Praticamente a mesma pergunta foi publicada no Fórum BookSleuth em AbeBooks.com, exceto que o "lunar" um pouco enganador foi substituído por "on a moon":
I remember it took place on a moon. There was something siren like luring people out of the station and onto the surface. I remember the ending - the narrator was back on earth but at night would still feel the pull of the "siren" call he barely escaped.
Shane V2
Andy Phillips identificou-o no AbeBooks.com como "O Pequeno Baterista de Phobos" por Glenn Chandler , e o consulente aceitou esta identificação, embora a história não corresponda perfeitamente à descrição . A "base lunar" é uma estação de rádio de um homem na lua marciana Phobos:
Harry Bludgeon was the regular radio beacon operator on Phobos. He was a likeable fellow with a slack jaw and a droll sense of humour, and a temperament fitting him to the loneliest job on Mars. For a month at a stretch he'd be alone up there, manning a desolate little outpost on the Martian satellite.
Tudo que eu lembro é que há um efeito de "sirene" atraindo as pessoas de uma base lunar para a superfície
O narrador, um psiquiatra em Marte, está tendo uma sessão com Harry Bludgeon:
'It always starts with the roll of a drum,' he began. 'The first time I heard it, I thought it was coming over the radio. Like a tattoo being beaten out, rhythmic, like sticks on a skin. Then I realized it wasn't coming from the radio, but from outside the station altogether. From the surface of Phobos.'
'Hang on,' I interrupted. 'There's no atmosphere on Phobos. Sound can't travel.'
'I know that. But I swear, the drum roll came from outside the hut. I looked out of the window, beyond the dome, and I saw this—this boy—walking across the bare rock. He was dressed rather like a soldier about the time of the battle of Waterloo. I know that because I had to study historical costumes for the space opera I'm writing. Anyway, he had this tunic on, and a sash crossing his chest, and a hat shaped like a pork pie, and—and a drum.'
[. . .]
'He wanted to summon me.'
'And did you go to him?'
'Not the first time. Not the second either, nor the third. But the fourth time he appeared he stayed so long I thought he was never going to go away. He just stood there for hours, beating that infernal drum. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat. That's how it went. Never changing. I decided I couldn't stand any more of it and put on my outside gear. I had it in my head he would go away if I tried to touch him.'
onde eles morrem. Há um homem olhando para isso na base, ele mal consegue escapar da chamada e perde um amigo / colega.
Bem, não. Ninguém morre, exceto [SPOILER] o "pequeno baterista" que na verdade é [SPOILER] um alienígena, talvez um refugiado de milhões de anos do Quinto Planeta cujo rompimento resultou nos asteróides. Depois de tratar dois pacientes com a mesma "alucinação" (e ouvir contos de outras aparições), nosso psiquiatra vai até Phobos para ver por si mesmo, encontra o "baterista" e, sem intenção, mata-o, embora ainda não o saiba. :
'Come back,' I yelled.
There was a cleft in the rock some distance away. He disappeared through it and I was about to follow him when I noticed that my oxygen supply was short. With the drumsticks in my hand, I returned to the radio hut. The great russet crescent of Mars was rising in the sky, pinched at the cusps by winter ice caps and pitted with channels.
'What happened?' asked Harry, once I was safely inside.
'Don't ask. I couldn't tell you.' I clambered out of the suit. 'Here are the drumsticks. What do you make of them, Harry?"
He took them from me. Together we gazed at them, tangible evidence that what we had seen was real. And shortly afterwards, after a search of the Phobian rock which revealed nothing—no drummer boy at all—I returned to Mars.
No final, ele está de volta à Terra e fala sobre como ele ainda sente a atração inevitável deste chamado de sereia, embora ele esteja de volta à Terra.
Ele volta para a Terra, riu de seu trabalho em Marte quando conta sua história e as "baquetas" alienígenas estão perdidas. Anos depois:
Twelve years elapsed before I discovered the uncomfortable and rather tragic truth. It hit all the terrestrial papers like a storm. During mining operations on Phobos, a cavern was discovered, believed to have been hollowed out of the rock over a million years earlier. At the end of this artifact lay the body of a boy, aged about sixteen, judging by his external appearance. He wasn't a terrestrial. Far from it. Despite his human shape he had a respiratory system the likes of which had astrobiologists in a frenzy.
O que nosso narrador sente na Terra não é tanto um "toque de sereia" quanto uma culpa:
I'm not altogether sure what I can do now. Penitence doesn't seem nearly enough. Every night I go to bed, I try to say sorry to that thing up on Phobos, but every night, about three o'clock, I wake up with a persistent, almost vengeful, drumming in my ears.
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
The poor alien only wanted to make friends.
Tenho certeza de que essa história estava em uma antologia
Tanto quanto o ISFDB sabe, esta história apareceu apenas na antologia de 1980 Espaço 6 editado por Richard Davis