Ten (Stories) to The Stars

by Raymond Z. Gallun

“While all these strange things were going on the little animal became more and more active, and its strength was almost unbelievable for so small a creature.

  “Though it still kept its Mar-Bilionian form, it was Gorazian in every other way and perfectly capable of existing under the most severe of Gorazian conditions.

  “Now that the complete consummation of the greatest accomplishment that he had ever conceived of, was so close at hand, Grooga was elated. However, there were still several things to do, just to clinch his discoveries. To begin with, we treated other animals in just the same way that we had the first. Several died, but the majority survived the transformation. Lastly we set about determining whether Grooga’s process would work on a human being. For this experiment we used a slave whom we had brought along. The attempt was successful. The huge servitor who had formerly been white, became an awe-inspiring black genie with perhaps four times the muscular power which he had formerly possessed. He could survive in an airless, heatless void and unless he encountered some violent destructive force like an exploding bomb, or starved for want of xata, he was immortal. The impossible had been accomplished!

  “As our space ship arose from the scarred and tortured face of dead Goraz, Grooga looked up from the control board in the conning tower and turned toward me. ‘Congratulate me, Prince,’ he said, ‘for I have saved a great race from destruction upon a dying world. I am certain that there is an inexhaustible supply of xata far beneath the crust of Mar-Bilione. With it we will transform every man, woman and child even as we have transformed the slave, Zat Agga. Then, let nature try to strangle and freeze our people to death!’

  “I wrung Grooga’s hand enthusiastically and, according to a custom practiced by members of the royal family when they wish to reward some one who has accomplished important things, I presented him with a priceless old anklet which had been a treasured heirloom of my dynasty.

  “The hull of the Silver Meteor glowed redly as it streaked through the thin atmosphere of Mar-Bilione. Its immense speed betokened the importance of the news it bore.

  “From that night of our return dated the rise of Grooga’s greatness. Two hours after our arrival on our home planet, he made a demonstration of his discovery in the throne room of my father’s palace before five thousand of the empire’s most noted scientists. During that demonstration he reduced the temperature of our transformed slave’s body well below zero, deprived him of air and finally gave him an incandescent metal bar to hold. The bar made the slave’s bare hands become red-hot, yet he underwent no apparent discomfort.

  The Flight

  IT is needless to say that Grooga’s idea took Mar-Bilione by storm. By dawn the following day his name was already written indelibly in the records of eternity. He had become the idol of Mar-Bilione. Within a period equal to six of your months we had transformed practically the entire race into black-skinned supermen who could survive nature’s severest rigors.

  “But the first injection of xata killed my aged father and I inherited the empire from him together with all the troubles that go with it.

  “Soon Grooga’s power grew to such proportions that it began to seriously hamper my control over my realm. Earth Man, I loved Grooga as a brother, but the law is that there can be but one ruler in Mar-Bilione. On a certain dark night, the hideous old savant was torn to fragments by an explosion that wrecked his entire laboratory. Because of some miscarriage of my plans, the blame for his death was immediately fastened on me. The people went mad; they thirsted for my blood and the blood of my few faithful followers.

  “For a little while I thought I had a chance against my enemies, for I had just discovered a new ray that released atomic energy in a substance instantly when it touches it. It is needless to say that it was a mighty weapon.

  “What is that which I read in your mind. Earth Man? You too have sought the secret of atomic energy? Yes, I see that it is so. Your theory of compression is correct but your method of producing it is crude. My ray creates a powerful attractive force between atoms which draws them closely together, much more rapidly and easily than your press will do.

