The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 04

by Anthology

  He and Gunnar were with Ato in the control room when suddenly warning bells began to jangle and red lights flashed on and off.

  Ato adjusted the largest screen. And there, slowly revolving like an hour-glass of gold amid uprushing sparks of sun and flame, was The Old Ship.

  Ato pointed to a bright star. "Aldebaran. They are headed there."

  His voice was shaking just a bit when he called into the speaker: "Battle stations, everyone!"

  Gunnar took off for the needle-nosed instrument which he had grown to hate. Odin stood by to help with the screens.

  "Watch forward now!" Ato warned. "Sight at thirty degrees above the equator of The Nebula. Adjust for Doppler—X over Y. We have him on the screens now. This means that he can get a fix on us. Careful now—"

  As he watched the screen, Jack Odin saw three tiny sparks leap from Grim Hagen's ship. They danced toward them, growing as they came. At first they were blue, but as they filled the screen, almost hiding the Old Ship from his vision, they changed to amber and topaz.

  Bells and klaxons shrieked their warnings.

  Ato watched and waited. Just as the three growing lights filled the screen he touched a lever. The Nebula danced away. Breathless, Jack Odin altered the screens and watched the three globes of flame hurtle past them.

  Far away now, they slowed like living things, puzzled at having lost their prey.

  Slowed they merged together—

  And turned back upon their quarry!

  Chapter 9

  The three sunlets of flame merged together and dripped yellow blobs of light into the darkness. They grew into a great soap bubble that turned to topaz.

  Like something moving in a dream it gained upon The Nebula, until it was pacing beside them—a little larger now and still growing—dwarfing them and filling half the screen.

  A shadow—no, two shadows—were growing within it, Odin tried to make them out. But they were dark and wavering. Still, they looked something like a high priest standing above a prone victim stretched out upon some sacrificial altar.

  Odin was working the screens like mad. Keeping their entire crew before his and Ato's eyes and at the same time watching the topaz bubble.

  The bubble cleared. Over the loudspeakers came Grim Hagen's shriek of wild laughter.

  Odin turned another knob and the bubble loomed larger.

  Grim Hagen stood there, one lean hand rubbing his chin as he laughed at them.

  And the figure lying prone upon a couch beside him was swathed by a sheet which came almost to its eyes. But the shadows were leaving the bubble now. And Odin saw that it was Maya. Asleep. Statuesque. Like a carving upon a tomb—but it was Maya.

  Then he cried out in alarm. For upon another screen he saw Gunnar and his crew swing their weapon into action. Shell after shell of greenish fire burst about the globe. Green flame thrust out tiny rootlets that crawled over it, outlining it in garish light. Another shell seemed to burst upon Grim Hagen's chest, tearing the bubble of light apart. And as Jack watched, horrified and sick, the shards of flame came back together. And there was the globe again—with Grim Hagen and Maya as whole as ever. And a green streak of fire—one of Gunnar's misses—went careening off into space until it shrank to a pinpoint of light and then vanished.

  At a signal from Ato, the firing stopped.

  Grim Hagen was still laughing.

  "You are wasting your energy, Ato. I am only a projection. And so is this that is with me. I have Maya." He bowed mockingly. "See, Odin. Come and get her, Odin, so I can kill you. I had thought I was done with you but it is just as well. Out here, somewhere, somewhen, I can kill you slowly. Look, she sleeps."

  Shrouded there within a bubble of changing light, Maya looked like a bronze statue. Lying upon her back with her arms folded across her breasts, and with half of her face covered by the flowing folds of a coverlet, she was like a bride of death, waiting the end of eternity.

  Hagen laughed again. "Here in Trans-Einsteinian space there is neither size nor time as we once knew it. I could leave her on a giant planet, a statue ten miles long for the ages to marvel at. Or I could cast her adrift to make the trillion-mile-long trip with the suns until the last explosion when space will dissolve and be born again. So give up now. Bother me no more. Space and its treasures are mine for the taking, and I have waited too long."

  Then the topaz globe twitched as a bubble vanishes. And it was gone. Out there was nothing but the night.

  * * * * *

  Ato set a course for Aldebaran. His watch finished, Jack Odin sat alone in the lounge and watched the star upon the screen. It did not seem to be much larger. A single brilliant jewel of flame that beckoned them on.

