John Russell Fearn Omnibus

by John Russell Fearn

  “This is all very futile with the commercial giants against you, Dawlish.”

  “Not so foolish with the President and the Science Institute backing my project. This isn’t a two-cent discovery, Doone: it is the biggest thing since man learned to fly.”

  “I know,” Doone said grimly. “Why else do you think I am spending millions to crush you? If you succeed, I collapse. I’m fighting for my life.”

  “If you and your commercial cronies were anything like men of vision instead of public-frisking moneymakers, I’d agree to compromise,” Ron snapped. “But I’ll have no truck with men who use murder and sabotage as their weapons …”

  Doone reflected. “Clay Reynolds died, didn’t he? That was a personal blow to you. It would be most unfortunate if the same thing were it happen — to another even dearer to you …”

  Ron stared at the snakelike eyes. Nan! Of course! What an idiot he had been not to have seen it before. Gone away for her nerves indeed! Of course Doone had been behind her disappearance. No wonder she had sent no word. Somehow he had forced her to write that letter and —

  “So you are responsible!” Ron blazed, leaping up. “You dirty, cheap gangster! You kidnapped my wife to force my hand!”

  It said much for Doone’s imperturbability that he made instant use of the obvious mistaken conclusion.

  “I warned you, didn’t I?” he said gravely. “Or rather I had you warned that worse blows might befall you. At the moment your wife is safe. Her continued well-being depends entirely on you.”

  Ron beat his fist on the desk. “At least give me time to think about it!”

  “But why?” Time was the last thing Doone could grant in case the mistake was discovered. “I’ve shown you what I can do, and what I will continue to do. Either you surrender that formula to me now, or you’ll never hear of your wife again and your potential Corporation will never materialize.”

  Ron hesitated, then with a hopeless gesture he turned to the private safe in the wall …

  Chapter V

  In two weeks events had moved swiftly for Nan also. Though she had not understood at the time why she had such scientific powers, she certainly had had no difficulty in using them. First she had set about gratifying her longing to see the outer world by constructing a teledetector. Tuned to the electrical aura of any human being it automatically contacted any desired person the moment its detector beam was switched on.

  To build the instrument, once she had ordered the components from various electrical firms, had taken her only three days. Immediately she had directed the X-ray-like beam towards Ron’s headquarters in the city and finally, picking him up, had noted his aura frequency. From then on the instrument had — and would — pick him up the moment it operated …

  For several days it had worried Nan to see and know of his anxieties on her account, to hear his words of harassment — but still dead silence on her part was necessary if she was to keep him away from his own destruction.

  Most of her time she sat watching and listening to his shadow self on the big screen. At other times she took a bit of exercise on the land at the back with Bouncer; or else she studied the cactus barbs that had brought her and the dog to such a strange pass …

  And, with her newly conferred knowledge, she began not only to understand the nature of the barbs but the cause of her condition. When she finally withdrew a drop of blood from her finger and studied it she knew her deductions were right.

  “Bouncer,” she said, on the evening two weeks after they had fled from home, “I know what’s wrong with us … In a world as barren as Mars and devoid of all water vapor, the only vegetation that could survive must be of the evergreen variety, its inner chemical structure breaking down the molecules in the dry sand and transforming them into a substance capable of supporting life — just the same way as an earthly plant breaks down poisonous nitrates and turns them into stimulants …

  “It is possible — in fact probable — that the Martians realized that if a plant had the power of achieving eternal life on a dying planet, so might a human being — or at least a flesh and blood being. The Martians must have utilized the plant sap and then discovered, too late, its effect on the flesh and blood system …”

  Nan paused and thought for a moment, then went on absently,

  “You see, Bouncer, I think we may assume the Martians were flesh and blood like we of Earth, only with different anatomies. At any rate, I think their bloodstream must have corresponded with ours. See this drop of milky white on the microscope slide? It’s my blood, Bouncer — and yours must look the same. The red corpuscles have been destroyed. Normally that would lead to extreme anemia, even death, and it was while this process was going on that we lost all sensation. But the poison of the Martian cactus supplied something else in place of the red corpuscles — a colorless fluid that is immensely powerful and readily assimilates into the bloodstream, finally turning the blood into a fluid incapable of deterioration. Because of that, ketabolism is absent and cellular breakdown cannot occur. The body is literally filled with the elixir of life …”

  Nan stopped, and with a sad smile fondled the dog’s head.