  “I had hoped to keep the principle of my new weapon a secret, but it soon leaked out. Now there was nothing for my minions and me to do but flee. The only places where we could have even temporary safety were the moons. Our battle-craft were all fitted for interplanetary travel and so it took only a short time to reach our new homes. Life should have been easy there, for we had all we needed; xata was plentiful in the centers of several moons. However, the enraged Groogans, bent on our extermination, pursued us. Where could we go now? With atomic energy at our command the answer was almost easy. All about us was the sable sky flashing with icy stars—myriad legions of them stretching into the endless vastness of the universe. They beckoned to us—beckoned to that burning spirit of adventure that is ever the possession of a strong, virile race. Could we resist this chance to explore and learn? No!

  “On each moon we built an immense driving mechanism, of the same type used in our space ships. Then, one day, the tiny satellites tore loose from their orbits and, after joining into a cluster, began to rush with almost the speed of light out into interstellar space. Behind us always there trailed a long train of faintly-luminous gases ejected from the propelling machinery. That glowing appendage gives the swarm of moonlets the appearance of a true comet, and there is little wonder that your savants mistook it for such.

  “Thus we became the Daans or Nomads. For more than a million of your years we have been racing madly toward nowhere, visiting worlds, experimenting and amassing knowledge. To what ultimate purpose is it all? Though I am perhaps older than your first human ancestor, I am no nearer to the answer of that question than you.

  “I think I have told you about all there is to tell, Earth Man. Now I must hurry home. Already I have stayed longer than I had planned; as it is, it will take me nearly two hours to reach the ‘comet.’ In departing, I wish to say that this little time spent with you has been most pleasant. Your mind, which I have rummaged over thoroughly, is filled with so many quaint and interesting ideas!”

  By this time Barclay had rid himself of much of his bewilderment. After all Othaloma and his story, though surely fantastic, were not impossibilities. The young scientist’s mind was functioning clearly again and he was not slow to see that he might win knowledge from Othaloma that would enable him to make of some of his fondest dreams, realities.

  “Though the things you have told me amaze me immensely,” he said, “I too have enjoyed your visit. But now there is one thing that I wish to ask you. As you know, I have sought the secret of atomic energy for a long time. I have always cherished the idea that with the power of the atom at my command I might be able to construct a space ship and visit other worlds. How is the ray which releases atomic energy produced?”

  Othaloma eyed Barclay for a moment. “So you want to see other worlds, do you? Well, if that’s the case, I can do more than merely tell you how to release the power of the atom. Why not come with me to the ‘comet?’ We will treat you with xata and you will become as deathless as any of the Daans. Then indeed you will see the universe. Will you come?”

  Barclay felt the color fading from his cheeks. God, what an idea! What an awful and wonderful idea! The universe and practical immortality—thousands of years in which to study and learn! There was nothing to hold him back—no friends, no relatives, only a paltry five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of property, and that could go to the state. For a few seconds Barclay felt an icy pang of fear. What if the black giant were leading him off to perform some hellish experiment on him, vivisect him, torture him? But the terror in the savant’s heart passed quickly. Seekers after wisdom must take chances. After all death was the worst thing that could happen, and that always happens sooner or later anyway.

  And he could leave a message that would stupefy and amaze those dry-as-dust doubters who would try to probe the secret of his disappearance!

  “Give me an hour and I w
ill be ready,” he said.

  Othaloma nodded and withdrew.

  For an hour Barclay sat writing and finally with a smile laid down his pen. We can imagine how in a short time Othaloma reappeared.

  “Have you finished?” he would ask.

  “Yes, lead on; I’ll follow,” said Barclay.

  “Come then,” returned Othaloma. He strode out into the little garden and Barclay, a trifle nervous, followed him closely. It had ceased raining now, and a few stars were trying to peer through the veil of clouds. By the glow from the doorway of the laboratory Barclay saw a flat, oval-shaped machine resting on the ground. On top of it were a seat and several control levers and behind the seat there was an oblong box-like affair of considerable size. Othaloma fumbled with it for an instant and then raised its lid.

