Modern Masterpieces of Science Fiction

by Sam Moskowitz

"What's this? Did they get your gun, too?"

  "Take it easy," Esterling said. "They're friendly. Our being alive now proves that." Damon grunted and began to remove his suit. Beale, his lips moving silently, did the same. The Valkyries drew back, as though waiting.

  "Norahn—" Esterling said, rather helplessly. The girl smiled at him.

  "Vanalsa into," She pointed to the door. A Valkyrie entered, carrying a great basket loaded with fruits, unfamiliar to the Earthmen. Norahn picked up a scarlet globe and bit into it, afterward offering it to Esterling.

  The taste was strange, but acidly pleasant. Damon grunted, squatted on the floor, and began to eat. Beale was more hesitant, sniffing at each fruit warily before he tried it, but soon the three men were gorging themselves. It was a welcome change from space rations. They scarcely noticed when the Valkyries slipped out. Only Norahn remained. She touched the red sphere Esterling was eating and said,

  "Khar. Khar."

  "Khar. Norahn."

  His mouth full, Beale mumbled, "A good sign. They're taking the trouble to teach us their language. Good heavens, I still can't quite believe this. A whole race of flying people-"

  "Khar, Nils. Khar."

  Time did not exist on the world of the Valkyries. The floating islands drifted with the shining tides, borne by an unchanging current that swept around the world. What the strange sea was Esterling never learned. It was not water, though one could bathe in it. The winged folk swooped down, dipped below the surface, and came up with glowing star-drops limning their bodies. Radioactivity, perhaps. Or some less understandable source of power, the alien force that had made the Black Planet unlike any other in the System.

  It had come from outside, Norahn said, after they had learned to speak her tongue. In the old days, beyond the memory of the winged people, the planet had revolved around another sun, light-years away. That had been the age of science. There was no need for science now, though the tools still remained. Beale's eyes brightened.

  "We have no records, no memories. It was too long ago. There was a war, I think, and our people fled, moving this world like a ship. Across space we went. Long ago we visited the planets of this System. They had life but—that life was not intelligent. And we were afraid our enemies would follow and destroy us. So we made the negasphere, to hide ourselves from those who might pursue. We waited. The years passed. The centuries passed, and the ages. And we changed." Norahn's wings swept wide. "Science was forgotten; we had no need for it. We fly. We fly!" Briefly her eyes were luminous with ecstasy. "It is decadence, perhaps, but we ask nothing more from the universe. It has been very long since any of us ventured beyond the negasphere. Indeed, it is forbidden. A curse falls on all who leave this world."

  "A curse? What—"

  "I do not know that. There have been some who ventured out in ships, but they did not return. The life is good here. We have our wings, and our cities. When we drift near the Darkness, we migrate."

  Esterling said, "I don't understand. What is the darkness?"

  "You will soon know. The tides bring us near to it now, and soon we must find another island. You will see—"

  It was a wall of blackness looming upon the horizon. A monstrous pile of cloudy dark, lit luridly by red flashes sparking intermittently through the gloom. The isle swept on toward it—and the bird-people made ready to depart.

  "No life can exist in the Darkness." Norahn said. "The only land on this world are the floating isles, and they follow the tide. While they are on the lightside, we can dwell on them. When they enter the darkness, we find another isle, till they have half-circled the-planet and emerge once more."

  Esterling stared at the "great cloud. "What about your cities? Aren't they harmed?"

  "No, we find everything as we left it. Our wise men say there is a certain radiation in the Darkness that destroys life — just as there are radiations here, in the sea, that give us power, and make us winged."

  "How—"

  "I do not know. There are only legends." Norahn shrugged. "It does not matter. In a few hours we must leave for another isle. Be ready."

  Esterling would never forget that strange migration across the glowing sea. Like a cloud the winged people rose, carrying the few belongings they needed—there were not many, Two Valkyries supported Esterling; others took charge of Beale and Damon. Their great wings carried them easily above the ocean.

  Behind them the deserted islet drifted on into the Darkness.

