raids on earthling forts, and since the conclusion of peace and a general amnesty he has been living completely alone in an ancient ruined tower. A real old warrior who hates earthlings with all his might. From time to time he comes here to sell skins or a few pieces of gold, so I know a thing or two about him.

Whisby's eyes sparkled.
“By shooting that arrogant bastard, you'll be doing us all a big favor.” He walks around looking as if everything here belongs to him. Believe me, he will “work off” your money.
Riorden nodded with satisfaction.

Things were bad. The man brought with him a hunting bird and a dog. Without them, Kriga could have gotten lost in a labyrinth of caves, canyons and thorny thickets. But the “hound” will easily find his traces, and the “falcon” will constantly watch from above.

To top it all off, the man landed a rocket very close to the Krigi tower. All his weapons were left there. He was cut off, unarmed and alone, save for what little support the desert population could give him. If only we could get to the tower... For now we just have to try to survive.

He sat in the cave, peering across the parched expanse of sand and bush, through miles of thin atmosphere, into the distance where the silver metal of the rocket gleamed. The man seemed like a small speck in this vast, bare expanse, a lonely insect, crushed by the bulk of the dark blue sky.

The earthling was also alone, but he had a gun capable of bringing death to any creature, and predatory merciless creatures, and in the rocket, probably, a radio transmitter through which he could call his friends. And both - hunter and prey - are imprisoned inside a ring of fire, an enchanted circle that Kriega could not cross under pain of death, much more terrible than death from a human bullet...

But is there a worse death than being shot by this monster, having your body taken away in effigy to an alien planet for every fool to stare at and mock? The pride of the old and brave people inexorably rose in Krieg like a heavy, bitter wave. After all, he demanded so little from life... Solitude in his tower... Society of his own kind during the Season of Meetings, when you can take part in a solemn ancient ceremony, and then have reckless fun and, perhaps, meet a girl. She will give birth to children for him, and they will raise them together... The opportunity to occasionally visit the settlement of earthlings and buy metal tools and wine - the only valuable things that man brought to Mars... Yes, a little silence to sit quietly and amuse yourself with vague dreams about the times when the Martian tribe will rise from slavery and take an equal position in the face of the Universe... And that’s the end of everything. Now this too will be taken away from him.

He muttered a curse to the earthlings and again went to work with concentration, hastening to sharpen the tip of the spear in order to have at least this pitiful help in the future struggle. The bush rustled dryly, giving an alarm signal, the pitiful invisible creatures squealed in fear. The desert screamed about the approach of a monster. But he could wait a little longer before starting to escape.

Riordan dispersed the radioactive isotope in a ten-mile ring around the old tower. He did this at night, in case there was a patrol ship nearby.

It is not safe to go near the ring for three weeks. So there is enough time. After all, the Martian is imprisoned in such a small area.

Riordan was sure that he would not even try to break out of this circle. The “eagle owls” understood well what radioactivity was even in those years when they fought with earthlings. No, Kriga will try to hide, and maybe even dare to fight. But most likely he will be driven into a corner.

Still, there was no point in taking risks. So Riordan turned on the automatic alarm system of the radio transmitter. If he doesn't return to the ship in time and turn it off, in two weeks the transmitter will signal Wisby and he will be rescued.

He checked the equipment. He was wearing a pressure suit equipped with a small pump, which received power via an energy beam from the ship and served to pump air into the suit. The same installation filtered moisture from his breath, allowing him to take almost no water with him. Therefore, supplies for several days were not too heavy, especially in the conditions of the weak gravity of Mars. Only a .45-caliber shotgun, adapted for shooting in the Martian atmosphere and powerful enough to hunt big game, a compass, binoculars and a sleeping bag. Everything is unusually light, and nothing superfluous.

As a last resort, his suit was equipped with a small reservoir of suspension. By turning the tap, he could release it into the respiratory system. At this concentration, the gas, of course, did not lead to complete suspended animation, but it paralyzed the motor nerves so much and slowed down the overall metabolism that a person could survive for several weeks on one breath of air. It was widely used in surgery and saved the lives of many interplanetary explorers whose oxygen systems failed.

Riorden exited the rocket and locked the entrance gate. The possibility that the "owl" would open it if he managed to deceive the hunter and get to the ship was excluded. To break this constipation you would need tordenite.
He whistled to his assistants. These local animals were domesticated long ago by Martians and then by humans. The “hound” looked like a skinny wolf, only with a wider chest and feathers instead of fur. She kept the trail no worse than an earthly shepherd dog. The Falcon bore even less resemblance to its earthly prototype. It was a bird of prey, but in the local thin atmosphere it took wings six feet in span to lift its pitiful body into the air. Riorden was pleased with how they were trained.

