The First Science Fiction Megapack

by Reginald Bretnor

  He pointed to a row of metal magnetic tabs clinging to the wall nearest the corridor that led to the airlock. “When you go out, take one of those tabs and touch it on your suit. There are exactly six tabs. If none are there, don’t go out. It’s as simple as that.”

  Four men in spacesuits entered the room, followed by two others. The leader of the group saluted. “We’re ready, sir,” he said.

  “Go out and get a look at the bodies,” the colonel told the men, who were Medical Corpsmen. “You know the procedure. Air and sand samples too, of course.”

  The leader saluted again, turned, and left. Wayne watched the six spacesuited figures step one at a time to the wall, withdraw one of the metal tabs, and affix it to the outer skin of his suit. Then they went outside.

  Captain Wayne and Sherri James stood by one of the portholes and watched the six medics as they bent over the corpses outside. “I don’t get it, I just don’t understand,” Wayne said quietly.

  * * * *

  “What don’t you get?” Sherri asked.

  “Those skeletons. Those men have only been dead for two months, and they’ve been reduced to nothing but bones already. Even the fabric of their clothing is gone. Why? There must be something here that causes human flesh to deteriorate much faster than normal.”

  “It does look pretty gruesome,” Sherri agreed. “I’m glad we’ve been ordered to keep our spacesuits on. I wouldn’t want to be exposed to anything that might be out there.”

  “I wonder—” Wayne muttered.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  Wayne pointed to one figure lying on the sand. “See that? What’s that over his head?”

  “Why—it’s a space helmet!”

  “Yeah,” said Wayne. “The question is: was he wearing just the helmet, or the whole suit? If he was wearing the whole suit, we’re not going to be as well protected as we thought, even with our fancy suits.”

  Fifteen minutes passed slowly before the medics returned, and five minutes more before they had passed through the decontamination chambers and were allowed into the ship proper. A ring of tense faces surrounded them as they made their report.

  * * * *

  The leader, a tall, bespectacled doctor named Stevelman, was the spokesman. He shrugged when Colonel Petersen put forth the question whose answer everyone waited for.

  “I don’t know,” the medic replied. “I don’t know what killed them. There’s dry bones out there, but no sign of anything that might have done it. It’s pretty hard to make a quick diagnosis on a skeleton, Colonel.”

  “What about the one skeleton with the bubble helmet?” Peter Wayne asked. “Did you see any sign of a full suit on him?”

  Stevelman shook his head. “Not a sign, sir.”

  Colonel Petersen turned and glanced at Lieutenant Jervis. “Do you remember what the circumstances were, Lieutenant?”

  Jervis shrugged. “I don’t recall it very clearly, sir. I honestly couldn’t tell you whether they were wearing suits or bubble-helmets or anything. I was too upset at the time to make careful observations.”

  “I understand,” Petersen said.

  But the medic had a different theory. He pointed at Jervis and said, “That’s a point I’ve meant to make, Lieutenant. You’re a trained space scout. Your psychological records show that you’re not the sort of man given to panic or to become confused.”

  “Are you implying that there’s something improper about my statement, Dr. Stevelman?”

  The medic held up a hand. “Nothing of the sort, Lieutenant. But since you’re not the sort to panic, even in such a crisis as the complete destruction of the entire crew of your scout ship, you must have been ill—partly delirious from fever. Not delirious enough to cause hallucinations, but just enough to impair your judgment.”

  Jervis nodded. “That is possible,” he said.

  “Good,” said Stevelman. “I have two tentative hypotheses, then.” He turned to the colonel. “Should I state them now, Colonel Petersen?”

  “There’s to be no secrecy aboard this ship, Doctor. I want every man and woman on the ship to know all the facts at all times.”

  “Very well,” the medic said. “I’d suggest the deaths were caused by some unknown virus—or, perhaps, by some virulent poison that occurred occasionally, a poisonous smog of some kind that had settled in the valley for a time and then dissipated.”

  Wayne frowned and shook his head. Both hypotheses made sense.

  “Do you have any suggestions, Doctor?” Petersen said.

  “Since we don’t have any direct information about why those men died, Colonel, I can’t make any definite statements. But I can offer one bit of advice to everyone: wear your suits and be alert.”

  * * * *

  During the week that followed, several groups went out without suffering any ill effects. A short service was held for the eight of the Mavis and then the skeletons were buried in the valley.

  They ran a check on the double-nucleus beryllium toward the end of the week, after it had been fairly safely established that no apparent harm was going to come to them. Wayne and Sherri were both in the crew that went outside to set up the detector.

  “You man the detector plate,” said Major MacDougal, who was in charge of the group, turning to Wayne.

  He put his hand on the plate and waited for the guide coordinates to be set. MacDougal fumbled at the base of the detector for a moment, and the machine began picking up eloptic radiations.

  Wayne now looked down at the detector plate. “Here we are,” he said. “The dial’s oscillating between four and eight, all right. The stuff’s here.”

  MacDougal whistled gently. “It’s really sending, isn’t it!” He pointed toward the mountaintop. “From up there, too. It’s going to be a nice climb. Okay, pack the detector up and let’s get back inside.”

