Captain Future 05 - Captain Future and the Seven Space Stones (Winter 1941)

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Captain Future 05 - Captain Future and the Seven Space Stones (Winter 1941) Page 2

by Edmond Hamilton


  “As for the third Futureman, the one they call an android —”

  “He’ll probably spin a lot of crazy stuff about my wonderful feats,” Otho whispered with assumed nonchalance.

  “He’s the poorest of the lot. He’s a sort of synthetic dummy that the others take along.”

  CURT burst into a roar of laughter. Otho, green eyes blazing with fury, uttered a hissing exclamation of rage.

  “A dummy? I’ll break his neck!”

  “Cut your rockets, Otho,” Curt ordered, still laughing as he held the angry android. “Be glad Grag didn’t hear that.”

  “Now I’ll show you mementoes of Captain Future’s great cases, folks, in these exhibits,” the barker was saying. “There are souvenirs of his fight against the Space Emperor on Jupiter, of his struggle against Doctor Zarro out there on Pluto, and —”

  “Come on, we don’t want to see a lot of fake souvenirs,” Curt said, taking Joan’s arm. “We’d better leave while we can still restrain Otho from murder.”

  The android had not lost his fury when they reached the bright, crowded midway. To placate him, Curt pointed to a big group of metal pavilions over which flared a bright diffraction sign.

  INTERPLANETARY CIRCUS — LAST WEEK ON EARTH

  “Come on, Otho — maybe the circus will console you,” Curt suggested.

  But Otho was still fuming as they approached the pavilions. “Let’s go in and see the freaks,” Curt invited.

  The side-show was an ingeniously compact auditorium, containing metal benches and a stage. Under soft krypton lights, one of the “Nine World Wonders” was performing.

  “The Chameleon Man!” an Earthling master of ceremonies was chanting. “Watch him change, folks. Watch him!”

  The Chameleon Man was an ordinary-looking, blue-skinned, lanky Saturnian. But when he moved in front of a green square of the vari-colored curtain, his skin abruptly changed to an exactly matching shade of green. He moved before a red part of the curtain, and at once his skin turned red.

  “How in the world does he do that?” Joan wondered.

  Curt had quickly fathomed the secret.

  “He’s being subjected to a ray that can alter skin pigmentation swiftly, just as actinic rays burn a white skin brown. His skin has been chemically prepared.”

  The Chameleon Man was replaced by a peaked-headed, cadaverous gray Neptunian, who possessed enormous, round, cuplike ears.

  “The Hearer can hear a leaf fall from a tree ten miles away,” boasted the showman. “Whisper to your neighbor, as low as you can, and he’ll tell you just what you said.”

  Various members of the audience tried it and were amazed to find that the Hearer could detect each almost inaudible sound.

  “His ears have been enlarged and made supersensitive by some surgical process, Chief,” Otho declared.

  Curt nodded. “Must be, though it would take a master physiologist to do it.”

  “And now, before the main show begins in the circus, we present our greatest act,” the stagemaster was announcing. “You have all heard of the scientific powers of the ancient Martians, the mighty dynasties that perished long before any Earthman ever traveled space. You’re going to see a man who has discovered the great secrets of those ancient wonder-workers. The Magician of Mars!”

  “The prize faker of all,” jeered Otho.

  Future stiffened as a man came out on the stage, holding two cumbersome, puzzling instruments in his hands. He had the red skin of a Martian but Earthly black hair, black, intelligent eyes that surveyed his audience with veiled scorn, and smooth, handsome features.

  “Why, that’s Doctor Ul Quorn!” Curt exclaimed.

  “Ul Quorn?” Joan repeated. “Who is he?”

  “He was as brilliant a scientist as the nine worlds possessed,” Curt said thoughtfully. “He’s half Earthman, a quarter Martian, a quarter Venusian. He had a high post at the Institute of Interplanetary Science before certain rather ghastly experiments of his were discovered, which got him a year in Cerberus prison and made him an outcast among all decent scientists. I’m sorry to see as brilliant a man as Quorn doing cheap scientific fakery in an outfit like this. I suppose it’s the only way he can live, though.”