  Looking back, Esterling felt a tiny chill strike through him. His Norse blood thrilled to sudden warning. He thought of Jotunheim, the place of night, where the Frost Giants wait their time to break forth against the Aesir. . . . The new isle was like the first, though larger, and with a greater expanse of forest. And the life was unchanged.

  The three Earthmen took little part in it; without wings, they were handicapped. The existence of the winged people went on without touching them though Esterling was not so far withdrawn as the others. He did not chafe. He was content to watch, and to talk with Norahn; to see her gliding above the shining sea. Norahn told them they were prisoners. "If you can call it that, when the freedom of our world is yours. But you cannot leave. In the past, ships from your System have sometimes crashed here, and men have survived. Not for a long time, though. We treated them well. We took them with us to safety when the isles reached the Darkness—and in time they died. You will remain here, too."

  "Why?" Damon asked.

  "You would bring down the rest of your people upon us. We are happy; we have passed the Age of Science, and no longer need it. We are perfectly adapted to our environment. But we have great sources of power here. Your race would want that power. Our planet would be ruined for us. You would take our islands to build huge, ugly machines. Nor could we fight. We have forgotten how."

  "You must have some weapons," Beale said.

  "Perhaps—but we do not need them. We have hidden our world; we guard it against intrusions—that is our greater safety. We could not fight, nor do we wish to. Ages ago all that died out of our race, soon after our science reached its peak and froze there. All we need lies ready to our hand, without further effort on our part."

  "But the machines—" Beale persisted. "Don't they ever break down? Don't they ever need repair?"

  Norahn shrugged her shining wings. "They are so simple a child could make repairs. That was the last interest that held our scientists, so legend says—they worked until no further need remained for invention, and then they worked to simplify. Even one of you, who never saw a food-maker or a noyai-loom before, could repair it in a few minutes if it broke down. No, we have no need any longer for weapons or invention of anything except—flight." Her great wings lifted away from her body and quivered a little. "It tires me to be still and talk, even to you, Nils. I shall be back." She dropped from the tower and was gone into the cool, pearly light. Beale said, "They have spaceships here, then." His voice was eager. "That's obvious, or Norahn wouldn't have bothered to tell us we were prisoners. And we could fly them if we could find them. I wonder where—"

  "We'll find out," Damon told him.

  Then the incredible happened. For a long time Esterling had been conscious of a curious sensation centering around his shoulder-blades. But he did not realize its significance till the day when, stripped to the waist, he was shaving before an improvised mirror. Damon, lounging by the balcony, said something in a surprised voice.

  "Eh?" Esterling scraped at his cheek. "What's up?" Instead of answering, Damon called for Beale. The scientist came out of the adjoining room, rubbing his eyes.

  "Look at Esterling's back," the captain said. "Do you—" Beale caught his breath. "Good heavens! Don't turn around, man; let me see."

  "What is it?" Esterling squirmed before the mirror. . "Something's growing on your shoulder-blades. I'll be damned!" Damon murmured. "It can't be. Norahn!"

  The girl's slim figure appeared above the balcony. "Es-tan'ha? Oh!" She leaped lightly to the floor and ran forward. "Be st
ill, Nils." He felt her cool hand touch his back.

  A queer, tingling excitement was pulsing within Esterling. Even before Norahn spoke, he guessed the truth.

  "Wings," she said. Yes—that is how they grow. From the buds, slowly expanding till they reach full size."

  Damon had stripped off his shirt and was at the mirror. "Funny," he muttered. "I haven't got 'em. Have you, Beale?"

  The scientist blinked. "Of course not. I haven't any such recessive characteristics in my background. Nor have you."

  Esterling looked at him. "What d'you mean?"

  "The answer's obvious, isn't it? I'd wondered how the bracelet, with its rune about the Black Planet, came into your possession. It belonged to your great-grandmother, didn't it?"

  "Gudrun. Yes. But—"

  "What do you know about her?"

  "Damned little," Esterling said. "She was supposed to be blonde, with blue eyes, and very lovely. There was some mystery about her. She didn't live long, and the bracelet was given to her son."

