Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  There were other, similar incidents. They had a bad effect on the men, even Sampson. The crew Brown had picked was tough, but the Black Forest was like distilled poison. It was easier to face a charging rhino than to travel through this ebony jungle where silent, secret death lurked concealed, in a diabolic masquerade.

  That was the first day. The second was worse. The trees were thicker, and sometimes it was necessary to use machete-blades to hew through the tangled undergrowth.

  ANOTHER DAY—and another—and another, following the clues on Paula’s cipher map. They found the first guide-post, the hill honeycombed with caves, and from there went on to the east, camping at the edge of a ravine that dropped away into unplumbed darkness.

  Camouflage-moss grew here, looking deceptively like solid ground. One of the men ventured too close to the edge of the cleft, and the moss crumbled beneath him, dropping him into a nest of the roots—twining, writhing cannibalistic serpents with sucker-disks that drank blood thirstily.

  They got him out in time, luckily. But the men’s nerves were jolted.

  After that, day after day, constant alertness was vital. The party walked with guns and knives in their hands. Their footsteps rang hollow in the dead, empty silence of the Forest . . .

  It was only Garth’s knowledge of the dark wilderness that got them through to the interior. After a week, he was further in than he had ever penetrated before, except when he had crashed the air-car with Doc Willard five years ago.

  But they were getting closer—nearer! More and more often Garth remembered the black notebook that might hold the cure for the Silver Plague. For some indefinable reason he had come to feel that Paula’s goal was also his.

  It was logical enough. They were searching for a lost treasure-house of the Ancient Race, guarded, perhaps, by the Zamo. And Garth was certain that, during that period of partial amnesia, he and Willard had been captives of the Zamo. He had been drugged with the Noctoli poison by day, but at night he had wakened in a bare cell with his friend—a cell with walls of metal, he recalled. It had been windowless. Lighted by a faint glow from one comer.

  It checked. A ruin, once built by the Ancients, now inhabited by the Zamo.

  If he could find that notebook—

  He always stopped there. He knew what he might also discover—the skeleton of Willard, stretched on an altar. That picture always made his stomach go cold and tight.

  That night Brown complained of a splitting headache. They camped near a stream, and Garth accompanied the Captain down to the bank, with canvas pails. Jupiter was invisible—they had not seen the sky for a week—but the red light was fading.

  “Not too close,” Garth cautioned. “Let me test it first.”

  Brown stared at him. “What now? I’m getting to expect anything here.” The man’s expressionless face showed signs of strain and exhaustion. He had no nerves, apparently, but the gruelling journey had told on him nevertheless.

  Garth used his knife to cut down a sapling. He impaled a leaf on its point and extended it gingerly over the dark water. After a moment he felt a shock like a striking fish, and the pole was nearly wrenched from his hands. And he wrestled with it, Brown’s hands gripped the sapling.

  “What the devil! Garth—”

  “Let it go. I was only testing, anyway.” The pole was dragged into the water, where it thrashed about violently for a few moments.

  “What is it?”

  GARTH was searching through the underbrush for something. “Water-snakes. Big ones—perfectly transparent. They wait for some animal to come along and take a drink. Then—bang!” He nodded. “Here we are. We’ll find a lot of the Noctoli flowers from now on.”

  He brought out a bloom nearly a foot in diameter, with leaves of pulpy, glossy black, a thick powdering of silver in its cup. “This is Noctoli, Captain. Looks harmless, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Brown rubbed his forehead. “The pollen gives you amnesia?”

  “In the daytime, when it’s active. It’s phototropic—needs light. Jupiter can’t have set yet, so this ought to work.” Garth found another pole, speared the flower on its tip, and extended the blossom over the water. He shook the silver dust into the stream.

  “It works fast The snakes will be paralyzed in a few seconds. The current carries off the pollen, we dip up the water we need—and that’s that.”

  Paula appeared through the bushes, glancing around warily. In the last week everyone had learned to be alert always. Lines of fatigue showed on her pale face. Red-gold hair was plastered damply on her forehead.

