The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack

by John Russell Fearn

  Lothan shouted a question and the ruler nodded. In response, the adviser threw in a tremendous four-pole switch on the complex control board. All the disordered rioting of electricity suddenly took on an understandable meaning. The seething electronic power fast disin­tegrating the metals within the spheres rose to an absolute pitch, brought about the annihilation of matter. The squirmings of electricity in the glass tubes be­came mere floods of unbearably brilliant flame, hurled their power into the elec­trodes.

  The assembly watched stupe­fied, suddenly sprang to their feet in concern for their ruler as there abruptly streamed from the electrodes coruscating streamers of mauve flame—electrical en­ergy that blazed and twisted with the vivid savagery of untamed lightning. And between these streamers stood Vaspus, unmoved, his scaly body painted by flickering purple and blackest shadow. Only the raising of his arm revealed that he was still unhurt, the neutralizing ma­chines working faultlessly to save his body from being shattered into powder by the immeasurable powers hurled upon him.

  For nearly ten minutes the amazing pyrotechnic electrical display continued, raised the temperature of the hall by nearly twenty degrees. Then Lothan cut out the main switch, followed it up by moving the others, and the shriek­ing dynamos swept down the scale and became still. The tubes flickered and expired; the red-hot electrodes turned into the blackness of fast-cooling metal.

  Silence fell—the dead and astounded silence of a baffled multitude, broken only, at last, by a long exhalation of relief as Vaspus raised his arms in salu­tation.

  “Age is ended!” he cried exultantly. “This day we of Mars, formerly of Aries, have conquered death! We are the masters of life and all it has to offer. Lothan, unfetter these clamps.”

  Quietly, the adviser obeyed, stood back with a concerned expression on his ugly face. “My lord feels none the worse?” he inquired softly.

  “Not in the slightest,” Vaspus an­swered complacently. “We have done well between us, Lothan—have given to our race a priceless heritage.”

  Lothan nodded silently, watched as his master stepped forward amidst the now approaching multitude from the tiers. In Lothan’s eyes there reposed the light of strange knowledge, of a buried secret. Upon his thick lips was the faintest suggestion of a cynical smile.

  “Eternal life,” he murmured to him­self. “I wonder—”

  He prepared to move and follow his ruler, then paused at a light touch on his shoulder. Turning quickly he be­held Ithos.

  “The experiment has been a success, Lothan,” he muttered bitterly. “I thought you said it would destroy that old dotard. Do you realize what this means? Eternal life for him; the fail­ure of possible dominance and leader­ship for, us. You—you blunderer!”

  Lothan smiled twistedly, directed a glance toward the multitude seething round their ruler.

  “You would do well, Ithos, to choose your words more carefully when in ear­shot of our fellows,” he answered coldly. “I knew Vaspus would live through the experiment. We cannot afford to take chances; you have got to remember that the people love him. Remember, too, that he trusts me implicitly—and you, too. Not for a moment does he suspect that our real aim—”

  “That doesn’t interest me,” Ithos snapped with brutal directness. “You have given him eternal life—unless, of course, we deliberately murder him. It would have been so easy! One slip of the electrode switches and— Our ascension to the kingship would have been simple!”

  “And the people eternally doubting us? Against us because we destroyed the king? No, my friend.” Lothan shook his head. “To-day I have given him eternal life—but also eternal death! Never was a man so surely doomed; never was a king so utterly deposed without knowing it.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Ithos breathed. “How can he—”

  “You’ll learn in good time, my friend. Just watch, make no false moves, and leave everything to me. That’s all.”

  With that Lothan turned, and with majestic tread joined his jubilant ruler, immediately becoming the same sub­servient scientist he had always been. Lothan, besides being a scientist, was a first-class actor.

  II

  Through the days that fol­lowed, the normal, ordered course of science proceeded on the red planet. The twin dominant cities in the equa­torial and north polar regions of the globe continued to throb with intellec­tual activity.

  Mars, still a young world, blessed with pure air, mainly cloudless skies and all-the-year-round sunshine—weak as compared to the Sun of departed Aries—but enough for the scaly monsters to extract from it a high percentage of essential life-giving radiations.