  “But for the gift of eternality there is a dreadful price — one which the Martians discovered, hence their warning over that archway. You see, Nature must have a balance. Birth, maturity, and decay are the law of the physical world. Eternality is an outrage on Nature. All things live, Bouncer, because they are interdependent one on another. A living unit — an ordinary living unit — cannot exist unto itself: that is a fundamental law of science. And if living things are brought into contact with something which is possessed of full life-force — like you and me — the immense shock does not stimulate, it destroys! Just as some radiations are stimulating in small quantities and deadly in large quantities. The plants themselves had only their needles with which to transmit the deadly force, so we were not killed by it, but absorbed it.

  “But we have our whole bodies radiating it. We stimulate all living things into instant death. Now we know what is meant by that Martian inscription … And my scientific knowledge? At first I suspected it was some kind of heritage. Now I know differently. The brain, Bouncer, is fed by the bloodstream. According to the quality of that stream the brain is keen or dull. But now your brain and mine is fed with a non-deteriorating fluid, sharpening them in every respect. Normally I was a fair scientist: with this new bloodstream I am almost a genius. I am capable of learning and mastering problems that would have been beyond my capacity before. In time, Bouncer, as years go on, I may become the greatest scientist that ever lived … And why not indeed, with all eternity in which to accomplish it …?

  “But we face a terrible ordeal, Bouncer,” Nan sighed. “To be separated forever from living beings … What is there left throughout eternal life but to study and master the mysteries of science? Thereby we might find the way to either the blessed touch of a human being, or maybe … death.”

  With a fatalistic shrug she turned and switched on the teledetector. In a moment or two Ron became visible. Nan started to attention as she saw Calver Doone seated opposite to him at the desk.

  “… you are responsible!” Ron shouted. “You dirty, cheap gangster! You kidnapped my wife to force my hand!”

  Nan watched and listened grimly to the words exchanged. She got up with a futile cry of warning as Ron went over to his wall safe and tossed down his precious formula into the desk.

  “Well, there it is, Doone,” he snapped. “I’ll risk anything and I’ll face anything — except the chance of my wife’s death or injury. You found the Achilles Heel, damn you!”

  Doone picked up the formula, surveyed it, and nodded.

  “You’re a sensible man, Dawlish. But I won’t be hard on you. I suggest a partnership —”

  “Yeah, with you in control? Nothing doing! I shall found my own organization and you yours. Whoever gets the biggest space service has their own ingenuity to thank …”

  “No,” Nan whisp
ered. “No, Ron, not that! You’re just ruining yourself — You know you are!”

  She stood helplessly for a moment, picked up the phone, then hesitated. The number could be traced. She turned, bundled on her hat and coat, and raced from the villa with Bouncer at her heels. In five minutes she had reached a call box and dialed hurriedly.

  In his office Ron broke off his conversation with Doone to lift the receiver. He sat listening, Doone watching the expressions chasing across his face.

  “But where are you?” Ron demanded at last. “I’ve been trying to trace you. Even the bank wouldn’t help because your separate account is wrapped in mystery — Hey, wait a minute —!”

  He broke off savagely, joggled the rest. Then suddenly flinging the phone down he reached over the desk and grabbed Doone by the collar, yanked him out of his chair. With his free hand he whipped the formula from the financier’s breast pocket.