  “Look at what he’s doing!” Otho blurted.

  An attendant had brought out a small Earth rodent, a furry, frightened little animal. Ul Quorn placed it on a suspended metal plate and aimed one of his instruments at it. The animal suddenly fell through the solid metal! Quorn passed the plate around to show it was perfectly solid.

  “Imps of space, this Quorn has something!” Otho swore. “That’s the same dematerialization effect the old Jovians had mastered, that gave us so much trouble in the Jupiter case.”

  “Yes,” Curt frowned. “Archaeologists believe the Jovians picked it up, like a lot of their old science, from the ancient Martians.”

  “Is it possible that this man has really uncovered the long-lost science of the Martians?” Joan asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Captain Future muttered. “Look at that.”

  Ul Quorn, his handsome face expressionless as ever, had taken a seedling and was subjecting it to pulsating flashes of green light. Instantly the seedling swelled to a sapling, then to a large, rootless tree. A cry of wonder came from the audience.

  “That’s no illusion,” Curt stated. “It’s the old Martian ‘accelerated growth’ technique. Quorn really has found something!”

  Otho had been staring hard at the face of the magician.

  “There’s something uncannily familiar about this Quorn’s face,” he said. “Somehow, even though I never saw him before, I feel that I’ve met him — and that we weren’t friends.”

  Joan suddenly straightened. Curt’s quick ears caught the buzz from the tiny instrument in her pocket, a pocket televisor such as every agent of the Planet Police carried. She bent her head. Curt heard the metallic voice from the little televisor.

  “Agent Randall? Police Headquarters speaking. You knew Professor Kenneth Lester, the archaeologist?”

  “Yes, I met him on Jupiter,” Joan whispered into the minute transmitter. “He was involved in the Space Emperor case.”

  “Lester has just been murdered in his study at the Institute. Since you knew him personally, you may be able to help in the investigation. I know you’re on detached service, but will you help anyway?”

  “Of course,” Joan agreed swiftly. “I’ll be at the Institute in twenty minutes.”

  She raised her eyes to Curt and Otho. Curt looked grim.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said tersely.

  “But this is your vacation —” she protested.

  “Lester and I became friends in that Jupiter case,” Captain Future reminded her. “If I can, I’d like to see his murderer brought to justice...”

  TWENTY minutes later, Curt and Otho followed Joan into the softly lit, crowded study of the murdered archaeologist. A dark-uniformed officer of the Planet Police barred the way to the two men.

  “You may be with Miss Randall, but you can’t enter,” he said stiffly. “Only members of the police are allowed.”

  Curt wordlessly took a large, curious ring from inside his belt. Around its glowing sun-jewel, nine planet-jewels revolved slowly.

  “Captain Future!” gasped the officer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Go right in —”

  Inside, Curt saw Halk Anders, the bulldog-faced commander of the police, and Marshal Ezra Gurney, whose seamed old face lighted up at sight of him.

  “Future!” the veteran cried. “Danged glad you’re here! But I thought you was on vacation way outside the System.”

  “No, Ezra. I’ve been right here on Earth. I heard about Lester just now and came with Joan.”

  “Captain Future, working on a mere murder?” asked the commander.

  “Lester was my friend,” Curt repeated grimly. “You remember him, don’t you, Ezra?”

  Ezra nodded. “Fine young fellow, and now look at him.”

  Curt
Newton turned. On the floor lay the horror that had been Kenneth Lester. It was a boiling mass of corruption — a body whose tissues sought to devour each other.

  “Most hideous thing I ever saw,” came the commander’s thick voice. “What could do a thing like this?”

  “I don’t know just what was used to do it, but I know what it is,” Curt Newton replied somberly. “The ancient Martian ‘life disintegrator’ destroys the cooperation of the body’s cells. They no longer work together, but seek to devour each other. How it was done isn’t known. It was a secret of ancient Martian science.” He was looking at Otho as he spoke.

  He saw in the android’s narrowed green eyes the same speculation he had in mind.

  “Ancient Martian science?” Otho hissed. “There’s something damned queer about this coincidence — if it is one.”

