The Collected Stories

by Earl

  DAVIDSON, Crocker and Ruk-Sara were the only members of the Black Comet in whom I confided. No matter what our undertaking was, they always assisted in it from start to finish. The rest of the crew never asked questions. Where Mad Moor went, they were glad to go. Hell-larking rascals they were, lads, who knew that the sauce I dished out was usually overspiced. By the Horned Jooras, I have seen more than one of them die with a smile on their lips, and a look in their eyes that said, “I did it all right, didn’t I, Captain?” I was proud of them, lads, mighty proud. . . .

  For five weeks we hopped from one Rock[2] to another. I felt certain that Brongel would pick himself such a nest. The hundreds which we explored were mostly Spinners and Duds and so uninhabitable. The days dragged because of the monotony of it all. Despair began to grip us. The crew grumbled. I hardly blamed them. Inactivity is poisonous to adventurous men.

  Ships seldom traversed the Inner-ring. It was too dangerous and unprofitable. An overwhelming loneliness drenched the very core of our hearts. And Saturn, like a huge unblinking, baleful eye, mocked us constantly. We were a lost ship in a maze of astral islands. It took iron nerve, lads, to stand up under such physical strain. On and on we blasted . . . And then it happened!

  At the end of the sixth week, we were blasting towards a Rock that seemed isolated from the myriads which engulfed us. The passing years, lads, have robbed my memory. I cannot recall what our height was at the moment when the Black Comet suddenly acted like a ship uncontrolled.

  It was fortunate for us that Ruk-Sara was in the pilot seat at the time. He was incomparable! I had taught him all I knew, and then he surpassed his master. By the Seven Suns, they acclaimed me the greatest pilot in my day, but, lads, this strange alien being from the Planet Mars rightfully owned that title.

  Ruk-Sara fought that day! Davidson and I stood at his back with sweat rolling down our faces. He used all the tricks of the trade and a few of his own as he battled the unknown force which gripped the Black Comet and hurtled it downward towards the surface of the Rock. For gruelling minutes, death laughed in our faces, and we knew it! But we were fighting men, lads, and laughed back!

  Ruk-Sara blasted, spun, side-slipped, blasted . . . blasted . . . to brake that plunge of certain destruction. From the outside, the Black Comet must have had the appearance of a dozen volcanoes erupting. The roar of the rocket-blasts was deafening. The magnetic force clamped us to the steel decks. Hardened and experienced as we were, the gyrations made our seasoned heads swim. By the Jeets of Luna, those were anxious moments until the steady drumming of the forward rockets told us that the battle was over and we were coming in to land. . . .

  The ship came to a jarring rest. We looked out through the ports. Amazement must have been written on every face of the crew. We were in a valley, and as far as the eye could see, the ground was verdant with flowers and grasses. It seemed incredible! We thumbed through the Saturn-maps but found it an uncharted Rock.

  After taking the usual observations we were still further amazed. For we found this to be a miniature replica of Earth . . . gravity, atmosphere, rotation, and botanical makeup were virtually identical!

  WE OPENED the F-locks and stepped forth. In just such a valley in Indiana, Vermont or any state of our homeland could we have done likewise. It was eerie! We were millions of miles from there! If our mission proved fruitless, at least we could chalk up another victory on our already famous slate of exploration. This Little Earth, so strangely transplanted, would forever be a wonder to the peoples of our planet. The only thing lacking to make us feel right at home was the bright sunshine. Here was only the coppery-glow of Saturn-light.

  Detailing eight men to remain and guard the ship, the rest of us set forth. About two miles from the ship we had espied a small structure. Towards this we headed. We were well armed—two Woolson guns to each man and long-dirks dangling at our sides. The latter were destructive weapons in hand to hand fighting. They are obsolete now, lads, and you can see them only in museums. But by the Tarps of Titan, they served their purpose in my day.

  Ruk-Sara, Crocker, Davidson and I led. Behind us, single file, followed the crew, a score of fighting rascals any captain might be proud of. I could tell by the looks in their eyes that this was what they craved. Once more they had landed on an alien world. Once more they had to face the unknown. Once more (if any returned) they could boast of fighting side by side with Mad Moor. It was the salt of their life. . . .

