The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack

by John Russell Fearn

  The Master’s gaze travelled about the control room. “One man alone,” he said in amazement. “It is incredible, and yet—”

  He stopped, snatched up the wad of paper in his tentacle. “Record this! I detect further changes still going on aboard this strange derelict.”

  Immediately, Mathon took the paper, held it before a small cylindrical instrument selected from the equipment on his heavy belt; then handed it back. The recording took only a fraction of a second.

  The Master took the paper mechanically; his solitary eye was fixed on the strange being they had found. New inex­plicable emotions passed through him as he beheld the man from Terra—if that was his home—mysteriously start to fade from view. Slowly…slowly… then the spacesuit was empty.

  Nor was that all of the amazing changes aboard that ship. The wad of paper faded in his tentacle and vanished too. The walls of the ship vaporised until space showed where they had been.

  Before the Tormah had the chance to move, the entire ship, solid as it had first appeared, vanished from about them. Only their own suprametal seal was left. They floated in empty space and immediately made their way back to their own vessel.

  “Very strange,” the Master fluted thoughtfully when they gathered once more in the control room. “You have the recording of that peculiar cipher the being wrote down?”

  Mathon inclined a tentacle in assent. “Every cipher, Master, word for word, from the first page to the last. It only awaits reproduction after our translator-machine has studied the meanings of the words and transformed them into our own language.”

  “Proceed,” the Master requested, and watched while the tiny plastic cylinder was removed from its casing and placed in a machine of tremendous mathematical com­plexity.

  Here, for many hours of Earthly time, the manuscript was examined, checked word against word, reproduced; until at last the translator gave forth, in the language of the Tormah, the story of the vanishing man and ship they had unexpectedly found.

  In complete silence, in growing amazement, the Tormah listened.

  “My name is Adam Brett and I come from Earth. I know that I am dying and this, my last statement, is intended as a warning to whoever might find me—unlikely as that seems. I say, avoid the Ghost Sun!

  “From the moment that my experimental ship was en­gulfed in the electro-magnetic vortex, I knew I had little chance. Succeeding events confirmed that I am lost beyond all hope of return.

  “Swept up by mighty forces, I was hurled across the inter-galactic void, seemingly in but a moment of time. The stars appeared to rush together, coalesce in blazing fury; space itself seemed aflame with the light of a million suns. I rushed on, and on, headlong…

  “Finally, when I came out of the vortex and saw no familiar star or constellation, I knew that I was indeed in another galaxy. And then I saw the Ghost Sun! A mirage I thought—mistakenly—at first. So huge it dominated the sky, so faint as to appear no threat to life. I should have turned back, but I was curious. Nothing like it had ever been seen in the skies of Earth.

  “It is too late now. The damage to my body cells is irreversible. My instruments tell me the Ghost Sun is real—but not in any sense I would have understood before. Possibly the greatest scientific discovery of all time…wasted because I can tell no-one.

  “The elements that burn deep in the heart of the Ghost Sun are not normal—they are composed of anti-matter! And the radiation it emits is in the form of anti-particles, fatal to any normal life. Already I feel the strength drain­ing from my body… I must write it all down, ensure this testimony survives me, leave a warning… avoid the Ghost Sun!”

  The Master waved a tentacle gently as the recording ended. “Turn back, Mathon. Let us leave this place of doom.”

  The great ovoid turned through an arc, accelerated away from the peril of the Ghost Sun.

  “So, all unwittingly, despite our great intelligence, we would have rushed headlong to our deaths. And with us, the entire germ plasm of our race!” The Master fluted, musing. “Only this lost spacefarer has saved us—and now he is gone, utterly vanished into a void beyond our under­standing. So far he travelled that we cannot even let his own people know of the great service he performed for us. It is very sad.”

  The Master roused himself. “But he shall not be forgot­ten! We shall create a memorial to him.

  “Yes, yes,” chanted the Tormah, excited. “He shall have a memorial.”