  Chapter 3: The Third Space Stone

  BACK at the Interplanetary Circus, the big show was about to begin, and Ul Quorn, the “Magician of Mars,” performed his last feat of scientific legerdemain. A roar of applause burst from the audience. Then they began drifting toward the main pavilion, from which music blared.

  Ul Quorn watched them from the wings. There was contempt in his keen black eyes as he turned to the girl who had come quietly to his side. “Performing tricks for gaping fools!” he gritted. “Degrading my knowledge to provide entertainment for stupid crowds!”

  “It will not be for much longer, Master,” said the girl in her soft, slurring Martian speech.

  She was pure Martian — and pure danger. There was an indolent, mocking beauty in her perfect features, yet worry was apparent in her gaze as she anxiously watched Ul Quorn’s handsome, brooding face.

  “Yes, N’rala, it won’t go on much longer,” he replied thoughtfully. “And this freak-show of mine was the best stratagem to raise funds and provide a cover for our activities. But when I have all the space stones —”

  He was interrupted by the blue-skinned Saturnian who was called the Chameleon Man. “They are waiting in your pavilion, Master,” the freak whispered.

  The cadaverous Neptunian called the Hearer also approached.

  “Master, there is something you should know.”

  “Later,” Quorn said impatiently. “Come, N’rala.”

  The Martian girl glided after Quorn to his private dressing room. Three Martians were waiting in it. They were queer-looking men, hollow-eyed, tense. They sprang up as Quorn and N’rala entered.

  “Greetings, Sons of the Two Moons, said Quorn formally.

  “To you, too, Son of the Two Moons, greetings,” answered the oldest of the three. Ul Quorn sat down, but his black eyes were angry as he spoke to the oldest Martian.

  “Why do you come here, Si Twih? Do you want everyone to know I belong to your organization?”

  “Doctor Quorn, the High Council of the Sons of the Two Moons sent us to you. The Council demands to know why you have not made more progress.”

  “I told you it would take time.”

  “You have had time,” retorted Si Twih. “A year ago, you promised to bring complete success to the great purpose of our cult — the restoration of the glory that was ancient Mars. What purpose should command more loyalty than that? What Martian would not give all to see our world regain its rightful position?”

  “Have I not devoted myself heart and soul to that great purpose since I joined the Sons of the Two Moons?” Quorn demanded.

  “Aye. You promised that you could restore the glory of Mars soon. You have done nothing but wander from world to world with this circus. Our members grow impatient.”

  QUORN’S smooth face was cold as he answered.

  “The only thing that can restore the glory of Mars is the tremendous secret power discovered ages ago by Thuro Thuun, greatest scientist of ancient Mars. I told you that until I have that secret, we cannot do anything openly. The seven space stones on which Thuro Thuun wrote his secret were scattered in later ages among the worlds of the System.

  “One of those space stones was on Mercury. I got that stone last month. Another was brought recently from Jupiter to Earth. That stone I secured today. There is a third one here on Earth, which I intend to secure tonight. There is another stone on Venus, which I’ll get when the Circus goes there. That will make four of the space stones. But where are the other three? Haven’t our members located them yet?”

  “We are trying hard to locate those three,” old Si Twih answered apologetically. “We believe one is on Mars.”

  “Then my freaks and I will stay with the Interplanetary Circus until it reaches Mars,” Quorn stated. “It affords an excellent blind for my activities.”

  Si Twih stared at him gloomily.

  “I suppose we can trust you, Doctor Quorn. Yet there are many who say we should not. After all, you are only partly Martian.”

  “My blood may be only part Martian, but that part is from the veins of the mightiest kings of old Mars,” Quorn answered haughtily.

  “But you expose the secrets of ancient Martian science to make a show for the vulgar crowd!” protested another fanatic.

  Quorn shrugged. “What would you have me do? I must have funds to search for the space stones. Anyway, those who see my feats think them merely cheap magical illusions.”

  Si Twih rose to depart. But he turned at the door of the pavilion.

  “We hope to have definite information on the location of the other three stones by the time you reach Mars, Doctor Quorn. Farewell till then, Son of the Two Moons.”