  “Clever, weren’t you?” he asked furiously. “That was my wife on the phone. You didn’t kidnap her. I jumped to conclusions …”

  “You’re only a bit ahead of time that’s all,” Doone said dryly. “I’ll get her somehow, Dawlish, I promise you —”

  “My wife is safe,” Ron interrupted. “Though she is absent for a reason I don’t understand. You haven’t got my formula and you won’t ever get the chance again … Now get out!”

  For a long moment Doone hesitated, then he turned and left. Once he got home he spent an hour in his library finishing off new plans of attack and the final details of his merger on the morrow. Then he retired to bed.

  It was towards two in the morning when he fancied he heard a noise in his magnificent bedroom. Sharply, he sat up, reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on.

  The sudden glare revealed a dead white hand reaching towards him from the shadows back of his bed. He fancied that for a moment he caught a glimpse of a veiled face and heard the sullen growling of a dog —

  Then the hand gripped his wrist. Consciousness, life, all conception of things, streamed out of him in a tide …

  *

  Ron stayed at his headquarters for the rest of the night, laying plans just as Doone had done for defending himself against the attacks — which would undoubtedly be launched against him commercially. He needed a fresh and trusted foreman, contact with oil and steel companies who had escaped the full sweep of Doone’s brush — These, he felt, were problems which could be best solved by appealing for State aid. In any case this was still a secondary anxiety. Nan was the real trouble. He had to find her.

  He tried to trace her phone call, but since it had been on the automatic this was impossible. Regardless of the fact that it was early morning he rang up all her friends in the hope of getting a clue. All he did get were grumbles for being so inconsiderate.

  Finally, when dawn had come, he gave it up for the time being. He had a shave, got into his car, then went out to breakfast. When he opened the morning paper he suddenly found the worst problem of his life lying solved before his eyes.

  The headlines in themselves were enough — THREE MAGNATES DIE!

  Astounded, his breakfast forgotten, he read the columns. There was a wealth of sensational detail, but the main facts which stood out were that Doone; Rolinac, the steel king; and Meadows, the oil czar, had all died during the night. Struck by the coincidence of the deaths, the police had investigated. Apparently death in each case was due to heart failure — but why had each victim a leprous white mark on his wrist? Foul play?

  At any rate the police were anxious to trace a veiled woman with a Scotch terrier whom Officer 796 had followed from the oil king’s residence to Newingham village outskirts, then he’d lost sight of her in the mists …

  “Nan!” Ron whispered stupidly. “It must be her — with Bouncer. But what in God’s name has she been up to …?”

  The fact that his chief enemies had been wiped out, and before that merger could be ratified, was purely the background to the much greater riddle of Nan. Newingham village? Ron set about his breakfast hurriedly, called the waitress to him and got the whereabouts of the village from her.

  Ten minutes later he was heading in his car out of the city. Now and again, as he dodged in and out of the traffic, he wondered if the big blue sedan in his rear was merely taking the same road by chance. His wonder deepened into suspicion when he swept along the quiet road leading to the open country.

  All the way the car followed at a respectable distance, and to dodge it was impossible if he was to find Newingham. When at last he did arrive he pulled up outside the post office. All inquiry concerning Nan drew blank.

  “But of course,” the postmaster added, “you might try Moorland, the house agent …”

  Ron did, and by skillful pumping learned all he needed to know, even about the wilted flowers. It brought recollections of a dead rose to his mind, and with it a profound bewilderment. Something was decidedly wrong somewheres.

  Jumping into his car he drove on again. About two miles down the road, Moorland had said. Or rather just off the road itself in a side lane — And immediately that blue sedan came into view once more on Ron’s rear mirror. He put on speed, but couldn’t shake it off, then he forgot all about it for the moment as the house he wanted loomed into view, almost isolated in fields.

  Bumping and bounding his car went speeding along a rough path. As he came nearer he could see a slim figure outside the villa, playing with a dog. Suddenly she must have seen him for she stopped and looked up —

  Ron put on speed, only to find he was nearly involved in a collision as the blue sedan put on a sudden spurt and swerved right across his track. He jammed on the brakes and waited grimly. Four men, each armed with revolvers, tumbled out of the blue car and came walking towards him.