  And so it came to pass, in the days after a suitable planet had been seeded, that a massive satellite was con­structed and placed in orbit around the Ghost Sun. For­ever circling, forever broadcasting a warning to any who might venture that way—a warning to the living from a dead representative of an unknown race inhabiting a galaxy far across space and time.

  WHITE MOUSE

  The girl from Venus—the man from Earth. Would such a mixed marriage be a success— Even though they were both humans?

  To those of you who wonder why the laws concerning interplanetary marriages are so strict, and to those others among you who have found your­selves captivated by the amazing music, writing and paintings of Lucia Veltique, let me tell a story.

  For my own part, it is only because the memory of Lucia Veltique is still so fragrant that I feel in­clined to dwell again on the events of twenty years ago, for, in recounting them, I can derive a sense of pleasure, in much the same way as one can detect the aroma of an exquisite perfume long after the bottle has been drained.

  In those days I was a young man—twenty-seven to be exact—and space travel had been in being for many years. There had been blunders, of course, the inseparable accidents of enterprise and exploration, but gradually the inner ring of planets had been reached, investigated and either conquered or amalgamated with Earth.

  With a thirst for adventure and no more sense of caution than one usually has at twenty-seven, I be­came Space-Engineer Jeffrey Haslam. My wander­ings took me to every planet—to impossible Mercury, arid Mars and lastly to exotic Venus. And it was here where I first met Lucia.

  The Venusians, perhaps because of their planet being similar to ours in size, are very like us, only frailer—as you will know for yourself these days. The perpetual absence of direct sunshine has de­prived them of the tougher qualities which we, accustomed to the sun, have developed. It was this criminal lack of knowledge in those early days which brought about my own unhappiness. But I was saying—about Lucia. I first saw her at the trading station near Venus’ Half-Way Mountains—that titanic range which sprawls across the wild planet’s terminator and reaches to nearly five miles in the eternal clouds.

  Lucia was small, slender and in the diaphanous draperies which most Venusian women wear, she seemed more like the popular conception of a fairy queen than anything else. Everything about her was tiny, yet perfectly developed. She was no more than five feet tall, her well-shaped head crowned with a wind-swept mass of light flaxen hair. This, with the delicate ivory white skin which all Venusians have, and the big yellow eyes with abysmal pupils, made her the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

  We came to know each other. I saw to that. Her father and mother were as delightful as she was, jointly controlling the trading station. Lucia and I learned each other’s language. For two years we met, every time my journeying took me to Venus.

  We used to go for long walks in the dense, torrid jungles; we journeyed over the mud-flats together; we climbed the mountains. She was a carefree, happy soul, simple as a child in some things, mature as a middle-aged woman in others. And in be­stowing talents upon her Nature had been generous. I discovered that she was a brilliant artist, that she could write prose either exquisitely funny or profoundly moving, according to her mood. Also she could play with a magic which held me spell­bound—either on a Venusian instrument or upon the piano we had in the spaceship—and at times she composed pieces which for grandeur defeated any­thing I, or any of we Earth men, had ever heard before.

  Can you wonder that I wante
d to marry her? So much so that at the end of two and a half years-association with her I came to a decision, and the first person to whom I told it was old Henry Baythorp, our ship’s physician. He was a gnarled serious little man with wispy grey hair and an evil-smelling briar pipe. That is how I always remember him. To the stranger he probably appeared churlish but to an intimate like myself I knew him to be a man of frank opinions and, when necessary, im­mense courage.

  He sat coiled up in his bunk while I told bin what I intended to do. With the energy of youth I raced through the details while he sat looking at me steadily with smoke coiling out of the crackling bowl of his pipe.

  “Lad, you won’t like this,” he said finally, con­sidering, “but my advice is, don’t! Yes, yes, I know Lucia is a lovely girl,” he went on, as I started interrupt. “As fair a picture as any man could wish to see—even at my age; but that’sn only the out­side of the parcel, as it were. I think that if you marry that girl and take her back to Earth with you you’ll regret it—and so will she. Besides, marriage between people of different planets hasn’t yet been made legal. The eugenicists haven’t yet examined the possibilities of such unions.”