  Gunnar had long since gone to bed, grumbling that the way order and military discipline were maintained aboard ship they probably couldn't whip their way out of a child's wading pool. Odin was thinking of all the things that had happened to him since that night when Maya and the dwarfs had brought the helpless Grim Hagen to the old Odin homestead. Lord, how long had it been? Out here, where time could not be measured, and perhaps did not exist at all, it seemed futile to count the weeks and the months.

  He stared at the single star upon the screen until he was half asleep. Behind it Maya's face, outlined in black curls, seemed to peer at him—and her pouting lips parted as she smiled.

  He stared and shook his head. The dream-vision vanished from the screen. Someone had entered the room.

  It was Nea. Dressed in slacks once more, she slouched over to his chair and drew a hassock up beside it. As she looked at him, Jack Odin saw that her eyes were tired—tired—tired. As though they had not rested for months.

  "You ought to be asleep," he warned. "Now that your work is finished—"

  "And is it finished?" she asked. "Is anything ever finished?" Nea drooped upon the hassock. Resting her chin upon her hands she looked up at the screen.

  "That is where we are going?" she asked.

  "Ato is certain that Grim Hagen is headed for Aldebaran," Odin answered.

  "One star out of millions. What difference does it make?"

  "You have been working too hard—"

  "Oh, damn!" she said angrily. "There is more to the work than you and the others guessed. Now, we are going to rescue a cousin of mine and to punish another cousin. The old rat-race. Tell me why don't people just go sit in a corner and enjoy themselves. So far, we have done nothing but increase our scurrying a thousand-fold."

  * * * * *

  He tried to make a joke of the matter. "You sound like a beatnik."

  "Perhaps," she answered slowly, still looking up at the screen. "They considered my father beat—dead-beat. But I know more of this science than you do, Jack Odin. What if I told you there was little chance of finding Maya. Or, if you found her, she might be an old, old lady."

  "Well, I'd say 'Nuts.' We would keep on looking. But why such gloomy thoughts?"

  "You do not understand. Here, flashing through Trans-Space, we are in another time. Oh, it goes by. But not as the clocks of Opal. Once a ship slides out of here to a planet it is caught in a web of time and space. The clocks resume their old work of grinding the minutes and the hours to bits. The black oxen of the sun take up their measured march. Oh, I could show you the mathematical formula to prove this, but it would take a blackboard larger than the screen. Don't you see! While we search through Trans-Space, it is highly possible that Grim Hagen, Maya, and all their crew are growing old on some planet that you might never find."

  Odin drew his hand across his face in dismay. "You make all this sound like a mad voyage. Why, this is insane!"

  "Check with Ato if you wish." Her sad smile was almost a sneer. "And men talk of going to the stars. Where is the clock they will use? Where is their yardstick? Where is the concept? Why, out there, for all you know, Huckleberry Finn is still floating down the river, and Macbeth walks through the halls of Dunsinane. And the last man, in the year one-million AD, may be squatting over a fire, watching his las
t stick of wood turn to ashes."

  Lithely she got to her feet and reached a dial upon the screen. The lone star vanished. A thousand pinpoints leaped out.

  "There is but a segment," she said, sitting back upon the hassock again. "I have known Maya all my life. I was the poor relation. I envied her, but I did not hate her. And so with Grim Hagen. I should hate him, but I remember him as a frustrated cousin who always ran second in the races. And all that—even my father—seems far away and long ago. Why do you bring love and hate with you out here to the stars, Jack Odin?"

  "Because I am a man, I suppose."

  She sighed again. "There is much more to this invention of mine that I showed you. Upon that screen there must be ten thousand worlds. Let us pick one, you and I. We can glide out of here at any time. And we can make that world over as we please. We might even eat of the fruit of life and become as gods—"

  As though it came from the dark corridor of the years, Jack Odin seemed to hear the resounding echo of slow footsteps, and a deep voice that thundered: "For I, thy God, am a jealous God—"

  She had almost hypnotized him with her weary, earnest voice. For a moment, it had seemed that all this frantic quest was nothing. That it would be far, far better to find a home with Nea and build a world of his own than to go on searching the stars.

