“What’s going on? demanded Otho. “How is it that now we see them, now we don’t? And why are they twisted?”
“Light waves are subject to curious laws in this world,” answered Curt. “They no longer travel in the straight lines with which we are familiar. Keep the course Hol Jor charted for us, Otho, even though it looks twisted. We’re liable to lose them entirely before the trip is finished.”
Out of the blackness where nothing had been visible a moment before, a giant green sun, cubical in shape, but with rounded edges, suddenly loomed.
“Watch where you’re taking us, you overgrown mess of colloids,” bellowed Grag.
Otho was tugging frantically at the controls. But the Brain’s voice grated calmly:
“No cause for excitement. That sun doesn’t even exist in this world.”
“Maybe it doesn’t exist, but we’re going to hit it right now!” yelled Otho.
Curt laughed, “We’re not going to come near it. It’s only a projected shadow, and we’re going right through it.”
Otho stopped fighting the controls, They plunged straight ahead for the green giant, dived through its surface. It gave Curt a weird feeling to be traveling inside that blaze of dazzling light.
All the visi-plates had to be blacked out, and Otho had to steer by instruments alone. There was no sensation of unusual heat.
AND then, suddenly, the green sun disappeared, and they were speeding through the blackness again, with nothing but the ghosts of unfamiliar stars lighting their way.
“By the demons of space!” rumbled Grag. “You never know where you’re at in this crazy world!”
“You can trust your pilot,” boasted Otho. “I’m keeping to the course laid down for me. Look, Chief, here’s another of those fake suns, a round yellow one this time, way in the distance. Let’s see how it feels to go through this one.”
“Veer left, Otho!” ordered Curt sharply, “That’s a real sun in this world, not a projection! Left, quick!”
Otho, a surprised look on his plastic white features, obeyed with the unmatchable speed his muscles were capable of. The Comet roared to the left as the yellow sun grew larger. Eventually they drove past with only a few million miles to spare.
“But how can you tell?” protested Otho. “The green one looked just as real as this did!”
“Keep your eyes on the thermocouples,” replied Curt. “If there’s a rise in temperature, the sun is real.”
Grag laughed, emitting a deep booming noise like the rumble of an earthquake heard in a cave. “So we can trust our pilot, can we? Leave it to him, and we’ll end up as nothing but a heap of cinders.”
The android, abashed, lapsed into silence. Queer images appeared and disappeared from time to time. Once they passed close by a lifeless planet, with the ruins of a long-dead civilization still visible upon it. And once they passed the shadow of a planet that was still full of silent and ghostly life.
As they neared the end of their journey, Curt declared tensely, “It’s in getting back to our own three-dimensional world that the real danger lies. Be careful, Otho.”
Otho muttered, “Sure, Chief,” his eyes on the instruments. His over-confidence was gone, and when Otho was on his mettle, he was the best pilot Curt had ever encountered, in the System or out of it.
“Now, Otho,” Curt exclaimed, and the android pressed the stud that would take them back to their own three-dimensional world.
The ghost stars faded, the stars of their own Universe blazed back into view again. In this region of space they formed queer, unfamiliar constellations, but it was a relief to know that the light that came from them followed familiar laws.
“We made it, Chief!” cried Otho exuberantly. “And we’re in no danger of a smash-up from any stray sun.”
“Yes, but we’ve still got a tricky journey to make. Hol Jor’s ship has gone out of sight, as we feared might happen. Now Simon and I have to calculate our course to Hol Jor’s home planet, Anfren. Straight ahead, Otho, until I order you to change our course.”
“Shall I use the vibration-drive?”
“No, the rockets will do. It’s a tricky journey, but not a long one. And if everything goes smoothly I think we can count on our landing on Anfren within two days.”
Curt was to think of that remark later, after disaster had struck.
IT WAS only a few hours afterward that Otho, his face worried, turned momentarily from the controls.
“Something’s wrong, Chief, One of the rear rockets is missing.”
