And the people of the rebel chief for the moment did not pursue—did not even fire. For they too saw! To the rear, in the center of Alkebar's horde, came the dazzling flares of explosions. So many and so close together were they, that they looked like a titanic conflagration of green flame. Against the light, the silhouettes of confused and bewildered space riders careened, like frightened pollywogs. The holocaust moved—swung. It was like a tapered column of fire veiled by a faint bluish haze.
The Earthians, Telaba, and the two remaining Space Men, forgetful of everything else, were staring in awed wonder at the phenomenon through the forward observation bay. It was Shelby who found the first part of the explanation.
"It's the Atomic Ray!" he almost shrieked. "Freeing the atomic energy in the materials that make up the bodies of Alkebar's men—literally causing their flesh and bones to explode! But how—what the devil—!"
"Look!" cried Jan. She pointed far up over their heads to where the cone of faintly bluish light swung, free from the milling horde. Up and up to its apex, and there hung what appeared to be a tiny cocoon of burnished silver.
The girl peered through her binoculars for a long moment. "I see the name. It is the Selba," she said. "Hekalu has made a mistake—he's attacking the wrong force! Or—or some ally of ours has gained control of the ship!" she hazarded.
"No time to make guess now," said Telaba. "To fight, much better." He had returned to the signaling mechanism, and was working it with cool efficiency, rallying his battered forces.
Like tigers they fell upon the Alkebarians, shattering them out of existence with a steady storm of rifle bullets. They met with only a weak resistance for the foe seemed to realize that the fates had played them false. The blue ray had been their promise, and now, like the sword of their ancient god of destruction, it was weaving calmly this way and that, snuffing them into nothingness. The Black Emperor's horde was dissolving, scattering.
Battalions of terrified Space Men poured past the rebel chieftain's car, shooting only hurried and ineffective volleys at their enemies, who pressed fiercely upon them. And never did Jan and Shelby miss a chance to spray them with searing bursts of machine-gun fire.
There was a lull. The Earthians took the opportunity to look up at the angel of death that was the Selba, far above. Most of Alkebar's huge army had already perished, or had dispersed in flight into the desert of space from which it had been recruited. But that the space ship would presently be engaged in a serious fight was evident.
A determined force which must have numbered a hundred thousand, was hurtling up at it, surrounding the craft with a halo of bursting torpedoes. At the head of the body of Space Men was a huge beast bearing on its back a car similar to Telaba's. Veri-colored signal stars spurted from it. Alkebar himself must be in it directing operations!
Coolly the guiding hand aboard the Selba was swinging his dreadful weapon this way and that, annihilating the attackers as one might annihilate a swarm of mosquitoes with a blowtorch. Half of them had already been reduced to those basic, intangible vibrations which constitute all substance. It was terrible, it was glorious; but what could it all mean? Hekalu's ship!
The still formidable remnants of the vengeance squadron was seeking to close in—to grapple with the vessel. The Selba was trying to dart out of their way, but the speed of the Space Men, a gift of Nature, was greater than that of this fastest ship designed by man. Grimly, in the face of almost certain death, they kept on. A score or so succeeded in landing on the curving hull, and, like leeches they clung to it. The Atomic Ray arched angrily, cutting a deep swath through those who still sought a hold.
And then the gleaming form of the Selba was completely hidden by the swarm of enraged horrors that poured over it. The Atomic Ray was snuffed out. The beholders saw the air lock being pried open, and the Space Men crowding into the interior of the craft. For a second the Selba wobbled crazily, and then her rocket motors ceased to flame.
"What are we waiting for? We have friends up there!" Jan cried.
Telaba flashed his orders, and the entire cavalcade charged toward the vessel, their guns spewing flame.
It was only a matter of a minute or so before that hurtling torrent of rebels had swept the Alkebarians from their prey. Those of the Black Emperor's men who had forced their way into the ship managed to hold the entrance for a short time, but under the urgings of their intrepid chief, the zealous rebels shot and hewed their enemies down as though they had been paper marionettes. The way was clear.
Telaba waved an order to his driver, and the space beast drew up alongside the Selba. Expectantly eager, the Earthians clambered aboard, followed by the chief.
The ship was a shambles. Its corridors were littered with bodies of Space Men who wore on their breasts the red circle which signified loyalty to the Black Emperor. Telaba's followers had done well.
The three made their way to the control room. Intuitively they had sensed what they would find there, and so, they were not surprised at what they saw—wreckage and the carcasses of Alkebar's warriors. The Martian had put up a stiff fight.
Shelby bent over the armored form of Akar Hekalu Selba which was sprawling on the floor, beside the pilot seat. A gaping hole in the tough metal plating under his right arm, and a thin trickle of blood, told clearly what had happened. "They got him," the Earthman muttered. "But why?"
Jan's eyes had wandered to the narrow desk before the pilot seat. There were the instruments and devices by means of which the ship was controlled, and there was the lever which had moved the ray projector in its mounting just beneath the nose of the craft. A calculating pad and a stylus were lying on the desk.