  Though the Arians had made a thor­ough study of the celestial bodies about them they were quite convinced that no other worlds held life. The four giant monsters in the deeps beyond the inner circle were desolate, utterly immature; the most advanced stage seemed to lie on the cloud-sheathed third inner planet, its atmospheric blanket only parting rarely to reveal beneath a roll­ing waste of ocean or landscapes in the throes of gigantic change and reforma­tion.

  Superminds in a young system. There was something paradoxical about having to leave a world in the last stages of collapse. Mars was a young and lovely world, and of all the inhabitants upon it, Lothan perhaps realized the fact with the most clearness. It stirred jeal­ousy in his soul that Vaspus should be lord of it—a jealousy not even yet eradicated by countless years of scientific achievement. Within him burned ambi­tion. To the end of becoming ruler he had labored unceasingly, not to give Vaspus eternal life, but infinite death. And, in the background of this strange intrigue there hovered Ithos, brutally efficient, but lacking the finesse and per­sonality of his even more unscrupulous colleague.

  The days following the cosmic-energy experiment found Lothan still inquiring after his master’s welfare, found his face becoming darker as he learned that Vas­pus was in perfect health, pursuing with more avidity than ever his experiments into the realms of atomic science, the last state of nature to baffle his brilliant mind. Indeed, far from being ill, he was so satisfied with his condition that he gave orders for all the members of his race to be treated by the cosmic-energy machine at the earliest moment—orders which Lothan received with studied calm.

  “I think, master, that it would be bet­ter to postpone such a benefit—at least for a while,” he remarked suavely within the immense experimental laboratory.

  “Why?” There was surprise in Vas­pus’ tone, but he did not look up from his machinery.

  “Because, master, you are our ruler, and as such are actually the only one entitled to immortality. A thing of value is only such because of its rarity. Make us all immortal and we lose the greatness of our achievement.”

  “A strange viewpoint, Lothan,” Vas­pus commented, looking up at last. “We created immortality for the good of us all. Proceed with the arrangements for us all to receive the benefits.”

  Lothan bowed. “I will do so, mas­ter. Before I go, however, might I in­quire how your atomic investigations are proceeding?”

  “Favorably. We are undoubtedly up against enormous difficulties. In con­structing this apparatus for viewing the atomic universe one has to work with more than normal care. Manifestly, the only way to accomplish the feat of ren­dering the microcosm viewable is by vi­bration. Every atom in the microcosm emits vibrations of force, which in turn have to be amplified much the same as we now amplify a tiny sound to world­wide range. There are difficulties, but I think we shall overcome them.”

  Lothan looked reflectively over the accumulation of machinery, reflected transiently on the years that had been spent on this particular branch of sci­ence.

  “The last details still elude me,” Vaspus went on thoughtfully. “The very act of trapping the microcosmic vibra­tions creates strange and unpredictable electronic changes. It is, I think, caused by the vibrations emanating from the amplifying machinery itself. The slight­est pressure, the slightest movement, even the pressure of a weak beam of light, produces the mos
t unexpected re­sults. I am working now on the princi­ple of absolute dark and absolute steadi­ness. I have little reason to believe but what another two weeks will see success. Then, my friend, we shall solve the ulti­mate riddle of nature. The secrets of the infinitely small. We know the uni­verse about us is almost empty, but are the worlds that teem about us in invisi­bility likewise empty? That I cannot believe.”

  “Only the machinery can show,” Lo­than answered quietly, and with that left the laboratory, bumped almost immedi­ately into Ithos in the main corridor.

  “Well?” he demanded roughly. “Is his death any nearer?”

  Lothan frowned. “No—not yet; but it will come. Have patience. In the meantime, see to it that the cosmic-energy machine breaks down. You know its construction almost as well as I do. Burn out a series of wires; do anything you like, so long as you pro­duce a natural accident. Under no cir­cumstances is that machine to be used on anybody else—at least, not until we know the exact reactions on Vaspus.”

  Ithos shrugged his mighty shoulders. “I’ll attend to it now.” He nodded, and swiftly departed, leaving Lothan in deep thought.