  “Carver—”

  “What’s up?”

  She glanced at Garth. “The men. Sampson’s talking to them.”

  Brown’s rat-trap mouth clamped tight. “That so? Sampson shoots off his mouth too much. What’s the angle?”

  “I think they want to go back.”

  Garth, dipping up water in the canvas buckets, said, “We’ve only three more days to go, unless we run into bad country.”

  “I know. But—they’re armed.”

  “I’ll talk to ’em,” Brown said quietly. He lifted two of the pails and started up the path, Paula and Brown trailing him. Presently they reached the clearing where camp had been made.

  The men weren’t cooking. Instead, they were gathered in a knot around Sampson, whose blazing red hair stood up like a beacon. Brown put down his burden and walked toward them.

  They broke up at sight of him, but didn’t scatter. Sampson’s hand crept imperceptibly toward his holster.

  “Trouble?” Brown asked.

  Sampson squinted at him. “No trouble. Except we didn’t know the Forest would be as bad as it is.”

  “So you want to go back?”

  “You can’t blame us for that,” Sampson said, hunching his heavy shoulders. “It’s only dumb luck that’s kept us alive so far. We didn’t bargain for this, Captain.”

  “I told you what to expect.”

  “All you said was that it’d be dangerous. None of us knew the Forest. Those damn bloodsucker plants are the worst. They reach out at a guy everywhere he turns. And the other things—we can’t get through, Captain! You ought to be able to see that yourself !”

  “Nobody’s been killed so far.”

  “Blind luck. And Garth, too. He knows this country. If we didn’t have him, we wouldn’t have lasted a day.”

  “We’ve got him,” Brown said crisply. “So we’re going on. Only three more days, anyhow. That’s enough. Start cooking your rations.” He turned his back on Sampson and walked away. The red-haired giant hesitated, scowling. Finally he shrugged and glanced around at the others.

  That broke the tension. One by one the men scattered to prepare food.

  Only Garth was gnawed by a persistent, deep-rooted fear. He didn’t admit it, even to himself. But he watched Brown closely that night, and finally unpacked his medical kit and carefully searched it for something he knew wasn’t there.

  He was dreading the next morning.

  V

  SLOW reddish dawn brightened over the Forest. Garth felt someone shaking him. He grunted, stirred, and opened his eyes to see Paula’s white face, and, behind her, Sampson.

  “Yeah. What’s wrong?” He scrambled out of his blankets, blinking. The girl, pale to the lips, pointed toward a recumbent figure.

  “Carver. Captain Brown. He’s—I don’t know!”

  Sampson said gruffly, “Looks like he’s dead. The men on guard duty said he didn’t move once all night.”

  Icy bands constricted suddenly around Garth’s heart. Without answering he got his kit and went over to examine Brown. The man lay motionless, his breathing normal, but a deep flush on his brown cheeks.

  “It isn’t the Plague, is it?” Sampson asked, his voice not quite under control.

  Garth shook his head. “Hell, no! It’s—” He hesitated.

  Paula caught his arm. “What? Some insect poisoned him—one of those butterfly-things?”

  Garth carefully repacke
d his kit. He didn’t look up.

  “He’s got a dose of the Noctoli pollen. That’s all. It’s not fatal. He’ll come out of it after he leaves the Forest, or after he builds up immunity.”

  “How long would that take?”

  “A month or more.”

  Garth bent over the apparently sleeping man. “Get up, Brown,” he said insistently. “Hear me? Get up?”

  The Captain stirred. His eyes opened, blank and unseeing. He drew himself from his blankets and rose, looking straight ahead. Paula shrank back with a little gasp. There was a flurry of movement among the men in the background.

  “He’ll be all right tonight. The poison only works in the daytime—I’ve told you that.”

  “We can’t march at night,” Paula said. “Not—here!”

  “I know. It’s impossible. Our lights would attract the butterflies—and plenty of other things.”

  Sampson whirled on the others. “Pack your equipment! We’re getting out of here, fast!”

  They hurried to obey. Paula got in front of Sampson as he turned, and the giant stopped, blinking at her.

