by Earl
By mutual agreement, the two warriors moved the scene of action some hundreds of yards away, so that Vio’s helpless ship might not be accidentally harmed. Then the Olympic thunders and Jovian bolts began to rain in a veritable torrent from walking house to floating ship and back. For a half-minute this noisy business went on—a carnage of hundreds of helpless trees—while Professor White drew a careful bead for the dead center of Tosto’s cabin with the mirror-weapon’s televised range-finder. He winked over to Don, his hand on the lever that would end the battle in one split second.
At this crucial moment the airship gave a violent lurch, falling ten feet before Jestun could apply his braking force-beams on the underside.
“Hurry!” screamed Jestun. “That new ray—Tosto has all but battered my screens down! Hur——”
A terrific blast tumbled them around in the cabin like sacks of meal. Don felt the floor fall away from his body. Tosto had won after all, despite the marvelous weapon of which the professor had told him! Don felt a bitterness that salted his tongue.
But some inexplicable miracle caused the tumbling cabin to right itself—a half-ruined force-beam gave a dying surge, suspending the cabin off the ground. Don flung himself at the mirror apparatus, beaded Tosto’s cabin as he had seen the scientist do, and pulled the lever.
He heard a venomous hiss as if a gargantuan snake had launched itself, and for one brief instant he saw Tosto’s cabin dissolve in bands of shadow, as if mists swirled about it. Then Don’s world turned crazily around; blackness came over his eyes as a terrific jar threw him against the. hard metal wall.
Don opened his eyes on a scene that was more what he had once known than a scene in the world of Anarchy. He saw a group of humans around him as he lay supine on a couch in Jestun’s cabin. But one face—dearly beloved—fastened his wandering, puzzled eyes.
“Elaine!”
Soft arms went about his neck, and warm, sweet lips pressed lovingly to his. He passed his own arms around Elaine and hugged her, bear-like. Suddenly he noticed that his arms were weak.
“What’s wrong with me?” gasped Don. He found even his voice weak. “I feel like a wet rag! What—I know!”—his voice cracked—“it’s that damned epilepsy—it’s got me again. Oh, God, let me die!”
Professor White now stood over him, spoke soothingly, “No, Don, I’m glad to say it was not your epilepsy. In fact, epilepsy will never bother you again. I have checked with Tosto and find you haven’t had an attack for the nine days you’ve been here in this world. The cure was accomplished by the process which slowed down your vibration rate. Life, health and disease are, in the last analysis, part of the scheme of vibration. Something in my machine straightened out, or eliminated, the bad vibration which caused your epilepsy. You are free of it for ever.”
“But why am I so weak?” asked Don.
“Just as I always used to feel after——”
His eyes dimmed. “Are you trying to fool me like a little child—salving my feelings?”
“Don!” Professor White’s voice was firm. “The reason you are so weak is because the mirror-weapon back-fired at the moment of firing and bathed you in a wash of its powerful force. You have been unconscious for a whole week!”
“A week!” spluttered Don.
“Yes, dear, but now the worst is over and you will get well. And then——”
Elaine paused demurely.
Don showed that he understood by pulling her to him and kissing her. Then his eyes encountered a strange sight. He saw Tosto, and a young woman who must be Vio, standing side by side not far away, watching the scene with smiling eyes. They were holding hands!
Don gasped, and his eyes went wider on seeing at the other side of the cabin Jestun whispering to another person he had never seen before—a young and vibrant woman.
Professor White spoke again: “Explanations are in order, Don. Something great has come to pass. Tosto and Vio are going to get married. So are Jestun and Virdi!”
“Virdi!” cried Don incredulously. “Why, she’s the greatest undefeated fighter of Anarchy!”
“Was!” corrected the scientist. “Jestun, equipped with my new weapon, met up with Virdi and defeated her. The new weapon, an adaption of my vibration reducer, sends vital parts of engines and weapons into the future, making them useless. Jestun was out to test the weapon after we had corrected the aberration which gave you such a jolt, and as luck would have it, he met Virdi the Invincible. He handed her her first and only defeat.”