The dog purred. The low, trembling sound would have been completely inaudible if the suit had not been equipped with a microphone and amplifier. The “hound” began to whine, sniffing the air, and the “falcon” soared into the sky.

Riorden did not carefully examine the tower. It has long been turned into ruins, ugly and unusual for the human eye, perched askew on the top of a rusty hill. Remains of the former Martian civilization... The man grinned contemptuously.

The dog barked. A dark, lonely sound rolled through the still, icy air, reverberating off boulders and rocks, slowly dying in the silence. But it was the call of a battle horn, an arrogant challenge to an aged world: “Move aside! Get out of my way! The conqueror is coming!

Suddenly the dog rushed and barked: he took the trail. Riorden walked behind, freely and widely, as one walks in conditions of weak gravity. His eyes are bright

Kriga convulsively, with a sob filling his lungs. He was breathing heavily and rapidly, his legs were filled with lead and went limp, and the beating of his heart shook his whole body.

But he ran, and behind him a threatening roar grew. Heavy footsteps were heard getting closer. Jumping from stone to stone, sliding and sliding on his back into clay ravines, making his way between trees, Kriga fled from the hunter.

For the past 24 hours, the dog had been following him on his heels, and the “falcon” was hovering overhead. Like a maddened jerboa, he rushed away from death, barking behind him. Kriga never thought that a person could move so quickly and tirelessly.

The desert fought with him. Plants, the mysterious, blind life of which no earthling can understand, were on his side. Their thorny branches moved apart, giving him way, and closed again, tearing off the sides of the “hound” and slowing down its run. But they could not stop the ruthless dog. Again and again he escaped from their helplessly clinging clutches and rushed along the trail.

The man trailed a full mile behind, but showed no signs of fatigue. But Kriga still ran. He had to get to the edge of the cliff before the hunter had time to catch him in the crosshairs. Must, must! And the dog growled behind him.

The Martian flew up to the crest of the hill. Ahead, the slope dropped steeply into a deep canyon—five hundred feet of jagged rocks that fell into a wind-breathing abyss. And above them is the blinding shine of the setting sun. He paused for a moment, a dark silhouette against the blazing sky - an excellent target if the person managed to get into the line of fire - and went over the edge.

He hoped that the “hound” would rush after him, but it stopped in time at the very edge. Kriga climbed down the side of the cliff, clinging to the slightest crevice, freezing as the rock, corroded by centuries, crumbled under his hand. The “Falcon” hovered overhead, trying to peck or cling with its claws, and beckoned its owner in a shrill voice. Kriga was defenseless: after all, he could not tear his hands away, risking breaking into pieces. Although...

Kriga slid down the slope of the gorge into the gray-green thicket of creeping bushes, and his whole being appealed to the ancient laws of the symbiosis of Martian life. The Falcon rushed at him again, but Kriega lay motionless, petrified, as if dead, until the bird, with a triumphant cry, landed on his shoulder, preparing to peck out his eyes.

And then the thorny vines began to stir. There was little strength in them, but the spikes had already sunk into the bird’s body, and it was impossible to escape from them. While the bushes were tearing the “falcon” apart, Kriga continued to descend down to the bottom of the canyon.

Riordan's huge figure loomed over the edge, clearly visible against the darkening sky. He fired once, twice. The bullets viciously dug into the rocks near the Martian’s body, but shadows moved in from the depths, and Kriga was saved. Then the man turned on his megaphone, and a monstrous voice fell into the deepening night, rolling with thunder, the likes of which Mars had not heard for millennia:
- One zero in your favor! But that is not all! I'll get to you!
The sun slipped below the horizon, and night fell over Mars like a large dark blanket. Through the darkness Krieg heard the laughter of an earthling. The rocks trembled from this laughter.

Riorden was tired from the long race, and the oxygen supply to the suit clearly did not correspond to the effort expended. He wanted to smoke and eat something hot, but both were impossible. Well, he will appreciate the blessings of life even more when he returns home - with the skin of a Martian.

Grinning, the hunter set up camp. This Martian baby is a worthwhile catch, there was no doubt about it. Toughie! He had already survived two days on this ten-mile patch, and besides, he killed a “falcon”. But Riorden was already close enough to him. The dog will easily find him: after all, there are no rivers or streams on Mars to confuse his tracks.

He lay looking into the bottomless starry night. It's about to get cold, hellishly cold, but the sleeping bag is good enough to keep him warm using the solar energy accumulated during the day. The Hound is buried nearby in the sand, but it will immediately raise the alarm if a Martian decides to snoop around the camp.