  “You can’t leave the Captain here, Sampson.”

  “We’ll carry him, then. But we’re getting out.”

  Garth moved to Paula’s side. “You won’t need a litter. He can walk. Noctoli poison works like hypnotism. You’re semi-conscious, but your will’s in abeyance. If anyone tells Brown to follow us, he’ll do it.”

  Paula was biting her lip. “We can’t go back now. We’ve only three days to go.”

  “Look,” Sampson said grimly, “why in hell should we commit suicide? Suppose we head on for three days. We reach this lost city of yours, or whatever it is. What then? We’re in the middle of the Black Forest. Another thirteen days to get out! It’s too much of a gamble. We’re leaving now, and you can come along or stay here—suit yourself!” He turned away.

  LEFT ALONE, Paula looked helplessly from the motionless, staring figure of Brown to Garth.

  “Carver!”

  He didn’t move. Garth grinned wryly. “He’ll obey commands, that’s all. He won’t wake up till tonight.”

  Paula clenched her hands. “We’ve got to go on! We’ve got to! If we go back now—”

  “Commander Benson will clap us in the brig, eh?”

  She looked at him angrily. “It isn’t only that. We’d lose our chance. You were right, Garth—we’re after the power-source of the Ancients. The secret’s hidden here, in the Black Forest. That cipher from Chahnn proved that—to me, anyway. Earth needs power, more than you can imagine. Without it, civilization will collapse—soon, too.”

  “Suppose we go on,” Garth said slowly. “I didn’t tell you this, but the reason the poison hit Brown was because my antitoxin was too old. He had a short dose, too. The other men—well, they’ll go under themselves in a day or so. You, too.”

  Blue smudges showed under the girl’s eyes. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “So it’s like that.”

  “Just like that.”

  Paula’s stubborn chin tilted up. “I don’t care—there’s still a way. We’ll be all right at night, you said. Well, we’ll do our traveling and fighting by night.”

  “Fighting?”

  “The Zamo. Garth, we’ve got to do it, somehow. Once we find that power-source, we can use it! There’ll be weapons the Ancients left, I’m sure of it. The murals at Chahnn showed they had weapons, strong enough to conquer the Zarno. If we can get those—”

  “You’re crazy,” Garth said. “Plain crazy. What the hell do you expect me to do about it? Sampson would knock my block off if I tried to stop him now.”

  But he was thinking: we’re losing more than a chance to find the Ancient’s power-source. I’m losing my chance to find the cure for the Silver Plague.

  “No,” he said stubornly.

  Paula’s lip curled. “I should have known better than to ask you for help. I’ll handle this myself.” She unholstered her gun.

  Garth looked at her. She’d fail. She couldn’t handle these ten hard-shelled fighters, headed by Sampson. She’d fail. And, in the end, she’d go back to Earth, in the brig, back to the certain death of the Silver Plague. Oh, it might miss her, of course. But it might not.

  Paula would die as Moira had done, years ago.

  Garth shrugged and slapped the girl’s weapon down. “Stay out of this,” he commanded, and turned away, walking across the clearing to where Sampson and the others were shouldering their kits.

  The red-haired giant looked up at Garth’s approach. “Step it up,” he said. “We’re in a hurry.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Sampson’s furry brows drew together. “The hell you’re not. We need you!” There was a band of ice around Garth’s middle. “I know that. You can’t get through without me. You’ll never get out of the Forest alive. That’s tough. Paula and I are going ahead, with Captain Brown. We’re finishing what we started.”

  “You lousy so-and-so!” Sampson roared. His big hand reached out, clutching. Garth stepped back, drawing his pistol.

  “Take it easy,” he said under his breath. But there was a gun in Sampson’s hand now. Behind the giant, the other men stirred angrily.

  “You’re coming with us!”

  “Not alive. I won’t be much good to you dead, will I?”

  After a moment Sampson re-holstered his gun. He looked around at the others.

  Someone said. “We can get along without that son.”