  As we approached the dwelling, for such it turned out to be, we halloed. No answer. Thrice we did it. And thrice silence was our only answer. We looked into one another’s eyes. What strange mystery lay here? Surely that stone hut had been built by an intelligent being! Was time to rob us again of the knowledge as to who its creator had been or what race of beings had lived here, as it had done on so many other worlds which we had explored?

  Its only door stood ajar. We entered. There was but one room about thirty feet square. Along two of the walls were ranged double bunks. In the center was a large table. Long benches faced its four sides. It all appeared like a miniature barracks. Where were the beings who once occupied it? That question was uppermost in every mind. And by the Jeets of Luna, it could not have been very long ago. The general appearance of everything did not show a very great age. Could it be the lair of a spacateer? Was he and his crew out at the time, plundering the space-lanes?

  I shouted orders then, lads. I sent eight men back to reinforce the guard in the ship. Two I posted as guards outside. The remaining force sat down at the table to talk things over. And since we were all hungry we unslung our emergency packs. We ate and quenched our thirst with Yanson ale.

  “Captain, could this be the nest of the Silver Dart?” One of the crew spoke up.

  “Might be, Roger,” I answered. “And if it is, lads, you know we have a score to settle with that renegade.”

  “Aye, captain.” They chorused and laid their Woolson guns on the table in readiness. The Silver Dart and its unknown leader had been the only spacateer able to claim a victory against us. It had been in the unchartered wilderness out Pluto-way. We had limped back, the Black Comet crippled and almost out of commission, and over half of my crew were dead or wounded. It had hurt, lads. From that day of defeat, I had vowed a death revenge on the Silver Dart and its crew . . .

  MY MEN burst into a familiar song.

  Crocker had composed it. Many times it helped to while away the long hours out in space. The words are still engraved in my memory. I sing it often here. Mad Moor burst into song. His rich, booming voice reverberated from the mountain sides. Bob, Dick and Bill sat spellbound.

  There is no place that we call home,

  For we have made a vow to roam

  Until we find a ship to blast . . .

  And blast . . . and blast . . . and blast . . .

  Now we have heard it might be far—

  Perhaps out to an unknown star!

  We’ll keep our rendezvous and go

  And go . . . and go . . . and go . . .

  Now this will be no pleasure tour

  I’ll warrant you. For Captain Moor

  Picks rascals who know how to fight . . .

  And fight . . . and fight . . . and fight . . .

  Tho’ nights are long and cold the day—

  The Silver Dart must come our way.

  And then to battle, lads we will . . .

  And kill . . . and kill . . . and kill . . .

  We are the scourge of Spacateersl

  We’ll rid the space-lanes . . .

  Mad Moor stopped singing so abruptly that it startled the three.

  “Silence!” I roared at my men in the midst of their singing. In the sudden stillness, every eye was turned to me. There was no sound of any kind. Yet we all felt it—a soft, mysterious vibration filled the air. It made our scalps crawl in a peculiar sort of contraction. We sat tensed. Each man gripped his Woolson guns, ready for instant action . . .

  “Go . . . go . . . before it is too late!�
�� A spectral, droning voice shattered the stillness like an exploding bomb-shell.

  We all leaped to our feet as one man. We looked around. We saw nothing. Yet that voice had dropped in our very midst. We stood hesitant. Men cannot fight a thing unseen. “Its a trick, lads. And by the Seven Suns . . .”

  “This is the abode of the dead!” The voice cut short my sudden outburst. “Go . . . go . . . or join in death those who came before you and dared to stay. We of the Legion of Death, live in death, and can destroy in death. Go. . . .”

  My thundering oaths drowned the spectral voice. The crew shrank back before my enflamed rage. “Whoever or whatever you are, we defy you!” I roared.

  “Go . . . go . . . this is the abode of the dead!”

  I stood aghast. The sweat poured from my face. Still I refused to accept it as anything but a hoax. By the Jeets of Luna, was Mad Moor to become a believer in ghosts?

  “Go. . . this is our last warning, or you will never reach your ship alive.”