  “But there’s no law against it, either,” I pointed out. “That is why I want to marry Lucia before some committee or other thinks up the notion of banning interplanetary marriages… Anyway, Lucia is quite willing.”

  “Mmmm. What do you plan to do when you get to Earth?”

  “I’ll give up space-roving. It won’t interest me any more, and I’m getting to the age that doesn’t make for a good spaceman. I’ve made a good deal of money in these last few years, so I propose to buy a decent home for Lucia and myself—somewhere in the country if I can—and then I’ll take up an execu­tive position. My papers qualify me for that.”

  He sighed, knocked the ashes out of his pipe on the bunk rail.

  “Well, lad, if your mind is made up that’s all there is to be said. I gave up trying to reason with youth—or love—long ago. It can’t be done… All I can suggest is that you think very carefully, because I’m convinced that it won’t turn out as you expect. Nature, my boy,” he added solemnly, wagging a finger at me. “You can’t get behind the old lady. Lucia is a Venusian, born to this world: you are an Earth man, born to that world. Not much difference, you say? Well, we’ll see. You’d be better off preserving a friendship with Lucia than marrying her.”

  I shook my head stubbornly. “I can’t do that. I’ve promised her—and her people. The marriage is expected. It’s the only logical outcome after our long acquaintance.”

  Baythorp shrugged and reached for his tobacco pouch.

  “All right, lad. And if you can’t find a best man and will take one thirty years older than your­self, remember me…”

  * * * *

  I will not say I forgot Dr. Baythorp’s advice. In fact, I couldn’t really; all I could do was push it in the back of my mind and try and pretend I hadn’t heard it. At twenty-seven, deeply in love, you are guided by your heart, not your head, and such things as differing birthplaces just don’t enter into your calculations.

  So Lucia and I made all arrangements and it was decided that she should come back with me to Earth on our return journey, and when we arrived we could be married. Her parents would come for the ceremony only and then, tied to business at the trading post, they would have to leave for Venus again almost immediately.

  On the day before we left Venus, Lucia and I found the time for one of our walks to the foothills of Half-Way Mountains. As usual, it was steaming hot, for during the 720-hour Venusian day the planet swelters in a hundred and twenty-five Fahrenheit degrees under its eternal clouds—and for me, anyway, it was too exhausting for much effort. So we selected a gigantic rock in the path of the hot mountain winds and sprawled ourselves upon it. Lucia, lithe and graceful, lay with her hands behind her head staring up at the creamy scum of clouds writhing far above.

  Just for a moment an odd thought crossed my mind. She was a part of this hot world, with its sweeping winds and exotic jungle: she thrived and blossomed and lived with the sheer joy of living amidst this grey daylight. She fitted into the pattern with the exactness Nature had intended. Was I, a man of Earth—a man from a world of harsh con­trasts—something of an interloper, a thief in a beautiful garden itching to snatch away the most perfect of all flowers?

  “Jeff, is Earth very beautiful?” she asked me presently, in that gentle, pleading voice of hers.

  “Depends,” I answered. “Some parts of it are very much like this world of yours—jungles, heat and sunshine…”

  “I’ve never seen the sun,” she reminded me, turn­ing her face so that I saw her smile.

  It was an odd reflection to think that she had never looked upon the orb which gives life to the Solar System, and yet her planet is twice as close to it as Earth.

  “You will,” I said. “It’s a treat in store. You’ll see it in space, and on Earth… You’ll like Earth, Lucia. There will be real scope for your talents—your music, your art, your writing. The people I live amongst will acclaim you. Especially in the big cities.”

  “I’ve often wondered about cities,” she mused. “I’ve seen photographs of them and read about them. Everything about them is so different to any­thing I have ever known here. We only have the mountains and jungles, and the trading station and space-port. In fact, I suppose we’re—backward?”

  “Certainly Venus is a long way behind Earth in development,” I agreed. “You have no radio, television, or atomic energy. You will wonder after a year on Earth how you ever managed to exist at all. It’s surprising how environment changes one’s out­look.”

