Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Some day, maybe, we can do better. But right now it seems to be a deadlock. We shouldn’t have called him Thor,” Harnahan added, as he went out into the hall. “Somehow, I think Achilles would have been more appropriate.”

  THE END.

  SECRET OF THE EARTH STAR

  The theft of the Earth Star blazed a trail of death to a weird city under the Sahara

  DESPITE the blazing heat of the hot Indian night, this air-conditioned room in the palace was cool and comfortable. It was a bit too luxurious for a business office; otherwise, it might have been any New York suite. Three men sat at a small glass-topped table, on which stood a Gladstone bag.

  They rose as two Indians entered, bowing respectfully to the Rajah. The latter was a small, weak-faced man with a straggling moustache and lips too large and red for his sallow face. He barely acknowledged the greetings, his gaze riveted on the leather bag.

  “You have the Earth Star?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said one of the three Europeans. He opened the bag, unlocked a metal case built into it, and withdrew a jewel-case. This he opened and placed flat on the table.

  The Rajah’s mouth went dry. He could not repress a little shiver. “The Earth Star . . .” he whispered.

  On black velvet the great gem flamed. It was lens-shaped and supernally lovely, with rays of living light flaming out from its heart. The colors latent within it changed and shifted under the soft illumination. It was like a diamond—yet no diamond had ever possessed the wonder of the Earth Star.

  The Rajah’s secretary breathed deeply. “Carbon,” he murmured. “A tree-fern some million years ago—”

  One of the Europeans interrupted, though he did not look away from the jewel. “A little more than that, sir. It took unusual pressure to make the Earth Star. It came from the new cavern mines under the Atlantic, you know, when they were taking cores to test from immense depths. A tree-fern made the Earth Star—but that fern was somehow buried deeper than man has ever thought possible. It’s immensely harder than diamond, though it’s carbon, of course. And the only one in existence—”

  The Rajah said softly, “There is an Earth Star in the crown of your ruler.”

  A subdued smile went the rounds of the group. “So there is, and an excellent imitation, too. I repeat: you will be the owner of the only Earth-Star in existence.”

  The Rajah placed his slim hand, glittering with invaluable jeweled rings, flat on the table-top. “Then it is a bargain. My secretary will give you a check.”

  Abruptly the moonlight was blotted out. The figure of a man seemed to rush out of the night, leaping in through the open window to land lightly on the deep carpet. And that window overlooked a sheer abyss, reaching down to the river gorge far below.

  The sudden movements of the Europeans, and the quick gesture of the Rajah’s secretary, were arrested at sight of an oddly shaped pistol in a gloved hand. The intruder stood motionless, one hand gripping a light metal ladder that extended up through the window and out of sight. He wore ordinary flying togs, but his face was hidden by a black silk mask.

  “Don’t move,” he said, in a low voice that was obviously disguised. “No—don’t do that!” The pistol jerked slightly; otherwise there was no indication that the trigger had been pulled. But one of the Europeans cursed softly as his arm dropped to his side, paralyzed.

  “A neurogun,” the masked man observed pleasantly. “It can kill, you know . . . I’ll thank you not to move. Now—” He hooked the flexible ladder across a chair and moved warily to the table. “The Earth Star, eh?”

  “Don’t be a fool,” the secretary said. “You can’t hope to sell that. It’s unique.”

  The intruder did not answer, but his quizzical gaze was amused. The tallest of the Europeans snarled, “Sell it? Jackass—haven’t you ever heard of the Merlin?”

  As he spoke, his foot moved slightly toward the chair to which the ladder was attached. He froze as the Merlin turned toward him.

  “You recognize me?”

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  “Good!” The Merlin’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Then listen! I have ways of finding out what I want to know. I discovered that certain powers ruling your country had decided to sell the Earth Star to our friend the Rajah. The price I don’t know, but it must be fabulous. If that money were to go to needed purposes, I’d not have come here tonight.”

  The tall European kicked the chair gently. The metal ladder slipped off, slid across the carpet, and vanished out the window. The Merlin apparently did not notice, though his retreat was now cut off.

