Listen.
Far away, under the stars, a phone rang.
He ran. He stopped to listen. The ringing, soft. He ran a few more steps. Louder. He raced down an alley. Louder still! He passed six houses, six more. Much louder! He chose a house and its door was locked.
The phone rang inside.
"Damn you!" He jerked the doorknob.
The phone screamed.
He heaved a porch chair through the parlour window, leaped in after it.
Before he even touched the phone, it was silent.
He stalked through the house then and broke mirrors, tore down drapes, and kicked in the kitchen stove.
Finally, exhausted, he picked up the thin directory, which listed every phone on Mars. Fifty thousand names.
He started with number one.
Amelia Ames. He dialed her number in New Chicago, one hundred miles over the Dead Sea.
No answer.
Number two lived in New York, five thousand miles across the blue mountains.
No answer.
He called three, four, five, six, seven, eight, his fingers jerking, unable to grip the receiver.
A woman voice answered, "Hello?"
Walter cried back at her, "Hello, oh lord, hello!"
"This is a recording," recited the woman‘s voice.
"Miss Helen Arasumian is not home. Will you leave a message on the wire spool so she may call you when she returns? Hello? This is a recording. Miss Arasumian is not home. Will you leave a message-?"
He hung up.
He sat with his mouth twitching.