June 1930

by Unknown

  "Anita, if we can get down on the rocks somewhere near the ship, and creep up on it unobserved in that blackness...."

  * * * * *

  I might be able to open its manual hull-lock, rip it open and let the air out. If I could get into its pressure chamber and unseal the inner slide....

  "It would wreck the ship, Anita, exhaust all its air. Shall we try it?"

  "Whatever you say, Gregg."

  We seemed to be unobserved. We skimmed close to the valley floor, a mile from the ship. We headed slowly toward it, sailing low over the rocks.

  Then we landed, left the platform.

  "Let me go first, Anita."

  I held a bullet projector. With slow, cautious leaps, we advanced. Anita was behind me. I had wanted to leave her with the platform, but she would not stay. And to be with me seemed at least equally safe.

  The rocks were deserted. I thought there was very little chance that any of the enemy would lurk here. We clambered over the pitted, scarred surface. The higher crags, etched with Earthlight, stood like sentinels in the gloom.

  The brigand ship with its surrounding darkness was not far from us. Then we entered the cloud.

  No one was out here. We passed the wreckage of broken projectors, and gruesome, shattered human forms.

  We prowled closer. The hull of the ship loomed ahead of us. All dark.

  We came at last close against the sleek metal hull-side, slid along it toward where I was sure the manual-porte was located.

  Abruptly I realized that Anita was not behind me! Then I saw her at a little distance, struggling in the grip of a giant helmeted figure! The brigand lifted her--turned, and, carrying her, ran the other way!

  I did not dare fire. I bounded after them along the hull-side, around under the curve of the pointed bow, down along the other side.

  I had mistaken the hull-porte location. It was here. The running, bounding figure reached it, slid the panel. I was only fifty feet away--not much more than a single leap. I saw Anita being shoved into the pressure lock. The Martian flung himself after her.

  I fired at him, but missed. I came with a rush. And as I reached the porte it slid closed in my face, barring me!

  CHAPTER XXXVII - In the Pressure Lock.

  With puny fists I pounded the panel. A small pane in it was transparent. Within the lock I could see the blurred figures of Anita and her captor--and, it seemed, another figure. The lock was some ten feet square, with a low ceiling. It glowed with a dim tube-light.

  I pounded, thumped with futile, silent blows. The mechanism was here to open this manual; but it was now clasped from within and would not operate.

  A few seconds only, while I stood there in a panic of confusion, raging to get in. This disaster had come so suddenly! I did not plan; I had no thought save to batter my way in and rescue Anita. I recall that I beat on the glassite pane with my bullet projector until the weapon was bent and useless; and I flung it with a wild, despairing rage at my feet.

  They were letting the ship's air-pressure into this lock. Soon they would open the inner panel, step into the secondary chamber--and in a moment more would be within the ship's hull corridor. Anita, lost to me!

  The outer panel suddenly opened! I had lunged against it with my shoulder; the giant figure inside slid it. I was taken by surprise! I half-fell inward.

  Huge arms went around me. The goggled face of the helmet peered into mine.

  "So it is you, Haljan! I thought I recognized that little device over your helmet-bracket. And there is my little Anita, come back to me again!"

  Miko!

  * * * * *

  This was he. His great bloated arms encircling me, bending me backward, holding me almost helpless. I saw over his shoulder that Anita was clutched in the grip of another helmeted figure. No giant, but tall for an Earthman--almost as tall as myself. Then the tube-light in the room illumined the visor. I saw the face, recognized it. Moa!

  I gasped, "So--I've--got you, Miko--"

  "Got me! You're a fool to the last, Gregg Haljan! A fool to the last! But you were always a fool."

  I could scarcely move in his grip. My arms were pinned. As he slowly bent me backward, I wound my legs around one of his; it was as unyielding as a steel pillar. He had closed the outer panel; the air-pressure in the lock was rising. I could feel it against my suit.

  My helmeted head was being forced backward; Miko's left arm held me. In his gloved right hand as it came slowly up over my throat I saw a knife-blade, its naked, sharpened metal glistening blue-white in the light from overhead.