  Then he answered slowly, trying to measure his words, for he did not want to hurt her feelings. "No, Nea. If I go wandering forever, it will be no worse than my fathers did before me. For a man is vagrant and restless. What he gets, he loses. And if he is lucky, he can hold fast to his dreams."

  For a moment dark anger blazed in her eyes. Then they were calm and sad again. She got to her feet, as though she were very tired.

  She smiled. "If I followed all the books, I would make a scene now. I have offered myself and a world to you and have been refused. But I wish you and your dreams well, Jack Odin."

  She bent over him, and her lips brushed his. Faintly, like the touch of a rose petal, and the perfume of her hair seemed to fill the room.

  Then she was gone.

  Jack Odin sat there, looking long and long at the swarm of stars upon the screen, thinking of the unseen worlds about them—the worlds that he had just renounced.

  Until finally he got up and went to bed.

  Chapter 10

  Ato's probing instruments still pointed the way to Aldebaran. In a surprisingly short time, the warning signals were flashing and jingling throughout The Nebula. There was that same sick feeling as it moved slower than the speed of light.

  And there was a glowing sun with nine planets circling stately about it. Slower The Nebula moved, and slower, until the outermost planet sparkled in the light of its sun below them. They swooped down.

  Not a single blast was fired at them. Every man was at his post, while Ato guided them in, and Odin worked the screens.

  Once more, Jack was disappointed. He had looked forward to some alien—even exotic—civilization. Here were fields and streams. And there were cities—looking very much like the cities of his world and of Opal.

  Those other worlds which he had seen had been blasted. So there was no way of knowing how their cities had looked. But these were too recognizable. He was certain that he had seen several of the taller buildings before.

  Was space no more creative than this? Had the worlds dedicated themselves to the same monotonous pattern? He had caught a glimpse of conventional, rocket-shaped spaceships, plying their courses back and forth among the planets. He saw boats and cars and a few long-nosed airplanes, with the merest trace of vestigial wings far back near the empennage, streaking through the sky in high arcs, leaving curling trails of fog and smoke behind them. But there was little here that his world had not already mastered—or at least had on the drawing board.

  The Nebula came to rest upon a bare plain not far from the nearest city. As he turned to the scanner upon it, Odin saw that while it looked familiar enough there was one exotic thing about it. Toward the outskirts of the city, in the bend of a wide river, was the Taj Mahal.

  He felt nearly as bewildered as he had been when Nea explained her theories of the Time-Space Concept to him.

  They had hardly landed before one of Ato's scientists announced that there was good clean air outside. Oxygen and nitrogen with good old water held as moisture within it.

  The city sat there upon the plain and stared at them. The Nebula looked back.

  At length a procession of cars moved toward them.

  Grim Hagen's voice came thundering over the loud-speakers.

  "A truce, Ato. I offer you a week's truce in return for a few meetings. This world has seen enough destruction—"

  Gunnar and his crew leveled their death-gun at the advancing party. Odin kept them on the screen. Ato and a few of his captains got ready to disembark.

  As Odin watched, he kept puzzling over that voice. It certainly was Grim Hagen's. But it was different. Perhaps it was a bit lower, a bit more commanding. But there was just a bit of weariness in it. And the answer came to him suddenly—although he never knew why.

  The voice was older!

  * * * * *

  Then Grim Hagen and his staff were below The Nebula. They were dressed in white and gold uniforms. That was not surprising, either. Ato and his men advanced for a parley. Odin watched and listened.

  At first he could not get a clear look at the man for Ato's broad shoulders. Then Ato turned aside, and Grim Hagen's head and shoulders filled the screen.

  Odin gasped in amazement. Grim Hagen was nearly twenty years older than when he had seen him last.

  The shoulders and arms were larger although there appeared to be little fat upon Grim Hagen. The dark hair was streaked with gray. The face was seamed, and though the black eyes still blazed they now burned with a fanatic hate and desperation. Where pride and ambition had once made a face coldly handsome, there was now nothing but seamed lines like scars and blazing eyes. It was an evil face. Grim Hagen had become a devil.