  I stood firm. I trembled in defiant rage. If it were only something tangible! Man, beast or monstrosity, I had fought before. But this. . . . I looked at my crew. They stood calmly awaiting a word to do my bidding. But what could I bid them to do? It was uncanny, incredible. . . .

  “Leave the hut,” the voice commanded.

  I GAVE the signal. We strode from its confines. There was no other alternative. Perhaps by acquiescence, I thought to myself, I might yet get to the bottom of this insane predicament, or get an inkling through which I could plan an attack.

  Outside, I called for the two men I had posted as guards. My command died unanswered. Consternation now shown in our eyes, lads. Were the evil forces of the so-called Legion of Death already at work? By the homed Jooras, had I overplayed my hand for once?

  The place is haunted!” One of the crew said.

  “Easy lads.” I said. “Hamlin and Block could not have vanished into thin air.” I shouted their names. Silence. An appalling, deathly silence was my answer. “Let’s go back to the ship.” I ordered resignedly.

  We had taken but a dozen steps.

  “It is too late!” The voice stopped us in our tracks. It continued. “Look towards your ship. See it glistening! You shall never reach it! You have dared to defy our powers. Yet we of the spirit existence admire courage. You shall be given one more chance—for two reasons: to prove our powers and existence (which your minds refuse to accept) and to test what mettle creatures of your ilk are made of . . . now . . . gaze out over the expanse separating you from your ship. From the ground shall spring a sea of weeds . . . red, writhing, leafless tendrils, taller than you are and with the strength of cables. Fight your way through them or die! Look!”

  The grasses and flowers vanished. Our ship was lost to sight. Before us was a forest of squirming, snake-like weeds. By the Seven Suns, lads, that sight tested our courage. We stood hesitant only a second until I roared, “Come on, rascals. We’ve fought more than this in our day.” With a lusty shout we were in the thick of them.

  Lads, how we fought that day! Our Woolson guns became hot to the hand as we blasted a passage through that evil creation which seemed possessed with an evil intelligence. The tendrils entwined on our ankles. . . tore at our wrists . . . twisted around our throats. . . as we blasted and slashed with our long-dirks. Thick, choking clouds of dust engulfed us as we stamped the ground with our boots. But our ship lay ahead! We had to reach it or die!

  ALL IS ILLUSION!

  HOURS must have passed as we fought on. We were determined to win through if our strength lasted. But this seemed more than we had gambled for. We were but in the middle of that ocean of weeds and found ourselves weary and dust choked. We were all but completely exhausted. Lads, have you heard brave men actually whimper from fatigue? Well, I did that day.

  I realized that something had to be done. Shouting encouragements, I led them on, fighting every foot of the way. Seeing they needed more than that even to win through, I thought to use a ruse.

  “Look, lads, the weeds are thinning out,” I roared as I leaped forward. Anything to keep them going. And in the next instant I withheld a stroke of my long-dirk in mid-air. What I had intended to be a ruse was actually taking place before my eyes! Shocked though I was, I thundered, “They’re thinning, lads, thinning!”

  They took up the cry. They sprang to the assault with a fury unbelievable of tired men. And as we shouted and fought, the weeds thinned out completely. With a triumphant shout, we sprang free of the last of them. We had won! We fell to the ground in utter exhaustion. Nothing was so stirring to our pounding hearts as the sight of the Black Comet about a mile before us.

  I took stock of our losses. Not a man was missing. But we were a sorry sight. Our faces were grimy from sweat and caked blood. Our uniforms were in shreds. Our wrists and faces showed slashes of long-dirks where we had cut too closely. I was thankful that our injuries were not more serious, and somewhat mystified too. But I was taking no more chances. I gave the order to move on. I was hard-headed in those days, lads, but somehow the proof of our experience weighed somewhat in the scale of conviction. Perhaps such things did exist in our universe. In that moment, I was not one to contradict it.

  We had advanced about a quarter of a mile when Crocker spoke up. “Notice anything, Captain?”

  I looked puzzled for a moment. Then it dawned on me. The skin of my scalp did not have that sensation of contraction. And the mysterious vibrations had ceased.

  At the same instant, Ruk-Sara had turned around. He stood rooted as he called our attention. “Look. The weeds have vanished!”