  “It’s got to succeed,” he muttered. “If not, then all the laws of science must be in vain.”

  * * * *

  To Lothan’s intense satisfaction, he found Vaspus less convinced of his good health as the sunny Martian days sped by. Though the ruler spent his time perfecting the final details of his amazing atomic-penetrator apparatus, he was clearly a sufferer from some strange and inexplicable ailment.

  For the first three days of the disease’s onset he refused rigidly to pay attention to it, mastered rising pain with a set face and firm mouth, wrestled steadily with his scientific problems. Lothan was ever by his side, outwardly concerned and inwardly jubilant.

  “Master,” he said at length, “I feel that you should take a rest. You are obviously unwell, unable to proceed.”

  Vaspus smiled twistedly. “It is noth­ing—cannot be. For hundreds of cycles ill health has been unknown amongst us. How can I possibly be unwell?”

  “Perhaps—the experiment—” Lo­than murmured, eyes on his work.

  Vaspus looked up sharply. “That was two weeks ago, Lothan; it cannot have effect now. No—no, the thing is absurd! Maybe I have not been re­ceiving my full quota of solar radiations, been working too long in this stuffy laboratory. I will be all right. I can­not afford to slacken my efforts now. Within the next twelve hours this ap­paratus will be complete. We will be ready to view the atomic microcosm that teems invisibly about us.”

  Lothan did not respond, continued steadily with his work.

  So, steadily, through the required twelve hours, Vaspus struggled, with iron determination, against his unknown ailment, refused all the assistance Lo­than smoothly offered, ordered away all his assistant scientists who insisted that he should submit himself to a thor­ough examination. None the less, his assertion that he was really quite well began to carry less conviction. His ex­ternal scales were drooping—a sure sign of bad condition. His breathing came with the sharp gasps of a man try­ing desperately to control pain.

  Lothan made no comments, merely watched with a grim smile twisting his heavy lips, taking care, none the less, that his superior did not notice. When at length the instruments were assem­bled to Vaspus’ satisfaction, Lothan stood back for further orders.

  Vaspus waved a weak hand. “Sum­mon the leaders,” he ordered huskily. “There is not time for all to assemble. Something—something is wrong with me, Lothan. You were right.”

  “Master, if there is any way I can help you—”

  “No—no, not now. Summon every­body, quickly. “I—”

  The master stopped, staggered a pace, clutched tenaciously to the mighty control board of his machinery. Then, without another sound, he pitched to the metal floor and lay still.

  Only for an instant did Lothan stand gazing down at him, faceted eyes gleam­ing; then he lifted the ruler in his pow­erful arms and laid him on the long metal table against the wall. Turning, he snatched up the vibration communi­cator and summoned the leading medi­cal and biological minds.

  Within three minutes the experts were present—immense and ugly creatures possessed of the keenest physiological minds on the planet. Lothan stood to one side as they examined the ruler with their complicated instruments, watched keenly every little reaction of their gauges and testing meters.

  At length Umyas, the chief biologist, looked up. His face was set in an expression of profound amazement.

  “Whatever it is that has overcome our beloved master, it is something beyond our ken,” he muttered. “He is not dead—neither is he alive. The only course is for him to retire to his chamber, there to be watched and guarded until there is some development the will give us a clue.”

  Lothan nodded and quietly summoned two robot machines standing behind him. With gentle metal arms they lifted the unconscious ruler and bore him out of the laboratory, laid him down, at last, on his own cushioned air bed within his immense private chamber. As they performed the action, Vaspus stirred for moment; his great eyes settled on Lothan’s impassive face.

  “Lothan—the machinery!” he breathed weakly. “If—if anything should happen to me you must demonstrate. You—you take command. But show the machine—”

  “Later, master,” Lothan replied quietly. “You will soon be with us again. It is your achievement, even though I understand it. I am not worthy to set in motion the creation of your mind.

  Vaspus did not answer. His eyes closed again, and he relaxed gently. The assembled experts made motions amongst themselves, arranged about the bed the necessary automatic machinery that would attend to the stricken ruler’s every need during their absence. Then, satisfied they had done all in their power, they darkened the room and departed. Lothan followed silently in their wake.