  HE WENT on: “But the money is to be used for armaments. And you gentlemen, and those behind you, are trying to foment a new war. As for you—” He glanced at the Rajah. “You are a degenerate moron. Don’t move! It’s probably the first time you’ve ever heard the truth, but you’re going to hear it now. You’re the wealthiest man in the Orient, and you inherited your fortune, as well as your powers. You won’t buy the Earth Star out of your own treasury, though. It’ll mean taxes for your people, who are starving already. Another reason why I’m here.”

  The Merlin glanced down. “This bit of carbon is causing trouble, I think. So I’ll take it along. The imitation that was made to replace it won’t interest the Rajah. So—”

  He slipped the jewel in his pocket and moved back toward the window. The others watched him narrowly. The Merlin apparently did not notice the absence of his metal ladder.

  The gun was still steady in one hand, but in the other he now held an object like a small flashlight. “You may be interested in knowing how I evaded your guards and alarms. I came in a gyroship.”

  “But—my motor-killing rays—” The Rajah’s eyes were wide.

  “They extend up only 300 feet. I hovered well above that point and came down a ladder. And here it is.”

  The ladder swung in from the darkness. The Merlin’s voice was amused as he slipped the “flashlight” into his flying suit.

  “A clever trick—but I have a very powerful magnet. I’ll leave you, gentlemen—”

  For an instant his attention was distracted as he put one foot on the window-sill. Simultaneously the tallest European acted. With a deep-voiced oath he sprang forward, seized the Merlin, and clamped one hand over the outlaw’s gun-wrist.

  “Hold him!” the secretary shrilled. He dived for an alarm buzzer. The other Europeans closed in.

  The Merlin fought in silence. His opponent was trying to drag him back into the room—and that would be fatal. The outlaw dropped his weapon and gripped the ladder, with both hands now.

  He pulled himself up, putting all his weight on his arms. Inevitably the European was lifted too. Overbalanced, the two went arcing into the night as clutching fingers missed their mark by a fraction.

  “Shoot!” the Rajah screamed. “Shoot him!”

  Guns blazed from the window. Dim in the moonlight two figures were struggling on a frail metal ladder, suspended above nothingness. A scrap of cloth went fluttering down.

  “His mask—”

  Out of the dark came a voice, sharp and clear.

  “Martell!”

  It rose in a scream. One of the figures went plunging down.

  The secretary was at the window, a flashlight in his hand. He focused the beam on the quarry, a man in flying togs who kept his face turned from the light. Now other rays shot out from the roof, bathing the Merlin in merciless brilliance. A shot cracked sharply.

  “They’ll get him,” the Rajah said. “I’ve sub-machine guns on the roof.”

  The Merlin’s hand lifted, fumbled over the ladder. And—suddenly—he was gone! Ladder and outlaw vanished!

  The Rajah stared in blank amazement. “How—”

  “Automatic winding device in his plane. It just wound him up.” The European who spoke looked at his empty gun. “Better get your planes after him.”

  At a nod from the Rajah the secretary hurried from the room. “We’ll get him,” royalty remarked.

&n
bsp; “No, you won’t. The Merlin’s got a fast plane. He’s pulled off these things before. But this time—well, he lost his mask.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “Stone did, before he fell. He screamed a name. Remember? Martell.”

  “A common name,” the Rajah frowned.

  “Stone and I worked closely together. He knew no Martells. He recognized the name and the face from elsewhere. Newsreels—newspapers—everybody knows Seth Martell and his sons. I’ll get in touch with my government immediately. May I use your televisor?”

  “Yes. Recover the Earth Star, and I’ll buy it.”

  “That,” said the European grimly, “is a bargain.”

  CHAPTER II

  Escape

  SETH MARTELL’S craggy, strong face was set in harsh lines as he sat staring at a folded paper on his desk. Sunlight came warmly through the windows of the penthouse apartment above New York, silvering Martell’s iron-gray hair and clipped moustache. He looked hard as nails—till he lifted his lids and gazed at the three young men before him.

