THE GOLDEN JOURNEY, by A. Keith Borrowdale I HAVE little enough space, alas, to describe in full detail the extent of our preparations for combating the mysterious menace of the Vivores. Much will emerge as my tale proceeds; for the moment, I touch broadly on the general appearance of our “caravan” as it set out across the Martian wastes—as it might have been observed, perhaps, by some alien eye scanning the sandy desert from the distant mountains. All of us (needless to say) wore heavy suits of protective “armor”—heavy, that is to say, upon Earth, although on Mars we hardly noticed the weight—certainly welcomed the warmth of the strange garments against the undoubted chill of the long bright Martian autumn. The suits resembled diving suits, tunic and trousers (for both sexes) in one piece, the material a compound of asbestos and flexible plastic—water-, gas- and fire-proof. The helmets were large transparent globes of unbreakable “kalspex,” a variant on perspex patented by our leader some years before.