  I seized his wrist. But my puny strength could not hold him. The knife, against all my efforts, came slowly down.

  A moment of this slow deadly combat--the end of everything for me.

  I was aware of the helmeted figure of Moa casting off Anita--and then the two girls leaping together upon Miko. It threw him off his balance, and my hanging weight made him topple forward. He took a step to recover himself; his hand with the knife was flung up with an instinctive, involuntary balancing gesture. And as it came swiftly down again, I forced the knife-blade to graze his throat. Its point caught in the fabric of his suit.

  His startled oath jangled in my ears. The girls were clawing at him; we were all four scrambling, swaying. With despairing strength I twisted at his waist. The knife went into his throat. I plunged it deeper.

  * * * * *

  His suit went flabby. He crumpled over me and fell, knocking me to the floor. His voice, with the horrible gurgling rasp of death in it, rattled my ear-grids.

  "Not such a fool--are you, Haljan--"

  Moa's helmeted head was close over us. I saw that she had seized the knife, jerked it from her brother's throat. She leaped backward, waving it.

  I twisted from under Miko's inert, lifeless body. As I got to my feet, Anita flung herself to shield me. Moa was across the lock, backed up against its wall. The knife in her hand went up. She stood for the briefest instant regarding Anita and me holding each other. I thought that she was about to leap upon us; but before I could move, the knife came down and plunged into her breast. She fell forward, her grotesque helmet striking the floor-grid almost at my feet.

  "Gregg!"

  "She's dead."

  "No! She moved! Get her helmet of! There's enough air here."

  My helmet pressure-indicator was faintly buzzing to show that a safe pressure was in the room. I shut off Moa's Erentz motors, unfastened her helmet, raised it off. We gently turned her body. She lay with closed eyes, her pallid face blue-cast from the light in the lock.

  With our own helmets off, we knelt over her.

  "Oh. Gregg, is she dead?"

  "No. Not quite--but dying."

  "Oh Gregg, I don't want her to die! She was trying to help you there at the last."

  She opened her eyes; the film of death was glazing them. But she saw me, recognized me.

  "Gregg--"

  "Yes, Moa, I'm here."

  * * * * *

  Her livid lips were faintly drawn in a smile. "I'm--so glad--you took the helmets off, Gregg. I'm--going--you know."

  "No!"

  "Going--back to Mars--to rest with the fire-makers--where I came from. I was thinking--maybe you would kiss me, Gregg--?"

  Anita gently pushed me down. I pressed the white, faintly smiling lips with mine. She sighed, and it ended with a rattle in her throat.

  "Thank you--Gregg--closer--I can't talk so loudly--"

  One of her gloved hands struggled to touch me, but she had no strength and it fell back. Her words were the faintest of whispers:

  "There was no use living--without your love. But I want you to see--now--that a Martian girl can--die with a smile--"

  Her eyelids fluttered down: it seemed that she sighed and then was not breathing. But on her livid face the faint smile still lingered to show me how a Martian girl could die.

  We had forgotten for the moment where we were. As I glanced up I saw that through the inner panel, past the secondary lock, th
e ship's hull-corridor was visible, and along its length a group of Martians were advancing! They saw us, and came running.

  "Anita! Look! We've got to get out of here!"

  The secondary lock was open to the corridor. We jammed on our helmets. The unhelmeted brigands by then were fumbling at the inner panel. I pulled at the lever of the outer panel. The brigands were hurrying, thinking they could be in time to stop me. One of the more cautious fumbled with a helmet.

  "Anita, run! Try and keep your feet."

  I slid the outer panel and pushed at Anita. Simultaneously the brigands opened the inner porte.

  The air came with a tempestuous rush. A blast through the inner porte--through the little pressure-lock--a wild rush out to the airless Moon. All the air in the ship madly rushing to escape....

  Like feathers we were blown with it. I recall an impression of the hurtling brigand figures and swift-flying rocks under me. A silent crash as I struck.

  Then soundless, empty blackness.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII - Triumph!

  "Is he conscious? We'd better take him back, get his helmet off."