  Dumfounded, we looked. The expanse between us and the hut was again beautiful to see in the ruddy glow. The valley was all grasses and flowers once more. For us there was no answer to it all.

  “The blasted place is haunted. Let’s get out of here,” growled Davidson.

  “Aye,” chorused half the crew. We hastened our strides and soon reached the ship.

  Not a guard was seen about the Black Comet!

  I was the first to leap up the ramp to the open port. My guns were drawn in a flash. The crew hard on my heels. As I rushed through the opening to the A-deck I stopped so sharply, the men in the rear crowded me in confusion as they attempted to brake their rush. Open mouthed we stood and stared.

  In two rows, lying on their stomachs, was the whole ship’s crew. They were trussed up and blindfolded. Only one of them stood. His face was turned to a wall. His hands were above his head.

  “What is all this?” I roared.

  THE man at the wall whirled around. It was Hamlin! Then I noticed that there were eighteen, all told. And sure enough, I espied Block amongst the trussed up group. . . .

  “Where’s the Spacateer?” cried Hamlin, and further added to our consternation. “What Spacateer?” I shot back.

  “The hellion who put his guns on us and made me tie up the crew and told me to face the wall and stay that way or get blasted!” Hamlin stormed. His eyes glared in pent up anger.

  By the Tarps of Titan, the man was too sincere for me to doubt his word. “Thompson, Blackhurst, Ewald, give the lads a hand and untie them,” I ordered. “Dunn, Brill, Jackson and Hacker, stand guard outside the ship,” I snapped to the men in my rear. If it was Spacateers I had to deal with, it was sauce I specialized in. I turned to face Hamlin.

  “Now, lad, you are two jumps ahead of me. Let’s start from the beginning. Why did you leave your guard-post at the hut?” I demanded sternly.

  Hamlin turned pale. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. His big frame shook. To desert a guard-post meant death!

  “Speak up,” I roared, my patience at an end.

  “Well, Captain, it . . . it was your orders,” he stammered.

  “I . . .” Sweat stood out on my forehead. I controlled the sudden rage which possessed me. Why should I doubt this man’s word? I had fought weeds and seen these same weeds vanish! Here was more of this devilish work for which a rational mind could not fi
nd a single answer. “All right, Let’s have the story,” I said calmly.

  “You came out of the hut, Captain, and motioned to Block and me. You had a packet in your hand and gave it to me with the instructions that the two of us should return to the ship. The packet I was to put in your cabin . . .”

  “If the packet is not there, Hamlin, it will go hard with you. You know the penalty. Go on,” I said.

  “Block and I came back to the ship. I went to your cabin and put the packet on your desk. As I was doing that, a voice behind me cracked, ‘Don’t turn around; my guns are on you. Do as I command, or I’ll blast you.’ He ordered me to the A-deck. There I saw Block and the others lying on their stomachs. The voice told me to tie and blindfold them. In the meantime, the hellion told me what a notorious and bloodthirsty Spacateer he was. The slightest show of a false move on my part would mean instant blasting. He said you and the others at the hut had been taken prisoners, too. He told me to face the wall and stay that way. And that, Captain, is how you found me. . . .” Hamlin stood sweating. Perhaps he thought we doubted his word.

  Without a word, I spun on my heels. Each man knew where I was going. Enroute to my cabin I decided two things. I had been hasty in threatening Hamlin, and for that reason he would go free. But I had to go through with this part of the show. I was the captain of a spaceship. The stern code of space could not be flaunted under any circumstances. I strode down the corridor, waited for several minutes, and without entering my cabin returned to A-deck. I knew there would be no packet.

  My men stood in a disordered group, silently awaiting my return. I faced them. I patted a breast pocket of my tunic. “Hamlin, there was a packet.”

  The words broke the strained tension. The crew shouted a lusty “hurrah” and wrung Hamlin’s hand. Ruk-Sara threw me a crafty look that said “Thanks.” Perhaps those of them who had been with me to the hut had the same inkling. They liked me the better for it.

  Crocker advanced towards me. He said, “Captain, let’s leave the blasted place, while we yet have our right minds. Besides, we have a commission. Every minute we delay here, we are jeopardizing its success. We all know how you feel about this.” He put a hand on my shoulder.