  Hagen looked at the much younger Ato and laughed. "So, the cub comes to fight with the tiger? Didn't you know? Didn't you guess? While you came galloping after me, I had already landed within this system. And time began its old alnage. These were a peaceful people. We wrecked them. We enslaved them and built the nine worlds in our own fashion. Nearly nineteen years, Ato! No Caesar ever dreamed of a larger kingdom. I even gave them a new goddess—for I did not want them to do much thinking. Yonder." He pointed to the duplicate Taj Mahal in the distance. "She sleeps. My only failure. No older. And sometimes I go there and look at her, and my youth seems to walk beside me—"

  "We want the people that you brought with you, Grim Hagen," Ato answered coldly. "And the treasures."

  Grim Hagen laughed again. "Those that came with me willingly are dukes and kings beyond their wildest dreams. Those who would not take oath to serve me are still slaves. Except for Maya, who sleeps. As for the treasures, my treasure houses are so full now that I doubt if I could separate one thing from the other. So youth grows old. But you must admit that this is better than cringing in a hole in the ground—"

  "None of us cringed, unless it was you," Ato retorted angrily. "We have come beyond time and space—for Maya and her friends—for the treasures—and for you—"

  The mad light flamed in Grim Hagen's eyes as he laughed again. "You could not get a thousand feet into the air unless I permitted it. Come, now, I have given a week's truce. Relax and enjoy yourselves. After all, we are kinsmen in a far country." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and repeated. "A far country."

  * * * * *

  Three days had passed since they had landed on Grim Hagen's planet. Ato, Gunnar, Odin, and a score of others had gone into the city where they had been given quarters in a palace that made Windsor look like a second-class lodging.

  Odin and Gunnar shared a suite. As he dressed that morning, Odin looked about him at the splendor. Every bit of woodwork was hand-carved. The walls were covered with frescoes. The chandeliers w
ere jeweled masterpieces and the carpets were thick crimson piles. The lace curtains must have ruined the eyes and hands of a dozen women.

  He had heard that the planets of Aldebaran had been peopled by a blond peaceful race who were on a par with the culture of the Middle Ages when Grim Hagen arrived. Lord, how he must have worked himself and them to bring them this far along in nineteen years. There was a peaceful air of prosperity about the planet; and trade, he understood, was flourishing with the other worlds of the system. But the people were no more than slaves—beaten and cowed into submission. Oh, they worked hard. But Odin wondered what had been their punishment in years past for not working. There was something in their eyes—a stunned, unhappy look—that made him wonder what would happen some day when they learned as much as their masters and turned upon them. Moreover, he had been told that the planets were over-crowded when Grim Hagen arrived. They did not seem so now. How many graves throughout those nine planets were dedicated to the conquerors?

  Only once had he seen one of them mistreated. That was at a dinner the night before. The banquet hall had been a combination of medieval, modern, and Brons' splendor. The dishes, the food, and the music had been superb. But a fair-skinned girl had spilled a few drops of wine when she was serving Grim Hagen. His face had grown dark. Half arising from his high-backed chair at the head of the table, he had doubled up his fist and struck her below the cheek-bone. She reeled back, her face crimsoning from the blow and the shame. The other servants pretended to see nothing. But in the girl's eyes and in the eyes of the others he saw the old promise that had been written in the eyes of slaves since time began: "Some Day! Some Day!"

  Then, with perfect calm, Grim Hagen had sat down, wiping his lips with a lacy napkin. "Pardon me, gentlemen, but they have so much to learn in so short a time." Then he looked down the long table at Odin and could not resist one gibe. "You don't know how happy I was to find that these planets were peopled by a light-skinned race."

  * * * * *

  That was all. True to his promise, Grim Hagen had given them the run of the city. But there was always one of Hagen's men or some native in uniform to politely assure them that there was little to see down the off streets. The main squares were a tourist's paradise. Beautiful buildings—in all colors and styles, black marble and silver. Tracings of gold. Clocks, bells, statues, fountains. All the architecture of the world they had left, with fine selections and matching, with daring improvisations. And everything new. Odin had to admit that the squares were beautiful. Some day this conquered race might even owe a debt to Grim Hagen and his crew. But right now they did not seem to be bubbling over. The natives were polite—too meek for comfort. Some of the women were beautiful; most of the men were too slight of build, almost effeminate.