  Quorn bowed. “Farewell, Sons of the Two Moons.”

  When the Martians had gone, the handsome face of the mixed

  breed scientist twisted in scorn.

  “The poor fools, to believe that I really have faith in their crazy plan to restore the glory of old Mars!” he said contemptuously to N’rala. Then he laughed. “But they and their cult are damned useful in helping me to find the seven space stones.”

  “When we have all the stones, and the secret of Thuro Thuun is in our grasp, it will be ours alone!” N’rala cried eagerly.

  Quorn, still laughing, patted her shoulder.

  “It will be mine, N’rala, not ours. I trust no one completely. But you shall share my power when the secret of Thuro Thuun is mine.”

  UL QUORN went to the door of the pavilion. The cadaverous Saturnian called the Hearer was waiting outside.

  “What had you to tell me?” the mixed-breed demanded.

  “Master, you ordered me to listen to our audiences, when I was not performing, that I might detect any spies among them.”

  “Yes, yes,” Quorn said impatiently. “What have you heard?”

  “There were two men and a girl in the audience tonight,” the Hearer continued hastily. “I discovered from their talk that one of them was — Captain Future!”

  “Captain Future?” Ul Quorn gasped, his small fists clenching.

  “Yes, Master,” said the freak. “The other man was the Futureman they call Otho, and the girl was a secret agent of the Planet Police.”

  Quorn’s handsome face was dark with passion as he stared past N’rala and the freak.

  “Captain Future,” he muttered. “So he was here, and I didn’t know. The one man in the System I hate most bitterly!”

  “Why?” N’rala asked wonderingly. “I never knew that you’d met Future.”

  “I never did meet him, yet he and his Futuremen have a debt to me that they’re going to pay some day,” Quorn said between his teeth. “That debt goes back many years.”

  He was silent, brooding. Neither the Martian girl nor the fearful, cadaverous Saturnian freak dared his anger until he spoke.

  “What were they talking about? Why were they at our show?”

  “I gathered that they only came in from curiosity,” the Hearer said quickly. “But the girl received a pocket-televisor call from Planet Police Headquarters, asking her to help investigate the murder of Professor Lester. She left, and Future went with her. He said he would help investi
gate to bring the murderer to justice.”

  “If that devil Future is mixing into Lester’s death,” said Quorn harshly, “he might learn about the space stones and the secret —” Quorn made a quick decision. “We’ve got to get the other space stone that’s here on Earth, before Future can block us!”

  “Surely you are not afraid of anything this Captain Future could do?” N’rala asked in amazement. “You, with your mastery of ancient and modern science?”

  “I never underestimate an opponent,” Quorn said. “Too many smart men have been taken by that redheaded devil because they made that mistake.” The mixed-breed paced rapidly to and fro.

  “The other space stone on Earth is in the private collection of Harrison Yale, whose estate is a hundred miles north of New York. I sent Juho to examine the place. I’ll need only the Hearer and the Chameleon Man for this job. Get a rocket-flier ready.”

  TEN minutes later, Ul Quorn’s swift little Tark flier rose with a growl of rockets from the field near Amusement City, and headed northward.

  The main show at the Interplanetary Circus had just ended, and the concessions were closing. A few miles southward, the shining pinnacles of New York challenged the moonlit sky. Behind Quorn in the little cabin crouched the Hearer and the lanky Saturnian called the Chameleon Man. Both freaks were silent, peering anxiously ahead. Quorn’s face was dark and inscrutable as he steered. His thoughts were less on the task ahead than on the man against whom he cherished a blood-feud.

  He cut the rockets and opened the flier’s metalloy wings, on which they swooped, down through the moonlight, silently as a bat. Below was a big chromalloy mansion, set amid gardens along the river.

  “Harrison Yale’s estate,” muttered the mixed-breed. “We’ll land in that grove at the far edge.”

  Softly as an alighting bird of prey, the flier landed amid the trees. Quorn and the two freaks emerged.

  “The collection is housed in a special vault near Yale’s mansion,” Quorn whispered. “Follow me.”

 

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