  Seth Martell was one of the biggest men in America. Connected with the military, high up in the government, his honesty had never been questioned, nor his devotion to his country. Always he had been unswerving in serving his own ideals, no matter what self-sacrifice it entailed. Now—

  Now there was pain in his gray eyes.

  He looked at his three sons and hesitated, tapping the folded document with stubby, calloused fingers.

  “Well?”

  None of the three spoke.

  Martell reached for a buzzer, and then drew back his hand. He looked at the tallest of the three.

  “Tony. Are you the Merlin?”

  Tony—a dark, lean young man, with very keen black eyes and a thin eager face—cocked up a quizzical eyebrow. “I, sir? The—”

  Martell’s restraint failed for an instant as he snapped, “Answer me!”

  Tony sobered. “No, sir,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

  “Phil.”

  The second youth, blond and stocky, took a stubby pipe out of his mouth.

  “No, sir.”

  “Jimmy.”

  The third of the trio looked somewhat like Tony, though a less matured man. The eagerness in Tony’s face was enthusiasm in Jimmy’s, boyish and pleasant. He shot a quick glance at the others, hesitated, and finally said, with a little frown, “I’m not the Merlin, sir.”

  Martell sighed. “All right. Go in the sun-room and wait, boys. The investigators will be in presently.” He sat steadily regarding his nails till his sons had departed.

  Tony left them at the door. “Be with you directly,” he murmured, and hurried off along the corridor. The others went into the room, and ten minutes later the oldest of the three came in, his face blandly impassive. He went to the window and stood staring out over the skyscrapers of New York, waiting on the verge of the 21st century. He began to whistle ruminatively.

  “Seth insisted on interviewing us before the detecs. Good of him.”

  Young Jimmy, nervously lighting a cigarette, nodded. “Damn good. But all this . . . I don’t understand it.”

  Phil’s serious eyes were questioning. “Are you sure? There’s no doubt the authorities think one of us is a crook. I wonder—”

  There was a little silence. Finally Jimmy asked, “Who is this Merlin, anyway?”

  “Cleverest crook in the world,” said Tony, turning. “At least, he’s been kicking around for two years. That means a lot these days. He’s pretty much of a Robin Hood. Only kills in self-defense—and never for personal profit.”

  Phil broke in, “Plenty of criminals have evaded capture for years, but they’re the small fry. Not important enough to attract attention. But the Merlin—everyone thinks he’s had years of experience. Remember when Janison died? The governor? The Merlin killed him, and nobody knew why till they found out Janison was one of the biggest political racketeers in the country. He’s a Robin Hood of sorts, but the law won’t stand for Robin Hoods.”

  “And,” said Tony sardonically, “one of us is the Merlin. So they say.”

  Phil grinned. “Which one?”

  “Oh, they’ll find out. They’ll chart our psychology—our character patterns—and check it with the analysis of the Merlin’s activities. Their lie-detectors will tell them which one of us is the Merlin. That’s positive identification, you know.”

  JIMMY crushed out his cigarette, lips working. He swung suddenly on the others.

  “You’re damn flippant about it! What if it’s true? What if one of us is this crook—d’you know what that’ll mean to Seth? His son shown to the world as a thief and a murderer. Seth will stick by us; I know that. But I know what his honor means to him. He got that silver plate in his skull because he thought more of honor than his life. And now—”

  “Shut up, Jimmy,” Phil said quietly. “We know all that. But what can we do about it?”

  Tony murmured, “Our youngest brother is about to suggest that the Merlin confess. A touching sentiment. Headlines all over the world announcing the news. Seth resigning all his offices immediately—he’d do that. Everyone knowing that a son of Seth Martell was—the Merlin.”

  Phil said, “The Merlin might . . . disappear.”

  “He’d have to disappear for good. Suppose I’m the lad, Philip, and suppose I disappear. A signed confession would be just as effective. The moment I disappear, it proves I’m the Merlin. No one has ever watched us. As Seth’s sons, we’re above the routine character-checks. We reported to Seth once a month. Otherwise we were free, all of us, with plenty of time to do as we pleased. Including brigandage!”