  “This is my specimen chest,” he said. “I use if to transport to the ‘comet’ the various living creatures which I collect on the planets I visit. Since you are still dependent upon air and warmth for your existence, you’ll have to travel in it. It will protect you from interplanetary cold and, since it is air-tight, there will also be enough air inside to sustain you. I will of course reduce you to a state of suspended animation and in that condition you will need very little oxygen.”

  Barclay raised himself over the side of the coffin-like affair and then lay down in it at full length.

  “You’ll go to sleep in a minute,” said Othaloma, “and, when you awaken a couple of weeks hence, you’ll find yourself a full-fledged Daan and an inhabitant of my capital city, Narbool, which is situated on Goraz; goodbye.”

  He let the lid drop. The lock clicked and Barclay found himself in absolute darkness. He smelled a faint, pungent odor and then lost consciousness.

  One minute later a bizarre craft, ejecting a continuous stream of blue flame from its stern, arose from the island. In a few seconds it floated above the billowing field of clouds that shone with a silvery softness beneath the light of the “comet.” Then it vanished among the myriad stars.

  Today Barclay’s big white laboratory is boarded up and deserted, and a solemn-eyed little Chinaman named Ching Loo is still wondering what, really, became of his master.

  The End

  *****************************

  Avalanche,

  by Raymond Z. Gallun

  Astounding Dec. 1935 {as by "Dow Elstar"}

  Short Story - 3455 words

  A story of sudden—unexpected—results!

  “THEY COME, master. It is the end.”

  Fai Torran glanced up from his work bench and grinned at his Negro servitor who stood with his huge body flattened defensively against the door of the laboratory.

  “The end and the beginning, Nareth,” Fai Torran remarked with a lack of excitement born of perfect self-assurance. “We are ready. They think that they have conquered; but all that we must do has been done, except for the final gesture. I believe that it would be amusing to let our friends, the Rothel, watch that final gesture. Am I right?”

  Nareth’s teeth flashed appreciatively. The glistening muscles of his nude torso relaxed a trifle. “There can be no harm in it, master,” he said. “If we are careful.”

  Fai Torran removed a complicated helmet from his head, and tossed it carelessly into a corner of the apparatus- packed room. For a moment he listened. He heard the beat of mechanical wings and the sullen whoosh of bombs. The nostrils of his slender nose twitched disdainfully.

  His gaze wandered to a pair of six-inch globes that rested in fragile cradles against one wall. The aspect of those globes was not impressive. They were of bright metal, and about them clung faint, rosy aurae. In addition to what might have been some sort of optical devices resembling bejewelled bosses, each was equipped with several curiously complex arms, folded now into grooves, so as to conform perfectly to the spherical contours of the mechanisms to which they belonged.

  No, those globes did not look impressive; yet in their delicate intricacies, by an alchemy unequaled in the previous achievements of mankind, the genius of Fai Torran and Nareth, the greatest wizards of the period, had been recreated.

  Fai Torran’s blue eyes twinkled like bright bits of steel. “Let it be so, Nareth,” he said. “Let our conquerors see.”

  The Negro’s fingers spun a burnished dial. Immediately the enameled whiteness of the walls dimmed. Atoms were rearranged. The laboratory building became as transparent as air. Beyond its barriers the city sprang into view, a bedlam of lust and destruction under the stars.

  Slim shapes, swift and cruel, darted overhead. Buildings, reared to endure until a planet died, crashed thunderously into dark streets. Flames flared, and people scurried like frightened ants before gusts of vapor that rolled toward them and over them, choking their cries of terror and stilling their futile efforts to escape death.

  In three minutes the grim job was finished. It was almost quiet once more. The lab, its stout armor impervious to both gas and bombs, remained unscathed. But it could be reduced in other ways.

  Out of the throbbing shadows cast by the blazing hulks of a culture that had perished, the victors appeared, moving with methodical precision across the wreckage that was their handiwork.