Something was written on the pad—a message. She called to Shelby, and together they read the brief, hastily scrawled note. It was in English:
"To Janice Darell and Austin Shelby, Greeting. Alkebar is breaking into the ship, and Telaba is coming. You will be with him, I know. From among my enemies I have chosen my friends. A man must have friends, and traitors do not serve. Forgive me for stealing your glory, Mr. Shelby. I shall be grateful. Sidi Yadi, Hekalu Selba, Akar."
Shelby looked at Jan and then at Telaba who was standing close beside them. "So that's it," he said slowly. "Nobody is totally bad."
"Not even Hekki," Jan put in. A hint of a wistful smile flickered about her lips. "I guess it's the end now," she went on. "A glorious adventure. Back to Earth!" Her voice had taken on a dreamy exultant quality.
"The end, Jan?" Austin asked. "Haven't you forgotten something?"
She looked puzzled, and then she laughed a brief gay little laugh which made roguish dimples twinkle in her cheeks. Even her fantastic attire could not hide her beauty. "You ridiculous old dumb-bell! Of course it isn't the end—just the beginning—with you!"
It was a considerable time before Shelby was able to repair the Selba sufficiently so that she could get underway for Mars but the task was finished at last. Escorted by the rebel chief's fierce hordesmen, they set out for the Red Planet.
Somehow, snatches of the ancient Bedouin song tinkled in Shelby's mind. He had read old books. "Across the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire. . . ."
That did not quite fit the situation, for Jan was with him. But his steed, the Selba, was truly shod with fire. The rocket nozzles—and damaged though she was, she behaved like a thoroughbred. And out there in the void beside the ship—what were those shapes?—bizarre, impossible, yet real—real.
In docks scattered over Earth and Mars, battleships of space and their crews wait expectantly for an alarm that may never come. Telescopes comb the sky. Out there the Star People, new arrivals in the solar system, are shifting, moving about restlessly. But the planets feel secure. Their fleets could cope with the Space Men, were they a hundred times more numerous. And once in a while, on the desolate Sahara, or Mohave or Taraal, shadows come, settling down like flecks of darkness from the midnight heaven. They are Telaba's and Ankova's people. For a while—a day perhaps—they stay,
bartering their exotic treasures for human wares. Then silently, mysteriously, they are gone, into the night. . . .
The End
[1] Martian farewell.
**************************
Godson of Almarlu,
by Raymond Z. Gallun
Astounding Oct. 1936
Novella - 18977 words
Born to believe himself a genius—
he built as never man had built before—
I.
With almost soundless caution it moved beneath the child’s window. No one saw it but the stars. They alone might harbor some knowledge of its purpose.
Satisfied that there was small reason to fear interruption, it arose from the ground, its five-inch wings of fabric and metal thrumming softly. Slender filaments explored the screen of the window, locating the slit which their owner had made in the meshed wire several nights previous. Then, stealthily, the thing drew its slim length through the opening.
Again it took to its wings, darting toward the crib. It came to rest on the counterpane, and crept forward like some huge moth out of the realm of fairyland. Its metal antennae groped over the slumbering child’s forehead. The gentleness of its caress contrasted strikingly with its baroque form, glowing faintly phosphorescent in the gloom. Minute sparks, like electrical discharges, flickered about the ends of those fine, burnished filaments. But the child’s healthy features remained relaxed in the dancing glow, and his breathing went on evenly. The house was still. None of its inhabitants could have known what was happening.
A half hour went by thus. Somewhere a clock chimed distantly. The visitor had fulfilled its mission, as, on other rare occasions extending far back into ages past, it had doubtless fulfilled other missions. The ancient learning of Almarlu had worked its magic on its latest protege. There would be no more unheralded nocturnal entries into the child’s nursery after this.
The visitor left the room in the manner that it had entered. It rose rapidly toward the starlighted firmament—one mile, two, three. The air grew thin and cold. The visitor’s wings folded, disappearing into slotlike sheaths in its sides. It had become a little projectile that shot with terrific and ever-mounting speed toward the region of the interplanetary wastes.
JEFFERSON SCANLON, born in March, 1934, did not show any early indications of promise. Frankly, he was a bad boy whose impish, freckle-faced grin was always an indication of mischief to his teachers. Yet even then it is probable that certain elusive mental phantasms, which he did not understand, and concerning which he never spoke, occasionally came into his thoughts.
And when he left school he had a change of fortune. Somewhere within him a knack for business had lain dormant. Starting as a salesman for a company that produced television sets, he began his swift march toward financial success.
Before many years had gone by he had, through a combination of industry, good judgment, ruthlessness, and what seemed a phenomenal, intuitive foresight which his acquaintances found difficult to credit to a small, rotund, sandy braggart like himself, achieved complete mastery of the television company.
After that his progress was still more rapid. He organized a new concern under the broad name of Scanlon Manufacturies. His hunches always seemed more valuable and accurate than the advice of the staff of experts he had hired to watch the field of science and invention; and it was his habit never to scorn a hunch.
Thus he prospered. His company was the first to put out a truly successful rocket motor for planes. But this was only one of its many triumphs. Among them was the invention which made practical the transmission of electricity along beams of ionized air instead of wires; and then there was the electrolytic apparatus which could convert the potential energy of coal into usable power without the necessity of removing it from the mine.