  In the corridor, Umyas turned to him questioningly.

  “This machinery the master speaks of? What is it?”

  “A revolution in atomic science, Um­yas,” Lothan replied coolly. “With its aid the atomic universes can be seen; the worlds within them become clearly visible. For years, as you know, our revered ruler has labored to such an end. He was fortunate in that he de­feated the illness long enough to finish his task. The machine waits—either for him or me.”

  “You mean?”

  The adviser shrugged superciliously. “If the master should pass away—and it is ill that such words should have to pass my lips—I shall rule in his stead. He made that fact perfectly clear, I think.”

  Umyas did not answer. He had no regard for the quiet, sinister Lothan—never had had. Without another word, he turned and left, with his puzzled fel­low specialists around him.

  * * * *

  Vaspus, lying on his bed, was in a physical condition that utterly baf­fled his trained and resourceful brain, matured as it was, through decades, to face any problem and solve it almost immediately.

  His condition was paradoxical in that his brain was unaffected. He was crys­tal-clear in perception; had never been clearer. The trouble lay in his body. It refused utterly to respond to his will, was seized in some ironly immovable paralysis that all his strength of men­tality failed to break. So far as he could determine, his body energy was under­going some strange and subtle change, was in the grip of something outside his own normal energy that had plunged him into a blur of pain.

  Even to open his eyes was an enor­mous effort. He beheld only the dark­ened bedchamber. The slightly parted curtains revealed the Martian night through the window, little Phobos com­ing into view ever and anon on its tire­less wandering across the sky, casting its pale light on the attendant machines as they mechanically tended their mas­ter’s every conceivable need, injected into his bloodstream strong stimulants and pain-deadening sedatives. Normally they would have given him re­lief; this time, for some obscure rea­son, their powers were non-efficacious.

  With a tremendous effort, Vaspus forced his ey
es downward to look at himself. Had he not been so paralyzed he would have started with amazement; his body was bathed in lambent blue fire, lay in an aura of phosphorescence! Energy? Electricity? Chemical activ­ity? Vaspus’ mind postulated all three possibilities and came up against a blank wall. He did not know. Besides, this effort of keeping his eyelids open— He closed them wearily and relaxed.

  Not ten minutes later the door of the room opened very softly, so softly the pain-deadened ruler failed to hear it. The harshly cut face of Ithos obtruded into the opening, painted with the glow­ing fire from the master’s body. Al­most instantly he retreated, fled through long, airy passages to the private do­main of Lothan. He found the adviser seated at his desk, head sunken into his scaly paws in musing thought.

  “Lothan! Lothan, come quickly! The master—” Ithos stopped, gulp­ing for breath, waved a gesticulatory hand as Lothan gazed at him.

  “Well, what of the master? Has he recovered, or is he dead?”

  “Neither; I think he’s—he’s on fire! He is bathed in blue light. Lothan, what have you done to him? Don’t you realize that if this act of yours is ever found out you’ll be—”

  “Quiet!” Lothan snarled, leaping up and flinging his powerful hand across his colleague’s mouth. “You dotard! Do you want everybody to hear you?” He stopped and withdrew his hand, smiled bitterly. “So the master’s body glows, does it?”

  “As blue as an energy tube!”

  “Seeing that it is energy, that is not surprising,” the adviser commented calmly. “Everything is working out ex­actly to plan, Ithos.”

  “But, Lothan, what have you done? Can’t you tell me?”

  Lothan sat down again, did not answer the question. Instead he asked one.

  “Ithos, if the universe were suddenly flooded with energy from an external source, from some suprauniverse, ex­actly what do you imagine would hap­pen?”

  “Presumably it would be destroyed.”

  “Ordinarily, yes. But suppose there came into it an energy of the exact type needed to create life instead of de­stroy matter? Would not every piece of matter in the universe, every planet, every satellite, even every star, momen­tarily increase its energy as it absorbed the sudden influx? Naturally, it would—and in the process it is also quite con­ceivable that the universe would turn blue with electrical energy. That, my worried friend, is a simile of what is happening to our dear, beloved ruler!”