Don nodded. “But that doesn’t explain—everything!”
Professor White grinned and Elaine smiled sweetly. Tosto and Jestun, and their two lady companions, blushed like schoolchildren.
“This will be hardest of all to believe,” continued Professor White. “But Vio became a convert to gregarious life in the week she had Elaine in her cabin. It dawned on her how infinitely more free and happy a life of our sort would be than their so-called complete anarchy. Their customs and traditions, in a way, are more hidebound than ours ever were. Thus it was that she tried to avoid the fight with Tosto. She was more than willing to be his mate, but only in the new—or rather, old—sense, as a life companion.”
“And the same applies to Tosto?” suggested Don.
“Yes.” Professor White grinned. “You didn’t realize that you had converted him, did you! Jestun and Virdi—their case was almost identical. Jestun, in fact, had tried no less than seven times to defeat her and win her love, even if only for a day.”
“And all that time,” supplemented Don, “Virdi hoped and prayed that Jestun would win!”
It was a telling shot, as Don could tell by the furious blush that suffused the face of the lady in question.
“Quite right,” grinned Professor White, “except that tradition was just a little stronger in her, making her fight her best. It was unfortunate for her, really, that she was born with such an ingenious mechanical mind, making her invincible and robbing her of love.”
“All well’s that ends well,” sighed Don, smiling at Elaine.
“But one more thing you should hear,” the scientist said then. “Before the triple marriage, over which I shall officiate, we have all agreed that we shall convert to our cause at least a hundred new recruits, with whom we’ll then found a new co-operative union here in this mad world of Anarchy!”
He pointed out of the window. Don, by raising his head with the help of Elaine, could see a wide cleared space in which reposed several shining new craft, ovoidshaped for air travel.
“We built these ships in the week you have been ill. They are armed with the unbeatable vibration-gun. With these ships we are going to sally out, challenge all comers, and defeat them. We must defeat them in ship-to-ship battle first, because of their great pride. But the girls assure me that, once defeated, they will all be willing to join our side and forget Anarchy. You see, Don, this poor fighting world has just been waiting for someone to lead the way and end the nightmare of senseless dueling. All of the women, and most of the men, will jump at the chance to forget their differences and live with one another peacefully. Ask Tosto.”
Tosto came forward with a sheepish grin. Don eyed him wonderingly. Could the man have changed overnight from a conceited bully to a tender lover? Well, why not?—love could do some funny things. It had sent him away from the girl he loved.
Don stuck out a hand. Tosto grasped it, intuitively realizing it meant an offer of friendship.
“I only showed you my worst nature,” said Tosto, “while we were together in my cabin. I was really beginning to get sick of things as they were, after hearing about the things you told me. I attacked Vio in sheer desperation, hoping to be killed—to end it. I see the light now.”
Don saw a light too, a light in Elaine’s eyes. It was a lovelight—a promise; and Don thanked all the gods in the universe that he had passed out of the darkness.
MOON OF INTOXICATION
An Ether-Jag on lo Plays Tricks with an Earthman Trader’s Sulphur-Xipho
Swap
A Famous Writing Team
EANDO BINDER, as most readers know, is really the writing team of Earl Binder and Otto Binder. Earl Binder, born in 1904, and the older of the two, began his science fiction career by collaborating with Otto in 1932.
Their early stories won immediate attention. Their first novel, “Dawn to Dusk,” published in the old Wonder Stories, has been acclaimed as one of the most outstanding stories in science fiction.
Over sixty stories have resulted from the Binder mill since they first began writing. Novels, short stories, and novelets by the Binder team have been featured by every science fiction magazine in the field.
Otto’s favorite story, throughout all the years, is “The Chessboard of Mars.” Yes, that story was published in THRILLING WONDER STORIES.
Their pet gag: Asking Brother Jack Binder, the Scientifiction artist, whose stuff he likes the best.