Equally important was an extremely light and hard alloy whose base was beryllium, for it revolutionized transportation, ushering in an era of colossal freight and passenger planes, the dimensions and load-carrying capacities of which were almost as large as those of the vessels which had sailed the oceans.
“What I need is—er—money!” was Jeff Scanlon’s watch phrase. Just why he needed it was a question which he seldom paused to consider. He did not realize that his motive was quite different from the simple acquisitive urge which sometimes impels capitalists to amass vast riches. Nor did he have the remotest inkling of the colossal drama in which, by the prearranged direction of intelligences long dead, he was destined to take a leading part.
WHILE the great war of 1978 was going on, he was busy making Brandt flame projectors, synthetic fabrics, and other things necessary to meet the demands which the strained conditions of the period imposed. And he was also busy looking out for himself.
During the slump which followed the conflict, he managed, by a series of dexterous and sometimes shady maneuverings, to gain control of scores of bankrupt and near-bankrupt companies on five continents.
One of these, an embryonic German concern, interested him especially. Under the pressure of wartime shortages its chemists had developed really practical methods of processing organic substances such as straw, grass, fodder, and so forth, in such a way as to derive from them highly nutritive and not unpalatable food concentrates, quite satisfactory for human consumption. The process had vast financial possibilities; but Jeff’s attention to it, for once, seemed more a matter of scientific curiosity.
Three years after he had taken over the companies, he had things moving smoothly and profitably once more. No other man in the world could have demonstrated the possession of resources equaling one third of his. Jeff Scanlon was financial dictator of the Earth. Perhaps he might have become its political master had he so elected.
Picture him then: Now well past forty, growing truly obese, and loving his Napoleonic poses more than ever. His small blue eyes had a glint that was at once benign and foxy. His wife, Bessie, five years his senior, was the only person who could bulldoze him; though, realizing his peculiar talents, she never interfered with, or questioned, his decisions in money matters. Jeff had no children, but was devoted to a nephew, David Scanlon, who had a reputation for worthlessness.
Jeff’s initial move, now, was to build a laboratory, of which he intended to make personal use. The circumstance was puzzling even to himself; for his actual knowledge of sciences such as chemistry, physics, and higher mathematics, was scarcely better than that of any fairly educated layman. And he had never developed skill in the use of his hands, as scientists must. Yet, since he was not a person much given to self-analysis, his puzzlement over his urges troubled him little.
He sometimes had strange daydreams, it is true—visions of un-Earthly waste places, and of incredible, broken desolation, which he thought of as existing somewhere in interplanetary space, still untouched by human exploration. On a drifting, airless fragment of a world in the asteroid belt beyond the orbit of Mars, it seemed to be.
In those dreams he pictured, very dimly, vague, broken things of metal, jagged rocks, and dazzling, depressing sunshine. And occasionally he muttered in his sleep, referring to life spores and to a substance of incredible weight. Once in a great while he even voiced with a sort of morbid reverence the name, Almarlu, without, during his waking hours, remembering more than a shadow of its significance.
Bessie, his wife, scolded him and laughed at him for the strange things he said in his sleep; but both she and he had grown accustomed to the recurrence of such incidents.
NOW, alone and unassisted, he went to work in his splendidly equipped laboratory, leaving the management of his business to carefully selected subordinates.
And to all appearances the notorious Scanlon luck still held good. Within four months he produced an invention which he boasted was unequaled in the annals of scientific achievement. It would wreck the existing power industry utterly, but it would be a boon to all mankind.
His past success had been such that the populace in general was quite willing to listen to his assertions. The
scientists, however, greeted the announcement of his invention with skepticism. But Jeff undertook to convince the doubters by inviting them to his laboratory, that they might see for themselves what his creation could do.
They looked in awe at the marvelous outlay of equipment he had collected; and their wonder deepened at sight of the strange, glittering maze of perfectly tooled glass, crystal and metal, which the little financial wizard, hitherto unrecognized by them as a savant, declared he had made with his own hands.
They were astounded at his lithe skill as he moved here and there, adjusting dials and levers, and putting the outlandish fabrication of his into operation.
A luminous lavender haze collected around the brightly polished knob that capped the machine. A moment later a great electric motor several yards distant, whose terminals were attached only to a heavy coil made of a peculiar reddish alloy, began to whine out a song of strength.
The observers were inclined to suspect that trickery lay behind this demonstration; for the efficient transmission of electric power through the ether, without the agency of some conductor, either ionized air or metal, was regarded as an impossibility. They knew, of course, that radio waves could induce a current in an aerial thousands of miles from the point of origin of those waves; but it was a small current indeed, compared to the one in the transmitting aerial. Most of the latter’s power was lost by being scattered far and wide through space.
Yet when the scientists examined Jeff’s motor carefully, and when they had produced a motor of their own, equipped it with a receptor coil which he supplied, they found that their natural supposition was incorrect. Their motor ran as sweetly as did Jeff’s. It not only ran while in the laboratory, but it did so just as perfectly when removed to a distance of more than a mile!
Godson of Almarlu: A Collection of Science Fiction Novellas Page 9