#23 September 1950
Introduction
A Curt Newton Novelet
The Harpers of Titan
by Edmond Hamilton
Again Simon Wright, the “Brain,” lives in a human body, and in that guise contends with the most hideous peril he has ever faced — a menace driving a planet to madness!
Meet the Futuremen! — A Department
We acquaint you further with the background of Captain Future: The Moon Laboratory, Captain Future’s Boyhood, How Captain Future Came to Be.
Radio Archives • 2012
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ISBN 978-1610817066
Introduction
The original introduction to Captain Future as it appeared in issue #1
The Wizard of Science! Captain Future!
The most colorful planeteer in the Solar System makes his debut in this, America’s newest and most scintillating scientifiction magazine — CAPTAIN FUTURE.
This is the magazine more than one hundred thousand scientifiction followers have been clamoring for! Here, for the first time in scientifiction history, is a publication devoted exclusively to the thrilling exploits of the greatest fantasy character of all time!
Follow the flashing rocket-trail of the Comet as the most extraordinary scientist of nine worlds have ever known explores the outposts of the cosmos to the very shores of infinity. Read about the Man of Tomorrow today!
Meet the companions of Captain Future, the most glamorous trio in the Universe!
Grag, the giant, metal robot; Otho, the man-made, synthetic android; and aged Simon Wright, the living Brain.
This all-star parade of the most unusual characters in the realm of fantasy is presented for your entertainment. Come along with this amazing band as they rove the enchanted space-ways — in each issue of CAPTAIN FUTURE!
The Harpers of Titan
A Curt Newton Novelet
From the September 1950 issue of Startling Stories
by Edmond Hamilton
Again Simon Wright, the “Brain,” lives in a human body, and in that guise contends with the most hideous peril he has ever faced — a menace driving a planet to madness!
Chapter 1: Shadowed Moon
His name was Simon Wright, and once he had been a man like other men. Now he was a man no longer, but a living brain, housed in a metal case, nourished by serum instead of blood, provided with artificial senses and means of motion.
The body of Simon Wright, that had known the pleasures and the ills of physical existence, had long ago mingled with the dust. But the mind of Simon Wright lived on, brilliant and unimpaired.
THE ridge lifted, gaunt and rocky, along the rim of the lichen forest, the giant growths crowding to the very crest and down the farther slope into the valley.
Here and there was a clearing around what might once have been a temple, now long fallen into ruin. The vast ragged shapes of the lichens loomed above it, wrinkled and wind-torn and sad. Now and again a little breeze came and set them to rustling with a sound like muted weeping, shaking down a rotten, powdery dust.
Simon Wright was weary of the ridge and the dull-gray forest, weary of waiting. Three of Titan’s nights had passed since he and Grag and Otho and Curt Newton, whom the System knew better as Captain Future, had hidden their ship down in the lichen-forest and had waited here on the ridge for a man who did not come.
This was the fourth night of waiting, under the incredible glory of Titan’s sky. But even the pageant of Saturn, girdled with the blazing Rings and attended by the brilliant swarm of moons, failed to lift Simon’s mental spirits. Somehow the beauty above only accentuated the dreariness below.
Curt Newton said sharply, “If Keogh doesn’t come tonight, I’m going down there and look for him.”
He looked outward through a rift in the lichens, to the valley where Moneb lay — a city indistinct with night and distance, picked out here and there with the light of torches.
Simon spoke, his voice coming precise and metallic through the artificial resonator.
“Keogh’s message warned us on no account to go into the city. Be patient, Curtis. He will come.”
Otho nodded. Otho, the lean, lithe android who was so exactly human that only a disturbing strangeness in his pointed face and green, bright eyes betrayed him.
“Apparently,” Otho said, “there’s a devil of a mess going on in Moneb, and we’re liable to make it worse if we go tramping in before we know what it’s all about.”
THE manlike metal form of Grag moved impatiently in the shadows with a dull clanking sound. His booming voice crashed loud against the stillness.
“I’m like Curt,” he said. “I’m tired of waiting.”
“We are all tired,” said Simon. “But we must wait. From Keogh’s message, I judge that he is neither a coward nor a fool. He knows the situation. We do not. We must not endanger him by impatience.”
Curt sighed. “I know it.” He settled back on the block of stone where he was sitting. “I only hope he makes it soon. These infernal lichens are getting on my nerves.”
Poised, effortlessly upon the unseen magnetic beams that were his limbs, Simon watched and brooded. Only in a detached way could he appreciate the picture he presented to others — a small square metal case, with a strange face of artificial lens-eyes and resonator-mouth, hovering in the darkness.
To himself, Simon seemed almost a bodiless ego. He could not see his own strange body. He was conscious only of the steady, rhythmic throbbing of the serum-pump that served as his heart, and of the visual and auditory sensations that his artificial sense-organs gathered for him.
His lenslike eyes were capable of better vision under all conditions than the human eye, but even so he could not penetrate the shifting, tumultuous shadows of the valley. It remained a mystery of shaking moonlight, mist and darkness.