  "There was space-travel in your great-grandmother's day," Beale said. "And Norahn said some of her people used to leave this world in their ships. They never came back. It's pretty obvious where Gudrun came from, isn't it?"

  "She—she had no wings."

  "Wings can be amputated. They're apparently a recessive characteristic, handed down to you from your great-grandmother."

  Esterling was trembling a little. "Then why should they grow now? Why wasn't I born with them?"

  Beale nodded toward the window, beyond which the shining sea rolled. "There are certain radiations on this planet— radiations that don't exist elsewhere in the System. You were born with wing-buds on your back. But they needed the right kind of environment to develop. That particular radiation exists here. If you'd never come to this world, you'd never have grown wings."

  Norahn smiled happily into Esterling's eyes.

  "Soon you can fly, Nils! I will show you the way—"

  It was like recovering sight after being blind from birth. Flight, to Nils Esterling, unfolded vistas he had never known. The trick of it came with surprising ease. After the wings had reached their full development, the supporting muscles grew stronger, too. He never forgot that first flight. It was not long, but the feeling of complete and absolute freedom, the abrupt and easy checking of his fall, sent the blood singing through his veins. Flight was a heady drunkenness. The wine of it was stronger than any liquor Esterling had ever tasted.

  And Norahn taught him, as she had promised.

  He understood now the intoxication the winged people felt.

  Earthly humanity had dropped from Esterling. He was one of the winged people now. Flight was his heritage, the high, keen delight of utter freedom, not bound by dimensions.

  The islet swept on inexorably toward the Darkness.

  It was time for the migration again. The winged folk rose and sped away, in search of a new home. Beale and Damon delayed, however. They were determined to remain with the island when it entered the Darkness.

  At the window-opening Norahn watched the sky, where the great blackness grew momentarily more menacing. "It is dangerous. You will die." Damon grunted. "The radiation might not harm us. And I'd like to know what's in the Darkness. Beale thinks—"

  "Don't be a fool," Esterling said roughly. "You know damned well you can't live where the winged people can't. I can't stop you from committing suicide, I suppose. But what can you hope to gain by staying with the island?" Illogically, Beale and Damon persisted in their arguments —persisted, while the Darkness grew nearer. Norahn's two companions grew more and more uneasy. At last they took flight, white-faced at their closeness to the barrier of the dark. Esterling watched them go. "Okay," he said. "Maybe Norahn and I can carry you. Make up your minds. Because we're leaving too—right now!"

  Damon capitulated with surprising suddenness. "All right. I suppose we'll have to. If you won't wait till we get nearer to the Darkness."

  "We're near enough. You'll have to forget your curiosity, Beale. Norahn, can you call back some of your people to help?"

  She shook her head. "They are too far. They will not remain on the isle when it drifts near the Darkness. But I can carry the little man easily."

  "Okay. Get on my back, Damon. That's it. Lock your legs around my waist. Now—"

  The wings were powerful. Beale was a small man, and Damon no giant. Esterling and Norahn dropped from the balcony, flung their pinions wide, and swooped up, gaining altitude. The islet slid away beneath them.

  They flew on above the shining sea. Far in the distance was a smudge that showed where the bird-people were, in a close band.

  "Listen," Damon slid, .into Esterling's ear, "those people have spaceships, don't they?"

  "They used to."

  "Where are they?"

  "On some of the islands. None we've ever lived on, though."

  "But you've seen them."

  "From above—yeah."

  "So have I. Once, when they carried us off to visit another island. I know where they are from here, allowing for tidal drift." There was a pause. Damon went on,

  "How'd you like to get off this world?"

  Esterling smiled a little. "Funny. I've never thought of that. This place—I like it here."

  "Well, I don't. How about dropping us where we can get at a spaceship?"

  "One of theirs, you mean? Not a chance. For one thing, you couldn't fly it. For another, what about fuel? Remember, they haven't used the ships for ages."

  "Oh, yes they have. Norahn told us about how some of them go out into space and never return. And about how simple everything here is to operate. I'll gamble on the fuel. My guess is it's there ready—that's how machinery on this world seems to operate. And if the ship's that simple—well, I can handle anything that flies."