  Looking back I can see now how prophetic I was when I said that—but just then nothing mattered. Lucia was mine. She loved me with all her heart and soul, and I her. I recall how much like a child she looked when, her big tawny eyes upon me, she asked slowly:

  “Jeff, you will look after me well, won’t you?”

  “Look after you!” I echoed. “With my life if need be, dearest. You know that!”

  She nodded as if satisfied, then looked about her at the wild landscape. “I wonder if I shall ever see this again?” she murmured, sighing—and she said it in such a peculiar tone I cannot quite describe it. It had somehow a fatalistic resignation, as though she were giving up everything that meant happiness to her—as though she had felt a presentiment cross her sensi­tive, happy mind.

  * * * *

  So we returned to Earth, and for two weeks Lucia had time in which to orientate herself. During these two weeks she had had but few comments to make upon my native planet. Rather, she seemed a little stunned by the enormity and power of a modern city after the wastes of Venus. But with her usual bright intelligence she spent a lot of her time examining the hundred and one new things which appealed to her, making friends readily by her happy laughter and total lack of guile.

  As a man of some social position—for Space-Engineer was a high rank in those days—I attracted the newshounds. Lucia, the first woman of Venus—indeed, the first inhabitant—to ever come to Earth, became the target for photographers, magazine cover artists, dress designers, and all the usual avenues of publicity. I don’t think she quite liked being the star attraction, but there was no way of avoiding it. Even her wedding gown was presented as a gift by New Creations, with earnest wishes for her happi­ness. Later on, of course, New Creations hoped to cash in on being the first designers in the world to gown a Venusian woman for her wedding. Some­how this cheapening of our romance rather sickened me.

  So we were married, and to please her we honey­mooned in the blazing heat of Teheran, on the Persian Gulf. We were away a month and then returned to the home I had had prepared in the meantime. It stood some ten miles out of the city. For the first time it seemed as if we might be able to shake off the fetters of those people who meant well and yet were actually a damned nuisance.

  I began to assess matters. Our lives together had really begun now. My exec
utive position in the city was assured: I had seen to that. We had two ser­vants in the house to attend to our every want. Lucia would not need to soil her fingers with any drudgery; instead, she could expand her talents and do whatever she wanted. As far as I could see, I had done all any husband could do. Yet she seemed to smile less frequently now. Inwardly, I was trouble at the strange, half-frightened expression I sometimes glimpsed on her face.

  “Lucia,” I asked her quietly as we sat in the garden one evening in the mellow summer twilight, “is there something wrong? Is it that you’re not happy?”

  Her big tawny eyes turned to me and she smiled faintly.

  “With you, Jeff, I could always be happy. It’s just that—that I feel so utterly…lost!”

  For a moment she was silent, staring into the sky. Her lips were parted in eager excitement and I fol­lowed her line of vision in some surprise. Far out to the west over the amber of the sunset was a solitary, gleaming planet.

  “Yes,” I told her quietly, “it’s Venus.”

  She smiled—a wistful smile that had the quality of intolerable longing. I could almost see into her mind’s eye and picture her wandering mentally through the torrid jungles or across the windswept foothills of Half-Way Mountains… The evening deepened into night as she sat gazing at that solitary glowing point of her homeland. Then at last she shivered, though the air was warm.

  “I think I’ll go inside,” she said. “It’s cold out here.” She left me, ghostlike in the gloom, making no sounds. I said no word and was left alone, staring up into the night sky. For some reason I kept thinking of what Dr. Baythorp had said. When I went into the house Lucia was nowhere to be seen and I learned from the maid that she had gone to bed. It was only a little after ten, so I spent an hour reading and smoking before I followed Lucia upstairs. When I got into the bedroom I found her lying fully clothed on the bed, her slim shoulders quivering with the effort of sobbing.

  “Lucia!” I sat down beside her immediately, drew her into my arms. “Lucia, sweetheart, whatever’s wrong? What did I do to you? What did anybody do?”