It looked peaceful. And yet the message of this stranger, Keogh, had cried for help against an evil too great for him to fight alone.
Simon was acutely conscious of the dreary rustling of the lichens. His microphonic auditory system could hear and distinguish each separate tiny note too faint for normal ears, so that the rustling became a weaving, shifting pattern of sound, as of ghostly voices whispering — a sort of symphony of despair.
Pure fancy, and Simon Wright was not given to fancies. Yet in these nights of waiting he had developed a definite sense of foreboding. He reasoned now that this sad whispering of the forest was responsible, his brain reacting to the repeated stimulus of a sound-pattern.
Like Curt, he hoped that Keogh would come soon.
Time passed. The Rings filled the sky with supernal fire, and the moons went splendidly on their eternal way, bathed in the milky glow of Saturn. The lichens would not cease from their dusty weeping. Now and again Curt Newton rose and went restlessly back and forth across the clearing. Otho watched him, sitting still
, his slim body bent like a steel bow. Grag remained where he was, a dark immobile giant in the shadows, dwarfing even Newton’s height.
Then, abruptly, there was a sound different from all other sounds. Simon heard, and listened, and after a moment he said:
“There are two men, climbing the slope from the valley, coming this way.”
Otho sprang up. Curt voiced a short, sharp, “Ah!” and said, “Better take cover, until we’re sure.”
The four melted into the darkness.
Simon was so close to the strangers that he might have reached out one of his force-beams and touched them. They came into the clearing, breathing heavily from the long climb, looking eagerly about. One was a tall man, very tall, with a gaunt width of shoulder and a fine head. The other was shorter, broader, moving with a bearlike gait. Both were Earthmen, with the unmistakable stamp of the frontiers on them, and the hardness of physical labor. Both men were armed.
They stopped. The hope went out of them, and the tall man said despairingly, “They failed us. They didn’t come. Dan, they didn’t come!”
Almost, the tall man wept.
“I guess your message didn’t get through,” the other man said. His voice, too, was leaden. “I don’t know, Keogh. I don’t know what we’ll do now. I guess we might as well go back.”
Curt Newton spoke out of the darkness. “Hold on a minute. It’s all right.”
CURT moved out into the open space, his lean face and red hair clear in the moonlight. “It’s he,” said the stocky man. “It’s Captain Future.” His voice was shaken with relief.
Keogh smiled, a smile without much humor in it. “You thought I might be dead, and someone else might keep the appointment. Not a far-fetched assumption. I’ve been so closely watched that I dared not try to get away before. I only just managed it tonight.”
He broke off, staring, as Grag came striding up, shaking the ground with his tread. Otho moved in from beyond him, light as a leaf. Simon joined them, gliding silently from among the shadows.
Keogh laughed, a little shakily. “I’m glad to see you. If you only knew how glad I am to see you all!”
“And me!” said the stocky man. He added, “I’m Harker.”
“My friend,” Keogh told the Futuremen. “For many years, my friend.” Then he hesitated, looking earnestly at Curt. “You will help me? I’ve held back down there in Moneb so far. I’ve kept the people quiet. I’ve tried to give them courage when they need it, but I’m only one man. That’s a frail peg on which to hang the fate of a city.”
Curt nodded gravely. “We’ll do all we can. Otho — Grag! Keep watch, just in case.”
Grag and Otho disappeared again. Curt looked expectantly at Keogh and Harker. The breeze had steadied to a wind, and Simon was conscious that it was rising, bringing a deeper plaint from the lichens.
Keogh sat down on a block of stone and began to talk. Hovering near him, Simon listened, watching Keogh’s face. It was a good face. A wise man, Simon thought, and a strong one, exhausted now by effort and long fear.
“I was the first Earthman to come into the valley, years ago,” Keogh said. “I liked the men of Moneb and they liked me. When the miners began to come in, I saw to it that there was no trouble between them and the natives. I married a girl of Moneb, daughter of one of the chief men. She’s dead now, but I have a son here. And I’m one of their councilors, the only man of foreign blood ever allowed in the Inner City.
“So you see, I’ve swung a lot of weight and have used it to keep peace here between native and out-lander. But now!”
He shook his head. “There have always been men in Moneb who hated to see Earthmen and Earth civilization come in and lessen their own influence. They’ve hated the Earthmen who live in New Town and work the mines. They’d have tried long ago to force them out, and would have embroiled Moneb in a hopeless struggle, if they’d dared defy tradition and use their one possible weapon. Now, they’re bolder and are planning to use that weapon.”
Curt Newton looked at him keenly. “What is this weapon, Keogh?”
Keogh’s answer was a question. “You Futuremen know these worlds well — I suppose you’ve heard of the Harpers?”
Simon Wright felt a shock of surprise. He saw incredulous amazement on Curt Newton’s face.
“You don’t mean that your malcontents plan to use the Harpers as a weapon?”