“The exhaust tube is probably fouled.”
“Want me to climb out and fix it?”
“No, you stay at the controls, Otho. I need a little exercise. I’ll handle the job.”
It was but the work of a moment for Curt to get into his space suit, and clamber with magnetic traction shoes out through an air-lock onto the hull of the Comet. The ship was moving along so steadily that he was hardly conscious of any motion. The whole celestial bowl of space was ablaze with brilliant stars, arranged in strange new patterns. Curt gazed at them, for a moment, then got to work. He found the fouled rocket tube quickly. A short examination convinced him that it could be cleaned in half an hour.
He set to work, glad of the chance to stretch his limbs.
Meanwhile, inside the Comet, Grag had become bored with his inactivity. He picked up one of the pets from the floor and began to fondle it with his huge metal hands.
No ordinary animal would have enjoyed those heavy-handed caresses, but Eek, the moon-pup, was no ordinary animal. He was small and gray, and he fed, like Grag himself, on scrap metal. Unlike Grag, however, who used only copper to supply the energy plant inside him, Eek would devour any sort of metal, precious or otherwise. This voracious appetite of his was a continual nuisance, and had more than once got the Futuremen into hot water. As though to compensate for the trouble he caused, he possessed a telepathic sense that had several times come in handy.
Otho glanced at Grag, then looked around for his own pet, the fat little meteor-mimic. But, Oog was apparently nowhere to be found. A half-concealed smile played on Otho’s lips, as he devoted himself once more to piloting the Comet.
A quarter of an hour later, he remarked casually, “Say, Grag, isn’t Eek sort of shrinking a little?”
Grag carefully examined the animal in his arms. “He does look a little smaller,” he admitted.
“Too bad, Grag, too bad.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” asked the alarmed robot.
“Oh, it happens oftener than you think — that a moon-pup stops growing and starts to shrink. It’s a sign of premature senility.”
“Holy sun-imps!” roared Grag, “I’ll have to ask the Chief what can be done about it.”
“Nothing, I’m afraid,” sighed Otho. “There’s no cure known to science. In a little while, Eek will have shrunk away to practically nothing.”
At that moment, the moon-pup in Grag’s arms squirmed and began to go through a series of amazing contortions, ending up before the robot’s startled eyes as a Martian snake. Grag dropped him in disgust.
“That thing isn’t Eek at all,” he thundered in rage. “It’s Oog, your dirty little meteor-mimic!”
Otho chuckled. Oog had the ability of making his protean body flow into an imitation of anything he had seen. This gift of protective mimicry had proved extremely useful to what would otherwise have been a completely helpless animal.
“So you don’t know your own pet!” the android taunted.
GRAG bellowed again, and Otho laughed. The next instant the threatening figure of the robot disappeared from view. The lights of the Comet had gone out.
“Lights!” yelled Otho frantically, “Grag! Simon!”
“I’m floating here to free space!” cried Grag in alarm. “We’ve lost our artificial magnetic and gravitational fields.”
“Easy, boys,” called the Brain. “I think I know where the trouble is.”
Otho waited impatiently. Then there came a shock th
at whirled the Comet part way around.
“What happened?” demanded Grag.
“What happened?” repeated Otho in fury. The lights suddenly went on again, revealing his expression of rage. “While we were floating along crippled, a meteor decided to come down and smack us on the nose. It was all I could do to twist the Comet around in time to avoid the full force. And if you’d like to know whose fault it is —”
He pointed dramatically. Eek, the moon-pup, was cowering not far from where the Brain was deftly making repairs. Reading Otho’s emotions telepathically, the animal shrank against the side of the ship.
“Whatever he did, he couldn’t help it!” defended Grag, suspecting the worst. “He was hungry.”
“That’s fine! He chews up a couple of wires and a copper disk on which the life of every one in this ship depends, and all you can say is that the poor thing is hungry. I’ll give him a bellyful —”
Another darting meteor threatened, and this time, with the ship functioning properly, Otho had no difficulty in avoiding it. His anger died down gradually, until only an occasional grumble came from him.