  "And you'd be back with an army, wouldn't you? Norahn was right, Damon. This world should be kept isolated. The people here are happy."

  "Happy, hell! Beale!" Damon's voice was sharp. "Now!" Esterling saw the scientist, a dozen yards away, move quickly. There was a gun in his hand. He pressed its muzzle against Norahn's temple. Simultaneously the Norseman felt a cold ring of steel touch his own temple.

  "Take it easy," Damon said quietly. "Don't try any stunting. I can fire before you can drop me. So can Beale."

  Esterling's face was white. "It's all right," he said, his voice unsteady. "Just keep on, Norahn."

  "Yeah," Damon seconded. "Keep on. But in a different direction. You're going to take us to a spaceship, Esterling, or you and Norahn get your heads blown off."

  "Where'd you get the guns?" he asked.

  "Where they'd been hidden," Damon said. "I've been planning this for some time. I couldn't buck the whole gang of you, but I figured if I could get you and Norahn alone—"

  "Yeah," Esterling said. "Yeah."

  It was a long flight. Wing muscles were tired and aching when an islet grew in the distance from a tiny speck to a broad expanse. Beale shouted something and pointed.

  Damon said into Esterling's ear, "I can see ships down there. No winged people, though. I guess they stay away from anything that reminds them of science. Go down— easy."

  Obediently Esterling glided down the slopes of shining air, Norahn beside him. The silvery, torpedo-shaped rows of ships grew larger. Damon whistled at their design. "I'll bet they're plenty fast!"

  Esterling landed lightly. Damon leaped from his back, gun ready, waiting till Norahn and Beale were down.

  "Keep your gun out," he said to the scientist. "I want to check up on this ship." Its lock was childishly simple. In a moment he had vanished into the ulterior. The others waited tensely. Presently Beale reappeared, smiling.

  "I was right. Simple instructions and controls. Anybody could operate who could astrogate. And there's plenty of fuel. Now, Esterling, what about going with us?" The Norseman looked at Norahn. "No," he said. "I'm staying." Beale bit at his thin lips. "Drat it," he mumbled. "Damon, we should take some proo
f back with us—"

  "We've got the ship."

  "Sure. But when we bring men back here, it'll help to know as much as possible about the winged people. Perhaps they can't fight, but they've inherited weapons. We've never been able to locate them. Now Norahn could give us plenty of information—"

  Esterling yelled, "Norahn! Get out of here! Quick!" He jumped Damon, his fist striking at the captain's gun. There was a rush of footsteps behind him, and something crashed down on his head with sickening force. Weakness ran like water through his body. He scarcely felt Damon's fist jolt against his jaw. Dimly he heard Norahn scream. There was the thud of a valve closing, and then a fiery blast of rockets and a shriek of cleft air. Esterling, flat on his face, groaned weakly and tried to rise. It was useless. A black speck dwindled in the sky.

  "Norahn!" he said hoarsely. "Norahn—" Somehow Esterling dragged himself to his hands and knees. He was blind and sick with pain, and his skull felt as though it had been fractured. But there was another spaceship looming through the trees, and he had to reach it.

  Somehow he did. He never knew how. Somehow he stumbled along shining corridors and found an instrument board that swam before his eyes. Afterward he knew that he must have done the requisite things his reflexes were trained to do on any ship that plies the spaceways. He must have closed the valves and fallen into the astrogater's seat and found the proper instruments ready to his fumbling hands. But it was sheer willpower that did it.

  When his head cleared the starry emptiness of space filled the visiplate before him. Already he was through the negasphere. Norahn's world had vanished. And for an instant he remembered the curse that was said to fall upon all natives who left that world.

  After that was eternity. Esterling could not leave the controls; he scarcely dared glance away from the visiplate. And a throbbing, blazing ache inside his skull pounded at his brain.

  Damon fled sunward. Esterling followed doggedly. They reached the orbit of Pluto.

  And now at last, slowly, by infinite degrees, the fleeing ship grew larger in the visiplate.

  Esterling manipulated the controls with dizzy recklessness. Now they were almost together, the hunter and the pursued. And now— now—