Keogh nodded somberly. “They do.”
Memories of old days on Titan were flashing through Simon’s mind; the strange, strange form of life that dwelt deep in the great forests, the unforgettable beauty wedded to dreadful danger.
“The Harpers could be a weapon, yes,” he said, after a moment. “But the weapon would slay those who wielded it, unless they were protected from it.”
“Long ago,” Keogh answered, “the men of Moneb had such a protection. They used the Harpers, then. But use of them was so disastrous that it was forbidden, put under a tabu.
“Now, those who wish to force out the Earthmen here plan to break that tabu. They want to bring in the Harpers, and use them.”
Harker added, “Things were all right until the old king died. He was a man. His son is a weakling. The fanatics against outland civilization have got to him, and he’s afraid of his own shadow. Keogh has been holding him on his feet, against them.”
SIMON saw the almost worshipful trust in Harker’s eyes as he glanced at his friend. “They’ve tried to kill Keogh, of course,” Harker said. “With him gone, there’d be no leader against them.” Keogh’s voice rose, to be heard over the booming and thrumming of the lichens.
“A full council has been called for two days from now. That will be the time of decision — whether we, or the breakers of tabu, will rule in Moneb. And I know, as I know truth, that some kind of a trap has been set for me.
“That is where I will need you Futuremen’s help, most desperately. But you must not be seen in the town. Any strangers now would excite suspicion, and you are too well known and —” he glanced at Simon and added apologetically, “distinctive.”
He paused. In that pause, the boom and thunder of the lichen was like the slatting of great sails in the wind, and Simon could not hear the little furtive sound from behind him until it was too late — a second too late.
A man leaped into the clearing. Simon had a fleeting glimpse of copper-gold limbs and a killer’s face, and a curious weapon raised. Simon spoke, but the bright small dart was already fled.
In the same breath, Curt turned and drew and fired.
The man dropped. Out in the shadows another gun flashed, and they heard Otho’s fierce cry.
There was a timeless instant when no one moved, and then Otho came back into the clearing. “There were only two of them, I think.”
“They followed us!” Harker exclaimed. “They followed us up here to —”
He had been turning, as he spoke. He suddenly stopped speaking, and then cried out Keogh’s name.
Keogh lay face down in the powdery dust. From out his temple stood a slim bronzed shaft little larger than a needle, and where it pierced the flesh was one dark drop of blood.
Simon hovered low over the Earthman. His sensitive beams touched the throat, the breast, lifted one lax eyelid.
Simon said, without hope, “He still lives.”
Chapter 2: Unearthly Stratagem
GRAG carried Keogh through the forest and, tall man that Keogh was, he seemed like a child in the robot’s mighty arms. The wind howled, and the lichens shook and thundered, and it was growing darker.
“Hurry!” said Harker. “Hurry — there may still be a chance!”
His face had the white, staring look that comes with shock. Simon was still possessed of emotion — sharper, clearer emotions than before, he thought, divorced as they were from the chemical confusions of the flesh. Now he knew a great pity for Harker.
“The Comet is just ahead,” Curt told him.
Presently they saw the ship, a shadowed bulk of metal lost among the giant
growths. Swiftly they took Keogh in, and Grag laid him carefully on the table in the tiny laboratory. He was still breathing, but Simon knew that it would not be for long.
The laboratory of the Comet, for all its cramped size, was fitted with medical equipment comparable to most hospitals — most of it designed for its particular purpose by Simon himself, and by Curt Newton. It had been used many times before for the saving of lives. Now the two of them, Simon and Curt together, worked feverishly to save Keogh.
Curt wheeled a marvelously compact adaptation of the Fraser unit into place. Within seconds the tubes were clamped into Keogh’s arteries and the pumps were working, keeping the blood flowing normally, feeding in a stimulant solution directly to the heart. The oxygen unit was functioning. Presently Curt nodded.
“Pulse and respiration normal. Now let’s have a look at the brain.”
He swung the ultra-fluoroscope into position and switched it on. Simon looked into the screen, hovering close to Curt’s shoulder.
“The frontal lobe is torn beyond repair,” he said “See the tiny barbs on that dart? Deterioration of the cells has already set in.”
Harker spoke from the doorway. “Can’t you do something? Can’t you save him?” He stared into Curt’s face for a moment, and then his head dropped forward and he said dully, “No, of course you can’t. I knew it when he was hit.”
All the strength seemed to run out of him. He leaned against the door, a man tired and beaten and sad beyond endurance.
“It’s bad enough to lose a friend. But now everything he fought for is lost, too. The fanatics will win, and they’ll turn loose something that will destroy not only the Earthmen here, but the entire populace of Moneb too, in the long run.”
Tears began to run slowly from Harker’s eyes. He did not seem to notice them. He said, to no one, to the universe, “Why couldn’t I have seen him in time? Why couldn’t I have killed him — in time?”
Captain Future 23 - The Harpers of Titan (September 1950) Page 1