With the ship fixed, the Brain lost interest in the dispute, and was now absorbed in brooding over a scientific problem. But half an hour later, he came out of his period of abstraction.
“Where is Curtis?” he demanded.
“He should be here by now.” replied Grag uneasily.
“Take over, Grag,” ordered the android. “I’ll climb out and see how he’s getting along.”
He clambered out through the airlock. In a moment he had returned, his white face tense. “The Chief is gone!” he blurted.
“You’ve looked all over the ship?”
Otho nodded, “That collision must have knocked him loose.”
The three unhuman beings stared at each other tragically.
“Turn back,” ordered the Brain, his harsh voice betraying a touch of emotion. “We’ll see if we can find him.”
But the Brain knew that there was little hope. Once a man was lost in space, he was lost, for good.
The Comet retraced its path. Many hours later, after a weary search, Otho’s eyes met Crag’s, dropped to the floor of the ship.
“Where to now?” asked the android of the Brain.
“We may as well go on to Anfren,” replied the Brain tonelessly.
Otho turned the ship about once more, and they sped on. Simon Wright, his usually emotionless mind deeply stirred, gazed silently off into the stellar distances.
Captain Future, the brilliant scientist, the man he had raised from childhood, the pupil he had regarded as a son, was lost to him. Simon felt wearily that he himself had nothing to live for now.
Chapter 5: Lost in Space
WITH the loss of magnetic power, Curt Newton’s shoes no longer held him to the Comet. A moment later came the collision with the meteor, throwing him into space, and dazing him at the same time. It was only a few seconds before he recovered. When he did, he could see far in the distance a tiny spark of light becoming smaller, disappearing before his eyes. It was the Comet! He had sighted the approaching meteor, had realized that only Otho’s skill at the controls prevented the disabled ship from making a collision that was utterly disastrous. He wondered what had happened to the ship’s magnetic and gravitational fields, but meanwhile he had to let the Futuremen know of his plight.
He spoke sharply, “Otho! Turn back! I’m out here in space!”
There was no reply, and he realized at once that the limited-range audio-phone built into his helmet was out of order, its mechanism damaged by the same collision which had shocked him. There was the telepathic crystal on his wrist, but only Joan had the mate to that. He was cut off from his companions on the ship.
“This is it,” thought Curt. “This is the end.”
The thought chilled him, but panic was foreign to his nature. His mind remained cool and powerful, seeking for a way out.
He knew that he was traveling at terrific speed, but there were no objects close by which he could use as landmarks, and at first he seemed to be standing still. He twisted about, regarding the unfamiliar heavens more closely than he had done at first.
Stars blazed in every direction, unwinking pinpoints of light that ranged from red and yellow through green and blue. And off to one side his eye caught a faint blue crescent of light. Curt’s heart leaped. It was a planet, shining by the light of a small blue star!
“It’s fairly big,” muttered Curt, “so it must be close. I’m probably falling there right now. Perhaps a day of this free flight through space, and I’ll make the landing.”
What then? Curt knew from his previous visit here that many of the planets in this section of the universe had breathable atmospheres. The chances were that this planet had one as well. But he would do well to make sure in advance.
He removed from his belt a small portable spectroscope, focused it slowly on the crescent of blue. The blue light filtered through the tiny jewel-like prisms, broke up into its constituent monochromatic beams. Curt’s eager eyes saw faint but characteristic dark lines. Nitrogen, carbon dioxide and hydrogen were present. Most important of all, there was a high concentration of oxygen. The atmosphere was breathable.
Within his space suit, Curt was conscious of his own sigh of relief. If he could only reach the planet safely the friction of the atmosphere would help slow his fall. But the heat that would be generated, like the heat generated by a meteor entering the atmosphere of Earth, would be enough to burn him to a crisp. He would have to figure out some way to slow down first by his own efforts. Well, that wouldn’t be as hard as it looked. He had his proton pistol by his side, fully charged. And once more, he had the third law of motion of his namesake, Sir Isaac Newton, working for him.
