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The Chessboard of Mars and Other Stories by Eando Binder
The Chessboard of Mars – Professor Thode Combs the Entire Ether Spectrum in Search of the Elusive Psycho-wave—and Discovers a World Saturated with Vibrations of Hate!
Book Details
Book Details
The Chessboard of Mars and Other Stories – three stories from Pulp Fiction Master Eando Binder:
The Ring Bonanza (1947) – Honest prospectors like Timken may some day comb relics from Saturn’s rings, but will there be rats like Larsoe?
Teacher From Mars (1941) – The Old Professor From the Crimson Planet Feared Earth’s Savagery— Until Humanity Taught Him a Profound Secret!
The Chessboard of Mars (1937) – Professor Thode Combs the Entire Ether Spectrum in Search of the Elusive Psycho-wave—and Discovers a World Saturated with Vibrations of Hate!
Chapter I – The Great Change
Chapter II – Mass Psychology
Chapter III – The Sphere in Space
Chapter IV – The Voice from the Ether
Chapter V – The Chessboard of Mars
Eando Binder was the pen-name used by brothers, Earl Andrew Binder (1904-1965) and Otto Binder (1911-1974). Binder considered Teacher From Mars to be his (their) best short story.
The Chessboard of Mars and Other Stories has 6 illustrations.

Files:
- ChessboardOfMars.epub
Read Excerpt
Excerpt: Teacher From Mars
THE afternoon Rocket Express train from Chicago came into the station, and I stepped off. It was a warm spring day. The little town of Elkhart, Indiana, sprawled lazily under the golden sunshine. I trudged along quiet, tree-shaded streets toward Caslon Preparatory School for Boys.
Before I had gone far, I was discovered by the children playing here and there. With the dogs, they formed a shrill, raucous procession behind me. Some of the dogs growled, as they might at a wild animal. Housewives looked from their windows and gasped.
So the rumors they had heard were true. The new teacher at Caslon was a Martian!
I suppose I am grotesquely alien to human eyes, extremely tall and incredibly thin. In fact, I am seven feet tall, with what have often been described as broomstick arms and spindly legs. On an otherwise scrawny body, only the Martian chest is filled out, in comparison with Earth people. I was dressed in a cotton kimono that dangled from my narrow shoulders to my bony ankles. Chinese style, I understand.
Thus far I am pseudo-human. For the rest, a Martian is alien, from the Earth viewpoint. Two long tentacles from the back of my shoulders hang to my knees, appendages that have not vanished in Martian evolution like the human tail. The top of my skull is bulging and hairless, except for a fringe of silver-white fur above large conch-shaped ears. Two wide- set owlish eyes, a generous nose and a tiny mouth complete my features. All my skin is leathery and tanned a deep mahogany by the Sun of our cloudless Martian skies.
Timidly I stopped before the gates of Caslon Prep and looked within the grounds. The spectacles on my large nose were cup-shaped and of tinted glass that cut down the unnatural glare of the brighter, hotter Sun. I felt my shoulders drooping wearily from the tug of more than twice the gravity to which I was conditioned.
Luckily, however, I had brought leg-braces. Concealed by my long robe, they were ingenious devices of light metal, bracing the legs against strain. They had been expensive—no less than forty dhupecs—but they were worth even that much.
Gripping my cane and duffle-bag, I prepared to step into the sanctuary of the school grounds. It looked so green and inviting in there, like a canalside park. It would be a relief to escape from those Earth children. They had taken to tossing pebbles at me, and some of the canines had snapped at my heels. Of course I didn’t blame them, nor must I resent the unwelcome stares I had felt all around me, from adult Earth-lings. After all, I was an alien.
I stepped forward, between the gates. At least here, in the school that had hired me to teach, I would be accepted in a more friendly fashion. . . . Ssss!
The hiss of a thousand snakes filled the air. I reacted violently, dropping my bag and clamping my two hands around my upraised cane. For a moment I was back on Mars, surrounded by a nest of killer-snakes from the vast deserts. I must beat them off with my cane!
But wait. This was Earth, where snakes were a minor class of creature, and mainly harmless. I relaxed, then, panting. The horrible, icy fear drained away. Perhaps you human beings can never quite know the paralyzing dread we have of snakes.
Then I heard a new sound, one that cheered me somewhat.
A group of about fifty laughing boys trooped into view, from where they had been hidden behind the stone wall circling Caslon’s campus. They had made the hissing sound, as a boyish prank. How foolish of me to let go of my nerves, I thought wryly.
I smiled at the group in greeting, for these were the boys I would teach.
“I am Professor Mun Zeerohs, your new teacher,” I introduced myself in what, compared with the human tone, is a reedy voice. “The Sunshine upon you. Or, in your Earthly greeting, I am happy to meet you.”
“Grins answered me. And then murmurs arose.
“It talks, fellows.”
“Up from the canals!”
“Is that thing alive?”
“One of the boys stepped forward. He was about sixteen, with blue eyes that were mocking.
“I’m Tom Blaine, senior classman. Tell me, sir, is it true that Mars is inhabited?”
It was rather a cruel reception, though merely another prank. I waved my two tentacles in distress for a moment, hardly knowing what to do or say next.
“Boys! Gentlemen!”
A grown man with gray hair came hurrying up from one of the buildings. The boys parted to let him through. He extended a hand to me, introducing himself.
“Robert Graham, Dean of Caslon. You’re Professor Mun Zeerohs, of course.” He turned, facing the group reprovingly. “This is your new instructor, gentlemen. He will teach Interplanetary History and the Martian language.”
A groan went up. I knew why, of course. The Martian tongue has two case endings to every one in Latin.
“Now, gentlemen, this is for your own good,” Dean Graham continued sternly. “Remember your manners. I’m sure you’ll like our new professor—”
“I’m sure we won’t!” It was Tom Blaine again. Behind him, an air of hostility replaced the less worrisome mockery.
“We’ve never had a Martian teacher before, and we don’t want one!”
“Don’t want one?” The dean was more aghast than I.
“My father says Martians are cowards,” Tom Blaine continued loudly. “He ought to know. He’s in the Space Patrol. He says that in the War, the Martians captured Earthmen and cut them to pieces slowly. First their hands, then—”
“Nonsense!” Dean Graham snapped. “Besides, the War is over. Martians are in the Space Patrol, too. Now, no more argument. Go to your dormitory. Professor Zeerohs will begin conducting class tomorrow morning. Oscar, take the professor’s bag to his quarters.”
OSCAR, the school’s menial robot, obediently stalked forward and picked up the bag. Somehow, I felt almost a warm tide of friendship for the robot. In his mechanical, rudimentary reflex mind, it was all the same to him—Martian or Earthman. He made no discrimination against me, as these human boys did.
Excerpt From: Eando Binder. “The Chessboard of Mars and Other Stories.”

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