“I WON’ be home un’il morning—oh, I won’ be home un’il morning!”
The passable baritone rang out of the hut and over the sylvan quiet of Io. But the singer was home and it was morning—at least the permanent Jupiter-shine had been strengthened considerably by the rising sun, small and far though it was.
Canny Lon Ralston was not in full possession of his senses. Briefly, he was drunk. But not because of an old habit he could not foreswear, nor yet from alcohol. He had what on Earth would be vulgarly named an ether-jag, forced upon him by the environment.
Lon was not exactly displeased at these times, but he never could understand just why the “hospital” plant, as it was appropriately called, periodically exuded a puff of pure ether.
When a few thousand of these strange growths did so at once—as often happened in obedience to some natural cycle—a huge cloud of ether would be formed, blown about by the vagrant breezes. It would dissipate eventually, of course, but at times, as now, the cloud would happen to waft upon and into his hut.
Olfactory nerves blunted by the pungent atmosphere of this world of prolific flora, there was never any warning to Lon Ralston. He would just suddenly find his head whirling and his thoughts fogged. The concentration of ether seldom reached the anesthesizing point—would only produce extreme intoxication.
And this phenomenon was always followed by another. Lon would burst into song!
He went through a dozen lusty choruses before the spell passed. He swam out of befuddlement to realize that he had company. A large moon face peered in the open window. Big, lidless eyes stared at him in profound wonder with an aboriginal mind behind them.
Lon Ralston jumped up with an exclamation, grabbed a sack from the corner, and went out.
“Xipho?” he inquired.
The native nodded eagerly and held out a bundle of triangular green leaves edged with bright crimson. Lon took the bundle, estimated its weight at a pound Earth-measure, and grinned in satisfaction. A pound of the rare xipho was worth a hundred dollars on Earth. It made a delectable, exotically flavored tea much prized by those who made an art of cuisine.
“Thulfur?” asked the loan, fidgeting from one foot to another.
Lon turned to his sack, reached within and drew out an old innertube with a gaping slit in it. Some car on Earth had at one time or another run into glass. The trader extended it.
The native shook his head. “Thulfur,” he lisped again. All loans lisped because they had no teeth with which to form the “s” sound.
Lon drew out three innertubes in various states of ruin and offered them all.
“No,” said the native emphatically. “No wan’rubber. Wan’thulfur!”
“Ith that tho?” mimicked Lon sarcastically. “Bless you!” he roared then. “You know I could just as well not pay you anything. You’re nothing but a skinny beanpole. I could take five of you and break you across my knee like sticks of wood, and have your xipho gratis!”
YET all the while Lon knew he wouldn’t do any such thing. Some traders did take advantage of the natives, but Lon had always treated them fair and square.
“Thulfur!” said the loan stubbornly, refusing to be bluffed.
Lon sighed and went back in the hut, to reappear a moment later with a carton of lump ammonium sulfate, which he handed to the native.
“More?” asked the loan, clutching the carton eagerly.
“It’s the last I have, and that’s the truth,” said the trader. He threw the three innertubes at the loan’s feet. “And my rubber is gone, too, which means I won’t get any more xipho because of greedy ones like you.”
The native looked sad, but only for a moment. He was staring at the box of sulfate as an Earthman might stare at a bag of diamonds. Then he gave out a shrill call. From the nearby edge of the jungle his family came running, a mate and a young one.
Physically, the loans were remarkably similar to Earth-people, more so than any other race yet discovered on other worlds, differing only in being very thin and having large heads, lidless eyes and no teeth. Their physical weakness was matched by a mental deficiency.
Lon watched curiously as the loan broke up a lump of ammonium sulfate and gave a piece each to his mate and offspring, retaining one for himself. Eagerly, in fact wolfishly, the three gulped down their portions. Lon was witness again—and it never failed to amaze him—to the phenomenon of accelerated metabolism.