  Beyond the outer barrier of the laboratory they halted. There were thousands of them in sight. They were a tall people, and massive; not one could have measured less than seven feet in height. They were clad in thick, rubberized clothing to protect them from the poison they had scattered, and each wore a transparent helmet over his head. Both men and women were represented in about equal numbers. Their faces were leathery and brown, their noses aquiline, their eyes were intelligent and cruel. In their hands strange weapons glittered. They were the Rothel.

  A careful practice of eugenics through the centuries had given the Rothel the strength and size and tenacity which had made them supreme. Unchecked, they had swept across Europe, Asia, North and South America—the entire world. This city had been the last to fall.

  NOW they stood before the workshop of the men whose wizardry had hurled so many ghastly death traps in their path to conquest. For Fai Torran, the little Caucasian, and for Nareth, the giant Ethiop, they still felt a grudging respect and awe, even though these two hated enemies seemed now within reach.

  The Rothel exchanged muffled mutterings through the respirators of their helmets. They had not yet offered to attack the walls of the laboratory, invisible, but palpable and solid to the touch. Perhaps they feared some new and ghoulish trick.

  Fai Torran and Nareth studied their gaunt, weathered faces, on which the ruddy light of the burning city danced and played.

  Finally the Caucasian spoke, and an amplifier system conveyed his words to the horde without.

  “I congratulate you, people of Rothel,” he said. “At present you represent the pinnacle of organized ruthlessness upon this planet. It is splendid.”

  Fai Torran’s tone was curiously sincere. There was an element of mockery in it too, but it was subdued. He meant what he said almost literally.

  The grumblings of the Rothel became more tense and nervous.

  “It is perhaps unfortunate that the universe is not static,” Fai Torran continued. “Changes take place. Progress is constantly going on. It is perhaps also unfortunate that might so often makes right.

  “Man, or flesh in any form, intelligent or otherwise, is not the ultimate goal of creation. Such things are only tools—clumsy tools to be employed in the production of something better. There is at least one more step before the final boundary of progress is attained.”

  Fai Torran’s slender hand pointed toward the two small spheres that squatted motionless in their cradles. His habitual confidence seemed more marked than ever. His calm was that of a seer who has glimpsed the future, and who knows absolutely what is soon to take place.

  “Within a very few minutes Nareth and I shall cease to exist as men,” he said. “However, our minds of flesh have been duplicated in metal, and hence shall not be really destroyed. One of those glo
bes contains a perfect mechanical copy of my brain; the other contains a duplicate of Nareth’s brain. They are more compact than the living originals themselves. The memory of each of us is there, the thought mechanism, the will, the consciousness, the capacity to feel emotion, even. These may seem strange assertions; but when one remembers that the human brain is largely an intricate machine functioning under the action of stimuli suited to it, just as do many other mechanisms, the facts become clear.

  “One of the purposes of a brain is to associate ideas, another is to retain knowledge. Even the crude calculating machines used by our ancestors of long ago, accomplished the first of these in a simple way; they could associate several numbers with their sum or product. And even a book may be said to possess memory.

  “But enough of this. Watch!”

  Fai Torran approached the globes. With a finger he jabbed two studs that projected from a tiny switchboard on the supporting framework. The rosy glow that surrounded the spheres brightened. They lifted lightly from their cradles, and began to circle the chamber like a pair of birds seeking a means of egress.

  Nareth, the Negro-slave scientist, pushed another stud on the wall. In response there came a rattling, grating noise from overhead. It was the sound of metal sliding over metal. Nothing could be seen, but the watchers knew that a trapdoor had opened in the invisible roof.

  Unerringly the twin globes hurtled toward the opening, and through it. In their wake the trap clanged shut. The time between the beginning and end of the operation had been but a moment. Had it been longer, the deadly gas that covered the metropolis would have entered in sufficient quantity to have killed the two savants.

  With quickening velocity the spheres shot toward zenith, the light they emitted shading toward orange as their speed became meteoric, and friction with the tenuous upper atmosphere heated their shells almost to incandescence. Then they vanished among the stars.