As he fell asleep, Riorden remembered past hunts. Yes, he has seen a lot. But this hunt was the loneliest, the most unusual and, perhaps, the most dangerous of all, and therefore the best. Riordan bore no ill will towards the Martian. He respected the boy's courage, just as he respected the courage of the other animals he hunted.

Riordan woke up in the short gray twilight, made a quick breakfast and whistled for the dog. His nostrils flared with excitement, his whole body, drunk with impatience, sang joyfully. Today... Maybe today...

He had to go down into the canyon by a long detour, and the dog rushed around for an hour before he picked up the trail. Then a loud bark was heard again, and the pursuit resumed - this time more slowly, since the path was uneven and flinty.

The sun was already high when they reached the dry river bed. Pale, cold light flooded needle-sharp ledges, gorges painted in fantastic colors, clay slopes, sand, and debris from ancient geological eras. There was a deep, tense silence, as if expecting something.

Suddenly the thorn bushes parted under our feet. With a pitiful howl, the dog slid along the wall of the opened pit. With the speed of a tiger, Riorden rushed forward and, falling, barely managed to grab the dog’s tail with his hand. He miraculously stayed on the edge of the pit. Grasping the bush that was clinging to his helmet with his free hand, he pulled the dog to the surface.

Trembling, he looked into the trap. It was well made - almost 12 feet deep, with narrow vertical walls, as far as the sand would allow, skillfully covered with bushes. Three ominous spears with flint tips were stuck into the bottom of the pit. If he had been even a little slower, the dog would have died, and maybe he himself.

The man bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and looked around. The eagle owl probably caught the trap all night. So he can't be far away... and he must be desperately tired.

As if in response to his thoughts, a stone fell from a nearby cliff. It was huge, but on Mars falling objects have only half the acceleration on Earth. Riorden pulled aside, and a monstrous piece of debris crashed onto the place where he had just been lying.
- Come on out! - he yelled, rushing to the rock.
For a moment, a gray figure ghostly appeared on the edge of the cliff and launched a spear at him. Riordan fired and the figure disappeared. The spear bounced off the thick material of his suit, and he began to climb the narrow ledge to the top of the cliff.

The Martian was nowhere to be seen, but a faint reddish path led into the hilly desert.
- I hurt you, I swear to God!

Kriga lay in the shadow of a large rock and trembled from exhaustion. Beyond the shadow, the sunlight danced in a blinding, unbearable dance. Hot and cruel, as blinding and bright as the metal of the conquerors, it seemed to demand sacrificial blood.

Kriga made the mistake of wasting precious hours on this trap. It didn't work, and he should have known it wouldn't. And now he is hungry, thirst like a wild beast bites into his throat, and the chase is getting closer and closer.

They have almost caught up with him. They hounded him all day, he was never able to break away more than half an hour of the journey. No rest, a continuous devilish race through the wild desert, and now he was waiting for battle, shackled with a cast-iron weight of exhaustion.

The wound in my side was burning. It was not deep, but it cost him a lot of blood and deprived him of those short minutes of sleep that he might have been able to snatch.
For a moment, the Krieg warrior disappeared. All that was left was a lonely, frightened child, crying in the silence of the desert.

Can't they leave me alone!
The low, dusty green bush rustled. A field mouse squeaked somewhere in the hollow. They are already close.

Kriga wearily climbed to the top of the rock and hid. He made his way here in a roundabout way, and they must pass by.

From his place, he saw the tower - low yellowish ruins, torn by the winds of millennia. The Martian only had enough time to sneak inside and grab a bow, a couple of arrows and an ax. Pathetic weapon. The arrows will not pierce the suit of an earthling: is it possible for the short and weak hands of a Martian to stretch the bow wide enough? And an axe, even an iron one, is also not of much use. And that was all he had, he and his little allies, the inhabitants of the desert, who fought with him for the right to live on their own.

OK. He adjusted the arrow to the string and hid in the uncertain, unsteady light of the sun, waiting.

The dog appeared first, howling and barking. Kriga drew his bow as fast as he could. But first let the person come closer...

And here he is, running with a gun in his hand, jumping over the fragments of rocks. His searching, restless eyes glow with a greenish fire. He is ready to deliver the killing blow. Kriga turned slowly. The dog had already passed the rock, and the earthling was just below him.

The arrow sang. With wild delight, Kriega watched as it pierced the dog, as it clumsily jumped and thrashed, rolling on the ground, howling and trying to grab the arrow lodged in its body. Like gray lightning, the Martian rushed down from the cliff towards the man. If only his ax could pierce that helmet...