  Phil grunted. “Anyway, people can’t simply drop out of sight in this day and age. Not with television, specialized wireless, telephotography, and so forth. Where the devil could a man hide for years?”

  “In the Foreign Legion,” Tony said, and waited. His gaze searched the faces of the other two.

  Surprise, astonishment, and incredulity showed. And vanished. Into Phil’s eyes came a look of dogged grimness. And Jimmy’s face showed—excitement.

  “The Legion?” he asked.

  “Yeah. No extradition. Since 1960, when the company started. No government has a hand in the Legion. They rent its services from the company, just as the Hessian dukes used to sell their soldiers to fight for other countries. When there’s a job to be done too dirty for anyone else, they ask the Legion—and waive extradition. The Polar fortresses. The Sub-Sahara. The Canal Patrols on Mars. Dangerous space-lane patrols. It isn’t like the ancient French Legion. This one’s privately owned, and, once you get in, nothing on Earth or Mars can touch you. As long as you’re in the Legion. Men don’t live long in it, as a rule.”

  “Cheerful thought,” Phil grunted, puffing at his pipe. “By the way, which of us is the Merlin?”

  Tony smiled. “I’m the guy, lads. And that’s what I’ve been building up to. I’m going to drop out of sight. Head for the Legion. And—well, I wanted you two to know about it. I can’t tell Seth, of course. But—”

  “I’ll be damned,” Phil said in blank amazement. “You’ve got the Earth Star?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Odd. I happen to have it myself. In a hollow tooth.”

  “You’re both crazy,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got it.”

  Tony shook his head. “It’s no use. There’s no point in the three of us going into the Legion. One’s enough. So—”

  Phil said, “Wait a minute. Suppose all three of us disappear? Nobody’d press a charge against three men, when obviously two were innocent. I happen to have the jewel myself—”

  “Yeah,” Tony grunted. “But slow down. You’re both going off the deep-end. I’m leaving now. Heading for the Legion, and you’re both staying here.” Jimmy said, “We’ll meet you there.” The argument kept on—with no result. Jimmy and Phil were adamant. Each one insisted he had the stolen gem. And, if they didn’t accompany Tony, they’d simply go after him on th
eir own hook. “So we’d better stick together,” Phil said at last. “We’ll have a better chance that way.”

  Tony’s lips were compressed. “You crazy fools! You’d do it, too . . . well, stay here. I’m going after an amphiplane.”

  “What if the investigators get here first?” Phil asked.

  “Stall ’em. And keep your eye on that window.”

  Jimmy was chewing his lip. “How do you expect to get out? If there are guards—”

  TONY’S grin flashed. “You’ll find out.” He turned to the door—and was gone, apparently unruffled. But as he hurried along the passage there was a gnawing uneasiness in his mind. Guards would no doubt be watching to prevent just such an attempt at escape as this. Only blind luck could help now.

  He went into the big, gleaming kitchen, a bare room with murals on its walls. Every appliance had been built-in, so that stove, tables, and so forth, could be swung out from their cubbyholes by the pressure of a button. The room was empty.

  Tony’s sharp eyes flickered about, resting at last on a panel near by. He went to it, swung it open, and revealed a black hole beyond. The dumbwaiter. A glance upward informed him that the little car was below, though how far he did not know. Deftly Tony swung his legs through the hole and seized the ropes in strong fingers.

  He closed the panel behind him.

  It wasn’t entirely dark. A diffused pale glow filtered down from above, and gently, carefully, Tony let himself slip toward the shaft’s bottom. It was a long chance. Unless he found footing on the dumbwaiter car soon, his fingers would inevitably lose their cramped grip. For this was a penthouse apartment in a skyscraper.

  Down he went into the shaft. Skin scraped from his hands. It grew darker, and below him was only unfathomable blackness. Tony hooked his legs about the rope and rested for a few moments, though he dared not delay long. Time was vitally important.

  Then down he went again. He was in pitch darkness now, every muscle strained and beginning to ache. His hands stung painfully. His shoulders were throbbing.