  "It's over. We can get back now. Venza, dear, we've won--it's over."

  "He hears us!"

  "Gregg!"

  "He hears us--he's all right!"

  I opened my eyes. I lay on the rocks. Over my helmet other helmets were peering, and faint, familiar voices mingled with the roaring in my ears.

  "--back to the camp and get his helmet off."

  "Are his motors smooth? Keep them right, Snap--he must have good air."

  I seemed unhurt. But Anita....

  She was here. "Gregg, dear one!"

  Anita safe! All four of us here on the Earthlit rocks, close outside the brigand ship.

  "Anita!"

  She held me, lifted me. I was uninjured. I could stand; I staggered up and stood swaying. The brigand ship, a hundred feet away, loomed dark and silent, a lifeless bulk, already empty of air, drained in that mad blast outward. Like the wreck of the Planetara--a dead, pulseless hulk already.

  We four stood together, triumphant. The battle was over. The brigands were worsted, almost the last man of them dead or dying. No more than ten or fifteen had been available for that final assault upon the camp buildings. Miko's last strategy. I think perhaps he had intended, with his few remaining men, to take the ship and make away, deserting his fellows.

  All on the ship, caught unhelmeted by the explosion, were dead long since.

  I stood listening to Snap's triumphant account. It had not been difficult for the flying platforms to hunt down the attacking brigands on the open rocks. We had only lost one more platform.

  Human hearts beat sometimes with very selfish emotions. It was a triumphant ending for us, and we hardly gave a thought that half of Grantline's little group had perished.

  We huddled on Snap's platform. It rose, lurching drunkenly, barely carrying us.

  And as we headed for the Grantline buildings, where still the rift in the wall had not quite broken, there came the final triumph. Miko had been aware of it, and knew he had lost. Grantline's search-light leaped upward, swept the sky, caught its sought-for object--a huge silver cylinder, bathed brightly in the white search-beam glare.

  The police-ship from Earth!

  CHAPTER XXXIX - My Exit

  My narrative lies now in this permanently recorded form before you, and I prepare my exit bow with the humble hope that I may have given you pleasure. If so, I do beg you to tell me of it. There are some who already have flashed their approval of my discs; I thank them most earnestly and gratefully.

  My errors of recording unquestionably are many; and for them I ask your indulgence. There have been, I can readily see, errors of omission. I have not mentioned, for instance, the final rescue of the Planetara's marooned passengers on the asteroid. You will bear with me, since the disc-space has its technical limitations, that such omissions have been unavoidable.

  Since the passage of the Earth-law by the Federated Board of Education, forcing narrative fiction to cling so closely to sworn facts of actual happening, I need offer no assurance of the truth of my narrative. My witnesses have filed their corroborating declarations. Indeed, the Planetara's wreck and the brigands' attack upon the Moon-treasure were given the widest news-casters' publicity, as you all know. Yet I, who was unwittingly involved in those stirring events, may have added a more personal note, making the scenes more vivid to your imagination. I have tried to do that. I do hope that in some measure you will think I have succeeded.

  There are many foolish girls now who say that they would like to know Gregg Haljan. They doubtless would be very disappointed. I really crave no more publicity. And the girls of all the Universe have no charm for me. There is only one, for me--an Earth-girl.

  I think that life has very beautifully endowed me with its blessings.

  Giants of the Ray

  By Tom Curry

  [Sidenote: Madly the three raced for their lives up the shaft of the radium mine, for behind them poured a stream of hideous monsters--giants of the ray!]

  "I tell you I'm not crazy," insisted the tall man. "Durkin, they got a big mine."

  Bill Durkin laughed roughly, and sneered openly at his partner, Frank Maget. "G'wan, you're drunk."

  "Well, I was last night," admitted Maget. "But I'd slept it off this morning. I was lying under that table in the Portuguee's, and when I opened my eyes, there were these three birds sitting near me. They hadn't spotted me. I heard 'em talking of wealth, how their mine was of unbelievable richness and greater than any other deposit in the world. Well, that means something, don't it?"