He hit the hunter and they both rolled. With wild hatred, the Martian chopped with an axe, but it only slid along the smooth plastic. Riordan howled and delivered a crushing punch. Hellish pain pierced Kriga's body, and he rolled back. Riorden managed to shoot, but missed. Kriga turned and started to run. Kneeling down, the man began to take aim at the gray figure climbing the neighboring slope. A small sand snake slid down his leg and wrapped itself around his wrist. Her strength was just enough to move the gun away from the target. The bullet whistled right next to Kriega's ear, and he disappeared into the crevice.

The Martian's sixth sense caught the snake's death throes. He could almost see the man disgustedly tearing it from his hand, throwing it to the ground and mercilessly trampling it with his forged boots. A little later, a dull rumble was heard, echoing in the hills. This man brought explosives and blew up his tower.

The warrior of Krieg was left without a bow and an ax. Now he is completely defenseless. There is not even a refuge where you can retreat to give the last battle. And man, even without his creatures, will pursue him, albeit more slowly, but just as relentlessly as before.

Kriga fell onto a pile of stones. Dry sobs shook his entire thin body, and the sunset wind cried along with him.

Finally he raised his head and looked into the boundless red-yellow distance where the sun was setting. Somewhere nearby, a jerboa softly squeaked, creating a quiet echo in the low wind-worn rocks, and the bushes rustled, whispering with invisible neighbors in an ancient wordless language. The entire planet - the desert with its sands, the light breeze flowing under the high cold stars, the fresh wide space, full of silence, loneliness and a fate so alien to man, were holding a quiet conversation with Kriga.

It cannot be said that Kriega hated his pursuer, but all the inexorability of Mars was in him. He fought for this life, ancient, primitive, full of dreams incomprehensible to man, a battle against everything alien, striving to desecrate this eternal peace. His cruelty was as old and inexorable as life itself, and every battle won or lost meant much, even if no one knew about it.

“You are not alone,” whispered the desert. - You are fighting for all of Mars, and we are with you.

Something flashed in the darkness, a small warm body ran along his rune - a tiny, feathered creature like a mouse, of which there are many huddled in the Martian sands, rejoicing in their insignificant fleeting life. But this was a piece of his world, and there was no pity in Mars’ voice.

Tenderness filled Kriga's heart, and he whispered in a language that was not a language:
-Will you do this for us? Will you do it, brother?

Riordan is too tired to sleep well. He tossed and turned for a long time, thinking, unable to sleep. For a lonely person, lost in the Martian hills, this is not the best vacation.

So that means the dog died too. Well, let it be: the “owl” still can’t escape. And yet this incident made him feel the boundlessness, the hoary antiquity of the desert and his own loneliness.

Whispers came from all sides. The bushes crackled, something howled in the darkness, the wind hummed wildly and gloomily, sweeping over the rocks in the uncertain light of the stars. It seemed that they all had their own voice, that this whole world growled dully in the night, threatening him. A vague thought flashed through his head. Will man ever conquer this incomprehensible world? Had he finally stumbled upon something bigger than himself?

No, that's nonsense. Mars is old, decrepit and barren, he slowly dies, immersed in his dreams. The heavy tread of a man, the thunder of his voice, the roar of rockets storming the sky wake him up, but for a new destiny, inseparable from the human. When Ares raised his spears over the hills of Syrt (Syrt is a region of Mars named by astronomer G. Schiaparelli), where were they, the ancient Martian gods?

Suddenly there was a rustling sound. The man instantly woke up from a restless sleep and saw a tiny animal creeping towards him. He reached for the gun, which lay next to the sleeping bag, but thought better of it and laughed hoarsely. Common sand mouse. And he thought once again that the Martian would not be able to take him by surprise. But he did not laugh for long: the sound of his own laughter filled his helmet with an unpleasant dull rumble.

With the piercing cold dawn the man was on his feet. He already wanted to end this hunt. He was dirty and unshaven, he was tired of being content with the pitiful portions of air entering the spacesuit, his whole body was numb and ached from exhaustion. Without the dog, the pursuit would be slower, but I didn’t want to go back to Port Armstrong for another one. No, the devil take this Martian, he will still get to his skin!

Noon found Riorden on a hill among a jumble of rocks, the sharp ledges of which, like giant teeth, bared their teeth into the sky. He continued walking, absolutely sure that he would soon wear down his victim.

The tracks were clear and clearly fresh. He tensed up at the thought that the Martian was now not far away.

Even too clear traces! Is he being lured into a new trap? Riorden adjusted his grip on the gun and began to move forward more carefully. But no, would there be enough time...