In the youngster it took the form of actual growth. His thin little potbellied body visibly lengthened an inch or so before the Earthman’s eyes. His distended stomach reduced itself at the same time, showing that the food he had stuffed into it had been assimilated in the incredible time of minutes. The effect on the parents was to stimulate their activity and bring a sparkle to their dull eyes.
With an unusual energy for the listless race of loans, they began to dance up and down and bleat out in what was meant to be song.
“I hope you don’t have a hangover,” muttered Lon.
Eagerly the mate pointed to the remaining sulfate in the box, lisping in the native tongue, but the male loan shook his head vehemently and stuck it in his belt pouch after closing it. He picked up the three innertubes the Earthman had thrown at his feet and distributed them. They began sucking at the rubber, and, engaged in this strange occupation, danced away toward the jungle. They disappeared like fauns in a Bacchanal orgy.
Lon was not biologist enough to know the explanation of what he had witnessed. lo was a sulfur-starved world. As one of the vital elements necessary to animal growth and metabolism, loan fauna had always been a handicapped, struggling phase of life, inferior in many ways to the prolific flora. A long evolutionary process thrice the length of Earth’s had not been able to produce more than the listless, subhumanly intelligent loan race, which would never rise above its primitive stage.
BUT Lon had been shrewd enough to sense that sulfur was the ingredient the loans instinctively hungered for more than anything. The early traders had been mystified to find rubber highly prized by the natives, who would suck it the livelong day. In his first season here, Lon had also brought rubber to trade for the valuable xipho. He had seen their frantic taste for it.
He had reasoned it out. What did rubber have in it that they liked, for they never ate the stuff? Then it had struck him—sulfur! All Earthmade rubber had sulfur in it, in a non-toxic form. So in this, his second season, he had brought along a hundred pounds of ammonium sulfate which contained sulfur in a digestible form.
The result had been highly gratifying. Where before the shiftless, undependable loans had straggled in with ounce and two-ounce batches of xipho leaves, they now came running in with pound lots and more. They went for the sulfur compound as Earth-people, lacking sugar, would go for candy.
Weight for weight, Lon had traded the salt for xipho. The sulfate, shipped from Earth, had cost him ten dollars a pound; the xipho, in turn, would sell for ten times that much. Not a bad profit, on any man’s world. He had stolen a march on all other traders in the loan jungles.
The natives gone, Lon took the bundle of xipho leaves i
n his hut. Humming to himself despite the splitting headache that came as an after effect of his ether intoxication, he shredded the brittle leaves with his fingers into an aluminum pan. Then he dumped the panful of flaky xipho into a bulging canvas bag in the closet.
He hefted the sack and grinned contentedly. It could be no less than a hundred pounds, Earth-weight, though it was but one-sixth that here. A hundred pounds! He stood to make ten thousand dollars gross this season!
Lon sat down to bask pleasantly in the thought of prosperity. The pickup ships were due to arrive before the spore season began. These ships gave traders on Io safe passage to civilized Ganymede, for a fare of one hundred dollars. Outrageous price, but Lon would pay it gladly. They would be transporting for him nine thousand dollars’ worth of xipho, when all expenses and duties were paid.
Nine thousand dollars! He would have that clear when he got back to Ganymede. With that, Bob, his kid brother, would be able to go to college and not take to knocking around the planets, as Lon had for the last fifteen years of his life. Lon had always felt he had no place in the economic complexity of Earth’s civilization, but he wanted Bob to live his life in a decent environment, one he was born to. Lon had had too much of frontier life to have any illusions about it. It made you hard and grim, and old before your time. Earth was the place for Bob, on that Lon was set. And this nine thousand would keep him there.
“Bless me,” sighed Lon heartily, stirring himself. “I believe I’m hungry—”
AFTER eating, he settled himself in his chair to doze off his hangover headache. The next thing he knew, something hard and small jabbed into his ribs and a gruff voice said, “Just sit quiet, Ralston, while I tell you something!”
Lon gasped. It was the voice of Matt Warner, nearest neighbor among the traders—and least trustworthy.