  "That's all right," said Durkin. "But whoever saw a cricket fifteen inches long?"

  "Listen. There were three of these guys. One was a hell of a looking fellow: his face was piebald, with purple spots. His skin was bleached and withered, and one eye looked like a pearl collar button! They called him Professor, too, Professor Gurlone. Well, he takes out this damn cricket thing and it was sort of reddish purple but alive, and as long as your forearm. This professor guy says his son had taken an ordinary cricket and made it grow into the one he had. But the mine was what interested me. I kept my mouth shut and my ears open, and it's in the Matto Grosso. May be emeralds, diamonds, or gold. Boy, I'm heading for it, right now. The old guy's going back to-morrow, get me?"

  "It's a lot of bunk," growled Durkin, who was stout and red of countenance.

  "Yeh? Well, Otto Ulrich don't put fifty thousand into bunk."

  Durkin whistled. "You mean the German loosened up that much?" he asked, and his eyes showed interest.

  "Sure. He paid this Gurlone fifty thousand dollars--credit, of course."

  "Well--maybe there's something in the mine story. But boy, you were drunk when you saw that cricket. No cricket ever grew that big. You always see things when you get too much rum in you."

  "The hell you say," cried Maget. "I saw it, I tell you!"

  * * * * *

  Durkin feigned elaborate politeness. "Oh, all right, Frank. Have it your own way. You saw a cricket that big and this Gurlone feller took a couple of pink elephants out of his pocket to pay the check. Sure, I believe you."

  But money never failed to attract the two tropical tramps. They were looking for trouble, not work, and the idea of a raid on a rich mine in the Matto Grosso was just what they would enjoy.

  An hour later, they had cornered a small, inoffensive peon named Juan. Juan, Maget and Durkin had discovered, had come out of the wilderness with Professor Gurlone, the strange looking gentleman who spoke of a fabulously wealthy mine and commanded checks for fifty thousand dollars from a reputable banking firm. Such a man was worth watching.

  The two rascals were expert at pumping the little half-breed. They knew peons, and the first thing that happened was that Durkin had slipped Juan several dollars and had pressed a large glass of whiskey on the little man.

  The conversation was in broken English and Spanish.

  "Quien
sabe?"

  Durkin and Maget had this phrase flung at them often during the course of the talk with Juan, and there were many elaborate shrugs.

  There was a mine, way back in the Matto Grosso, said Juan. He thought it might contain silver: there had been the shaft of an old mine there. But now they were deep down in the ground, digging out reddish brown ore, and the cavern smoked and smelled so badly a man could work but an hour or two before being relieved. But the pay was very high. Also, Juan, in his rambling way, spoke of grotesque animals. What were these creatures like? asked Durkin. Then came a shrug, and Juan said they were like nothing else on earth.

  * * * * *

  Durkin discounted the part of the story having to do with the strange animals. He thought it was peon superstition. But now he was sure there was a rich mine to be raided.

  "It's a tough part of the Grosso," he said, turning to Maget.

  "Sure. Hard to carry enough water and supplies to make it. Say, Juan, who was that big Portuguee with Professor Gurlone? He's blind, ain't he? His eyes were white as milk, and his face tanned black as river mud. Surely is a great big guy, and tough looking, too."

  Durkin drummed on the table, considering the matter, while Juan spoke of the big Portuguese. The swarthy man with the colorless blind eyes was Espinosa, former owner of the mine. He had sold part of his claim to the Gurlones, but had remained with them as an assistant. Though blind, he knew the depths of the mine and could feel his way about, and direct the peons in their labors.

  "I've got it," said Durkin, turning back to Juan and Maget. "Juan, it's up to you. You've got to blaze the trail so we can follow you in. And you can steal food and cache it for use on the way, see? We'll come along a day or so after the Gurlones."

  It took some persuading to make Juan consent to their plot, but the peon yielded at last to money and the promise of part of the spoils. "Maybe you can steal Gurlone's samples and they'll give us a line on what he's up to out there. Whether it's emeralds or diamonds or gold that they're taking out of the mine."