  They entered the airlock and passed on into the ship.

  “The D-N beryllium is up there, sir,” Major MacDougal said. “It’s going to be a devil of a job to get up to find the stuff.”

  “That’s what Captain Wayne’s here for,” Petersen said. “Captain, what do you think? Can you get up here?”

  “It would have been easier to bring along a helicopter,” Wayne said wryly. “Pity the things don’t fit into spaceships. But I think I can get up there. I’d like to try surveying the lay of the land, first. I want to know all the possible routes before I start climbing.”

  “Good idea,” Petersen said. “I’ll send you out with three men to do some preliminary exploring. Boggs! Manetti! MacPherson! Suit up and get with it!”

  * * * *

  Wayne strode toward the spacesuit locker, took out his suit, and donned it. Instead of the normal space boots, he put on the special metamagnetic boots for mountain climbing. The little reactors in the back of the calf activated the thick metal sole of each boot so that it would cling tightly to the metallic rock of the mountain. Unlike ordinary magnetism, the metamagnetic field acted on all metals, even when they were in combination with other elements.

  His team of three stood before him in the airlock room. He knew all three of them fairly well from Earthside; they were capable, level-headed men, and at least one—Boggs—had already been out in the valley surveying once, and so knew the area pretty well.

  He pulled on the boots and looked up. “We’re not going to climb the mountain this time, men. We’ll just take a look around it to decide which is the best way.”

  “You have any ideas, sir?” Sergeant Boggs asked.

  “From looking at the photographs, I’d guess that the western approach is the best. But I may be wrong. Little details are hard to see from five hundred miles up, even with the best of instruments, and there may be things in our way that will make the west slope impassible. If so, we’ll try the s
outhern side. It looks pretty steep, but it also seems rough enough to offer plenty of handholds.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t have had that helicopter you were talking about,” said Boggs.

  Wayne grinned. “With these winds? They’d smash us against the side of the mountain before we’d get up fifty feet. You ought to know, Sergeant—you’ve been out in them once already.”

  “They’re not so bad down in this valley, sir,” Boggs said. “The only time you really notice them is when you climb the escarpment at the northern end. They get pretty rough up there.”

  Wayne nodded. “You can see what kind of a job we’ll have. Even with metamagnetic boots and grapples, we’ll still have to use the old standbys.” He looked at the men. “Okay; we’re all ready. Let’s go.”

  They unhooked four of the six tabs from the wall and donned them. Then they moved on into the airlock and closed the inner door. The air was pumped out, just as though the ship were in space or on a planet with a poisonous atmosphere. As far as anyone knew, the atmosphere of Fomalhaut V actually was poisonous. Some of the tension had relaxed after a week spent in safety, but there was always the first expedition to consider; no one took chances.

  When all the air had been removed, a bleeder valve allowed the outer air to come into the chamber. Then the outer door opened, and the four men went down the ladder to the valley floor.

  * * * *

  Wayne led the way across the sand in silence. The four men made their way toward the slope on the western side of the valley. Overhead, the bright globe of Fomalhaut shed its orange light over the rugged landscape.

  When they reached the beginning of the slope, Wayne stopped and looked upwards. “Doesn’t look easy,” he grunted. “Damned rough hill, matter of fact. MacPherson, do you think you could make it to the top?”

  Corporal MacPherson was a small, wiry man who had the reputation of being a first-rank mountaineer. He had been a member of the eighteenth Mount Everest Party, and had been the second of that party to reach the summit of the towering peak.

  “Sure I can, sir,” he said confidently. “Shall I take the rope?”

  “Go ahead. You and Manetti get the rope to the top, and Sergeant Boggs and I will follow up.”

  “Righto, sir.”

  Corporal MacPherson reached his gloved hands forward and contracted his fingers. The tiny microswitches in his gloves actuated the relays, and his hands clung to the rock. Then he put his boots against the wall and began to move up the steep escarpment.

  Private Manetti followed after him. The two men were lashed together by the light plastisteel cable. The sergeant held the end of the cable in his hands, waiting for the coil to be paid out.

  Wayne watched the two men climb, while a chill wind whipped down out of the mountains and raised the sand in the valley. It was less than eighty feet to the precipice edge above, but it was almost perpendicular, and as they climbed, the buffeting winds began to press against their bodies with ever-increasing force.

  They reached the top and secured the rope, and then they peered over the edge and signalled that Wayne and the sergeant should start up.

  “We’re coming,” Wayne shouted, and returned the signal. It was at that instant that he felt something slam against the sole of his heavy metamagnetic boot. It was as though something had kicked him savagely on the sole of his right foot.

  He winced sharply at the impact. Then, somewhat puzzled he looked down at the boot. He felt something move under the sand. He tried to step back, and almost tripped. It was as though his right foot were stuck firmly to the sand!

  He pushed himself back, and with a tremendous heave managed to pull himself free. He braced his body against the cliff, lifted his foot, and looked at it.

  Hanging from his boot sole was one of the ugliest monstrosities he had ever seen, unusually grotesque.