The man climbed the rocky ridge and looked around the gloomy fantastic landscape. A dark strip was visible near the horizon - the border of the radioactive barrier. The Martian could not go far, and if he turned and hid, then Riorden would easily detect him.

He turned on the megaphone, and his voice boomed in the surrounding silence:
- Hey, owl! I got to you! Better come out and finish it together!
The echo picked up his words, and they rushed among the bare rocks, breaking up and soaring to the heavens with a metallic roar. Come out... come out... come out!..

The Martian seemed to appear straight out of thin air, as if a gray ghost had risen from a pile of stones some 20 feet away. For a moment, Riorden was dumbfounded. Not believing his eyes, he took a convulsive breath of air. Kriga waited, shuddering slightly, as if it really was not a living creature, but a mirage.

Then the man screamed and raised his gun. The Martian continued to stand motionless, like a statue of gray granite, and with acute disappointment, Riordan thought that Kriega had finally accepted his inevitable death.
Well, it was a good hunt.

Goodbye! - Riorden whispered and pulled the trigger.
There was a terrible roar, and the trunk split, like the peel of a rotten banana. The hunter himself was not injured, but while he was recovering from the shock, Kriga had already attacked him.

The Martian was only four feet tall, gaunt and unarmed, but he unleashed a veritable hurricane of blows on the earthling. Wrapping his legs around the man's torso, he began desperately twisting the air hose of the suit.

With a sudden jolt, Riorden fell. Purring like a tiger, he closed his hands around the Martian's thin neck. Kriga beat in vain with his beak. They were rolling around in a cloud of dust. The bush chattered excitedly.

Riorden tried to wring Kriege's neck, but the Martian dodged and grabbed the hose again. In horror, the man heard the hiss of escaping air: Kriega finally managed to tear the hose out of the nest with his beak and claws. The automatic valve immediately stopped the leak, but the connection with the pump was destroyed.

The hunter cursed and squeezed the Martian's neck with all his might. And then he just lay there, clutching his fragile throat, and no amount of Kriga’s subterfuge could loosen his grip. About five minutes later Kriga became quiet. Just in case, Riorden squeezed his neck for a few more minutes, then released him and began hastily running his hands along his back, trying to reach the pump. The air in the suit became hotter and stinkier. He couldn't manage to squeeze the hose back into the socket...

“Unsuitable design,” a vague thought flashed through his head. “But were these spacesuits intended for such battles?”

He looked at the Martian's fragile, motionless body. A light breeze stirred the gray feathers. What a fighter this little guy was! It will be the pride of his hunting collection back home on Earth.

Well, let's see... He unrolled the sleeping bag and carefully spread it out. With the remaining air supply it is impossible to reach the rocket, so you will have to let suspensions into the suit. But first he must climb into his sleeping bag so that the night cold does not turn his blood to ice.

Riorden crawled into the bag, carefully laced himself up and opened the valve of the suspension bottle. It’s terrible boredom to lie motionless for ten long days until Wisby receives a signal and comes to the rescue. But until then he will last. There will be something to remember! In this dry air, the skin of a Martian will be perfectly preserved.

He felt his body go numb, the rhythm of his heart and lungs slow down. But his mind was still awake, and he noted that complete relaxation has its, to put it mildly, unpleasant sides. It doesn't matter, but he won! He killed the most cunning game in the Universe with his own hands.

After a while, Kriga moved and sat up. He felt terrible weakness. Probably a broken rib. It's okay, it can be fixed. The main thing is that he is still alive. The earthling suffocated him for a good ten minutes, but the inhabitant of Mars can withstand without air for almost a quarter of an hour.

Kriega unlaced the sleeping bag and took Riorden's keys. Then he slowly trudged towards the rocket. A few days of training and he will learn to control it. And then he will fly to his fellow tribesmen living in the Syrt region. Now that they have the Earthlings' car, their weapons...

But first we must deal with the most unpleasant thing. Kriega did not hate Riordan, but Mars is a cruel world. He returned, dragged the hunter into the cave and hid him so that not a single rescue party of earthlings could find him.

For a moment he looked into the man's eyes. A silent horror froze in them. Then Kriga spoke slowly, finding the words in English with difficulty:
- For all those you killed, for the fact that you, a stranger, invaded a world where you were not called, in the name of the day when Mars becomes free, I leave you.

Before leaving, he removed several oxygen cylinders from the ship and connected them to the suit - a whole sea of ​​​​air for a creature immersed in suspended animation. It is enough to keep a person alive for at least a thousand years.

Translated from English by Andrey Borodaevsky

Drawings by I. Golitsyn