ACTION, had proclaimed the ancient Newton, equalled reaction. The pistol projected a stream of protons that was deadly to any human target. But at the same time, the proton stream, like the ancient metal cartridges that had once been used, kicked back with a terrific recoil. Ordinarily, the recoil was taken up by the mechanism of the gun so that it might not harm the man who was using it. But a slight adjustment would take care of that.
When he came close to the planet, he’d aim a powerful proton stream at its surface. The effect would be exactly like that in the rocket tubes of the Comet. Here too the recoil of a stream of disintegrated atoms propelled the ship. The proton stream would propel him away from the planet — in other words, slow him down sufficiently so that he could enter the atmosphere without harm.
Perhaps he was imagining it, but already the crescent seemed larger. He must be falling fast.
In the distance he caught sight of a faint flash of light. A tiny object was coming into view. It grew larger until he could see its strange teardrop shape, a shape he himself had designed. It was the Comet, come back to look for him!
“Otho!” he called. “Otho!”
But there was no mistake about the audiophone being out of order. He watched with growing tenseness as the Comet cruised about aimlessly. If there was any way of letting them know his whereabouts — but there was none. The Comet turned in the wrong direction and disappeared once more. His chance of rescue was gone.
But now the crescent of the planet toward which he was falling was definitely larger, about the size of the Earth as seen from the moon. A few more hours, and he would know his fate.
Several huge dim shapes swam between him and the crescent, blurring its clear outline. The shapes passed, then swam back again. Cart Newton’s eyes narrowed.
“They’re alive!” he whispered to himself. “Some sort of space creatures.”
There were no more than half a dozen of them, all vague and amorphous in outline, and semi-transparent in body, but Curt had a feeling of uneasiness. The Solar System was free of creatures that lived in the barren void of space, but out here, far from the worlds he knew, their existence was not entirely unexpected.
“Hol Jor and Ki Illok once talked of encountering
them,” he recalled. “They said the creatures were intelligent. I don’t see what harm they can do.”
He might possibly avoid them by using the propulsive power of his proton pistol, but its energy was too precious to waste. He allowed himself to continue falling. And then, so suddenly that he had no time to prevent it, a blurry shape seemed to enclose him. He was inside one of the amorphous creatures!
Whether he had torn into its body, or something like a mouth had opened to swallow him, Curt did not know. All he could be sure of was that he was surrounded by a dense gray gas or smoke, in which currents were visibly flowing toward him. And for the first time in his life, Curt had to fight against a feeling of panic.
A powerful evil mind seemed to be beating against his own mind, trying to batter down its defenses. Curt was conscious of vague, horrifying impressions, of half-formed thoughts designed to fill him with terror. It was as if he were caught in the meshes of an invisible mental net.
“I mustn’t let myself give in,” he thought desperately, “I must think of familiar things — of Grag and Otho and Simon, especially of Simon and the things he’s taught me. There’s nothing terrible in this, I can get out whenever I want to.”
BUT the whisperings of fear and defeat continued.
“Those smoke currents — they’re trying to digest my space suit!” he realized suddenly. “They’re working away at it while this mental force tries to keep me paralyzed. I’ve got to get out fast. The proton pistol —”
A strange inertia seemed to be overcoming him. It required an agonizing effort for Curt to perform the simple act of drawing his proton pistol. But with the loosing of a proton ray, the mists in front of him began to dissolve. Wisps of smoke floated about him, then disappeared in space. His mind was free, its own master once more. And he was falling once again toward the approaching crescent.
“By all the sun-imps that Grag swears by,” he muttered, “that was a close thing. And yet there seemed to be no danger. I hope I don’t run into any more of those things before I land.”
Captain Future 14 - Worlds to Come (Spring 1943) Page 3