  Sampson growled at him. “Shut up. We can’t. You’d have been sucked dry by that spider-thing yesterday if Garth hadn’t seen it in time. He knows where to walk in this hell-hole.”

  Garth didn’t say anything. He waited, holding his gun with casual lightness.

  Sampson glared. “What do you want, then?”

  “I want you to keep going—finish what you started.”

  “Then what?”

  “We may find weapons—and other things.”

  “Suppose we don’t?”

  “Then we’ll come back. I got you in here, and I’m the only man on Ganymede who can get you out.”

  Sampson’s eyes narrowed. “Suppose we say yes. You can’t keep a gun on us all the time. We might jump you. There are ways of making a man do things he doesn’t want to do.”

  “Sure,” Garth admitted, “you could torture me. Only that wouldn’t help.”

  Sampson’s gaze flicked past to the girl. Garth said quickly. “That wouldn’t help either. Here’s why. The antitoxin I gave you was too old. It isn’t working the way it ought. Captain Brown was the first man to go under. But within three days, at the latest, every damn one of you will have Noctoli poison!”

  Garth thought Sampson was going to shoot him then and there. A yell went up from the men.

  Sampson’s lifted hand quieted them. The giant was pale under his spaceburn.

  “Is that straight?”

  Garth nodded. “It’s on the beam. Yeah. It’ll take you a week to get out of the Forest, and you won’t last that long, even if you force me to guide you. I don’t think you can do that, anyway. But even if you did—within three days you’ll be like the Captain. Walking dead men! You’ll be okay at night, but you can’t travel at night. By day you’ll be living statues, sitting in the Forest waiting for the bloodsucker plants to come along and drain your blood, waiting for the poisonous butterflies to paralyze you and lay their eggs under your skin, waiting—you’ve seen what sort of things live in the Forest. Every day you’ll be helpless. You can’t run. Some night you’ll wake up with your legs chewed off, or the butterfly maggots eating you alive. Like that? Well, that’s what you’ll get—and I’m the only guy that can save you!”

  THE FACES of the men told Garth that his shots had gone home. The deadly menace of the forest, lurking always in the background, had worked into their nerves. Sampson’s big hands clenched. “Damn you!” he snarled. “You can’t—” Garth went on quickly. “I’m handing this to you straight. We’re in a spot, sure, but we ca
n get out of it. I can make more antitoxin, but it’ll take a while. I can’t do it while we’re traveling. I need equipment. Here’s what I’m proposing—we all keep going, the way we started. I’m immune to the pollen. If we move fast, we’ll reach the lost city, or whatever it is, before you go under. Then I can start making antitoxin. We’ll have to trap some small animals and allow time for incubation. But I’ll be able to make fresh shots and neutralize the Noctoli pollen.”

  “It’s too long a shot,” Sampson said. “Okay,” Garth told him. “Suit yourself. Play it my way, or commit suicide.” He turned and walked toward Paula, who had not moved from Brown’s side.

  Her eyes were steady on his. “Thanks. That was nice going—plenty nice, if you pull it off.”

  “It’s suicide either way,” Garth grunted. He began packing Brown’s kit and his own.

  Footsteps sounded. Garth didn’t turn. He heard Sampson’s deep voice, hoarse with repressed fear and rage.

  “We’re playing it your way, Garth. God help you if you make any boners!”

  Sudden relief weakened Garth. He tried not to show it, though he realized that his hands were trembling.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll march in ten minutes. Get the men ready.”

  Sampson muttered something and retreated. Garth slipped the pack on Brown’s shoulders. The Captain, looking blankly ahead, didn’t seem to notice.

  “Keep your eye on him,” Garth told Paula. “He’ll be between us. He’ll keep marching till we tell him to stop. See?”

  She nodded, moistening her lips. “Y-yes. Is—that—going to happen to all of us?”

  Garth said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say.

  But he knew, as he led the party away from the camp, how long a gamble he was undertaking. There were so many chances that he might fail! The odds were plenty tough—yet the stakes were equally high.

  Had he known how difficult those odds were, Garth might not have risked it. For the Noctoli poison worked faster than he had guessed.