  “Okay, Dawlish,” the leader said, through the open side window, “the ride’s over. Out you get!”

  Powerless to do otherwise Ron obeyed, found the gun jabbed in his ribs.

  “Time to settle accounts, feller,” the triggerman explained. “Somehow you managed to get Doone, then you wiped out the oil and steel men just to make yourself safe. You had a woman do it according to the police. Our orders from Doone’s agents were to see where the woman was and then get the pair of you, see? That’s why we followed you … And I guess that’s her, eh?”

  Ron glanced up in a mixture of relief and alarm as he saw Nan and Bouncer coming slowly along the dusty lane. He stared at her. Her deathly white pallor; how strange she looked …

  “Better finish this guy before he warns her,” one of the men said, and brought up his gun. Before Ron had the slightest chance to utter a word, savage anguish tore into his chest. It came again, with even more excruciating force.

  He dropped into the dust, groaning.

  “Hey Slug, I don’t like this,” whispered the one who’d taken aim and fired at the girl. “She don’t seem to be hurt —”

  “You’re not aiming straight, that’s why,” Slug retorted. “I got this guy didn’t I?” He kicked the prostrate Ron, then steadying his own revolver he fired point blank at the oncoming girl. In fact he fired twice in quick succession, and he knew he was too good a marksman to miss … but still she came on.

  “Hell!” he whispered dazedly, his throat dry; then with a sudden premonition of the supernatural he dived for the car with his fellow gangsters beside him. The girl had just reached the car door as Slug jammed his foot on the accelerator and drove hell for leather down the lane towards the roadway.

  Nan stared at the settling cloud of dust, then back to where Ron was weakly beckoning her.

  “Nan dearest — give me a hand!”

  She came nearer and looked down upon him tensely, holding Bouncer away by his collar. Ron stared up through pain-glazed eyes.

  “Nan, what is it? What have I done? Why don’t you help me —?”

  “Oh, Ron, I dare not! Don’t you understand? I dare not touch you — nor dare Bouncer. If only I’d had the teledetector on I’d have known you were coming this
way and would have left — . But I never even guessed. We’re outcasts, Ron. Eternal — and deadly!”

  “I don’t get it,” he said huskily, clutching his reddened shirt front.

  The story came from her in a torrent. At the end of it Ron was deathly silent, gulping for breath at intervals. Then he essayed words again.

  “Looks like the Martian — trip didn’t do us — much good, eh?” He gave a ghastly smile. “You became an outcast and I got death.”

  “No, Ron, you can’t —”

  “I’m a goner, Nan,” he said in a whisper. “A pity, because the path is clear now that you bumped off Doone and his cronies — Nan, you’ve got to take it on. You must! Build up an interstellar empire. Somehow! Despite this deadly ailment of yours … Promise — promise me you will.”

  “I will, somehow,” she said quietly.

  He relaxed. “Good. I — I thought I could count on you. And — with eternality you can make — a grand job of it. Only one thing more — A kiss! I beg of you! I can’t stand this any more …”

  She hesitated, then came forward and went on her knees, her face close to his.

  “Let me die with that sweet memory,” he muttered.

  She stooped until her lips touched his. When, a moment later, she looked down on the white, cold being in the dust she realized more clearly than ever before that the future was hers alone, to mold scientifically to her will …

  The Devouring Tide

  The invaders had come suddenly and caught Earth unprepared. Moving at the speed of light their approach had been invisible. They came in thousands — monstrous vessels whose occupants gave no warning and issued no ultimatum. Total annihilation of Earth’s inhabitants seemed to be their sole objective.

  The instant they crossed the sensitive etho-electric barrier, flung in a network from the far flung outposts of the System, the Earth alarms had sounded and men and women moved instantly to their stations to handle disruptive screens, the gigantic atomic force guns, the radio-vibration barrages. Others dispersed to control hurtling armadas by remote tele-radio.