  * * * *

  It was about the size and shape of a regulation football, and was covered with a wrinkled, reddish hide. At one end was a bright red gash of a mouth studded with greenish, gnashing teeth. From the other end of the creature’s body protruded a long, needle-like projection which had imbedded itself in the metal sole of Wayne’s boot.

  “Good God! If I’d been wearing ordinary boots, that thing would have stuck clear into my foot!”

  He hefted the weighted pick with one hand and swung, catching the monster with the point. It sank in and ripped through the creature, spilling red-orange blood over the sand. Shuddering a little, Wayne put his other foot on the dead thing and pulled his right boot free of the needle beak.

  He started to say something, but he had a sudden premonition that made him look up in time. Sergeant Boggs put both hands against the Captain’s shoulder and pushed.

  “What the hell?” Wayne asked in surprise as he felt the shove. He almost fell to the sand, but he had had just enough warning to allow him to keep his balance. He put out a foot and staggered wildly.

  A sudden strange noise caused him to turn and look back. Five needles were jabbing viciously up out of the sand in the spot where he would have fallen.

  “You out of your head, Boggs?” he started to ask—but before the last word was out of his mouth, the sergeant charged in madly and tried to push him over again. He was fighting like a man gone berserk—which he was.

  Wayne grabbed him by the wrist and flipped him desperately aside. The sergeant fell, sprawled out for a moment on the sand, then bounced to his feet again. His eyes were alight with a strange, terrifying flame.

  Silently, he leaped for Wayne. The captain slammed his fist forward, sending it crashing into Boggs’s midsection. The sergeant came back with a jab to the stomach that pushed Wayne backward. Again the deadly needles flicked up from the ground, but they did not strike home.

  Wayne gasped for breath and reached out for Boggs. Boggs leaped on him, trying to push Wayne down where the beaks could get to him. Wayne sidestepped, threw Boggs off balance, and clubbed down hard with his fist.

  Boggs wandered dizzily for a second before Wayne’s other fist came blasting in, knocking the breath out of him. A third blow, and the sergeant collapsed on the sand.

  Wayne paused and caught his breath. The sergeant remained unconscious. Wayne shook his head uncertainly, wondering what had come over the mild-mannered Boggs. A chilling thought struck him: was this what happened to the crew of the Mavis?

  * * * *

  He looked up the cliff, where the other two men were still peering over the edge.

  “MacPherson! Manetti! Come down! We’re going back to the ship!”

  He heaved the unconscious body of Sergeant Boggs over his shoulder like a potato-sack, and waited for the two men to come down. They drew near.

  “Boggs must have gone out of his head,” Wayne said. “He jumped me like a madman.”

  They had nothing to say, so he turned and began to trudge back to the Lord Nelson, trying to assemble the facts in his mind. They followed alongside.

  What was behind the attack? After seeing the monster, why had Boggs attempted to push his superior officer over into the sand? There were other little beasts under that sand; why would Boggs want one of them—there seemed to be dozens—to jab him with its needle of a beak?

  And what were the beastly little animals, anyway?

  There were no answers. But the answers would have to come, soon.

  He tossed Boggs into the airlock and waited for the others to catch up. They climbed up the ladder and said nothing as the airlock went through its cycle and the antibacterial spray covered them.

  * * * *

  Colonel Petersen looked at him across the desk and put the palms of his hands together. “Then, as I understand it, Captain, Sergeant Boggs tried to push you over into the sand when this—ah—monster jabbed you in the foot?”

  “That’s right,
sir,” Wayne said. He felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t a formal court-martial; it was simply an inquiry into the sergeant’s actions. Charges would be preferred later, if there were any to be preferred.

  Sergeant Boggs stood stolidly on the far side of the room. A livid bruise along his jaw testified to the struggle that had taken place. One eye was puffed, and his expression was an unhappy one. Near him, MacPherson and Private Manetti stood stiffly at attention.

  The colonel looked at Boggs. “What’s your side of the story, Sergeant?”

  The non-com’s face didn’t change. “Sir, the captain’s statement isn’t true.”

  “What’s that?” Wayne asked angrily.

  “Quiet, Captain,” Petersen said. “Go ahead, Boggs.”

  The sergeant licked his bruised lips. “I was about to start up the rope when, for no reason at all, he struck me in the stomach. Then he hit me again a few more times, and I passed out.”

  “Did he say anything when he did this?” the Colonel asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Wayne frowned. What was the sergeant trying to do? What the devil was he up to?

  “Corporal MacPherson,” the colonel said, “Did you witness the fight?”

  “Yes, sir,” the small man said, stepping a pace forward.

  “Describe it.”

  “Well, sir, we were up on top of the cliff, and we called—or rather, I called for the captain and the sergeant to come on up. Sergeant Boggs took a hold of the rope and then the captain hit him in the belly, sir. He hit him twice more and the sergeant fell down. Then the captain told us to come down, which we did, sir. That was all.” He gestured with his hands to indicate he had no more to say.

  Wayne could hardly believe his ears. Making an effort, he managed to restrain himself.

  “Private Manetti, do you have anything to add to that?” the colonel asked.

  “No, sir. It happened just like that, sir. We both seen the entire thing. That’s the way it happened. The captain hauled off and let him have it.”