Doctor Zinder’s words pounded like a gong in his head.
“No remains will ever be found!” The stench of fumes from the lime pit were in Harker’s nostrils as the leg broke into a stumbling run that covered the last few feet in a faltering rush. Harker screamed, and the sound was a horrible choking noise in his throat. He screamed again as the leg took the last final step and that scream was broken off in a ragged gurgling shriek as his plummeting body struck the cloying waves of corrosive lime . . .
And in that last horrible instant Harker knew what the leg had been searching for.
MONSOONS OF DEATH
First published in the December 1942 issue of Amazing Stories.
Ward Harrison got himself into a barrel of trouble when he accepted a job at the Martian Observation Station. There were fearful “things” on Mars . . .
THE GLEAMING insignia stripes on Lieutenant Ward Harrison’s broad shoulders were less than two days old when he received his first assignment.
“Lieutenant Harrison,” his commanding officer said, glancing from the papers he held in his hands to the young man who stood at attention before his desk, “this will be your first touch of action since you were commissioned. A lot depends on how you handle yourself.”
“Yes sir,” Ward answered. He straightened his already poker-straight spine. His face was young and serious and intent. There was a blaze of zeal in his blue eyes and grimness in the tightness of his jaw. But a lock of blonde hair that fell over his forehead lent an incongruously boyish cast to his grimly set features.
His commander, a Planetary Colonel, with thirty years of void experience behind him, smiled slightly and looked down at the papers in his hands again.
“Your training record has been excellent, Harrison,” he said, “and I am gratified to note that you apparently realize the seriousness of our work.” He leaned back in his chair, looked up at the young Lieutenant. “It took science hundreds of years to lick the problem of crossing the void of space to the outer planets. Now, that that much has been accomplished, the task of exploring and possibly developing and colonizing those planets is ahead of us. The most important part of that work is up to men like you, Lieutenant Harrison. You are attached to the meteorology department with the job of doing the preliminary analysis and exploration on the various planets whose raw materials are essential to Earth. Never for a minute underestimate the importance of that work.”
Ward cleared his throat. “I won’t sir.”
“Good. There are other branches of the service that might seem more glamorous, but all of them are dependent on your research and findings. Without meteorological survey the entire network of space stations we have established would have been impossible. And the need today for accurate and thorough research on atmospheric conditions in the Universe is greater than ever before. Always keep that in mind.”
“I will, sir,” Ward answered.
“Good,” the colonel said. He ran a heavy hand through his silver-dusted hair and then picked up again the sheaf of papers from his desk.
“Your first assignment is to one of our established observation stations on Mars,” he said.
WARD kept his face woodenly expressionless; but it was hard to conceal his disappointment. He wanted adventure and danger. He wanted to prove his courage and loyalty on some perilous journey to an uncharted, unexplored area, and there was little hope for such action on an established base.
“The station to which you are being sent,” the colonel went on, “was established three years ago by the man who is still in command there, a civilian by the name of Thomas Halliday. He is alone there, now. His assistant died about six months ago. You will act as Halliday’s assistant in atmospheric experimentation and in the collection of meteorologic data. Despite the fact that he is a civilian you will take your orders from him. Is that much clear?”
“Yes,” Ward said. He had to fight to keep the bitterness he was feeling from showing in his voice. He had been prepared for anything, but this was too much to accept cheerfully. Serving on a dull, one-man base, under the domination of a civilian, who had probably been rejected by the regular service for timidity or incompetence, was a bitter pill to swallow. Ward found a real, though illogical, resentment welling in him. And the object of this resentment was Thomas Halliday.
“Thomas Halliday,” the colonel said, “is a very careful, painstaking meteorologist. He is completely dependable and reliable. The information he has sent us to date is accurate and thorough. Moreover he is extremely cautious.” The colonel paused and frowned and his thick strong fingers drummed irritably on the top of his desk.
“Damn it!” he said with sudden explosive impatience. “Sometimes I think the man is too cautious. He’s been there three years now and he still hasn’t sent us a complete report on conditions there. Caution and care are fine qualities but, like all things, they can be overdone. We’re planning on erecting a large special base in his locality when we finally get all the information. But we can’t make a move until Halliday comes through.”
“Is there any reason why the research might have been delayed?” Ward asked.
The colonel shook his head.
“Not as far as we know. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not damning any man until I know all the facts. I’m not a pot-bellied, arm-chair admiral. I’ve been in the void myself long enough to realize that you can’t pass judgment on a man’s work until you’ve actually seen the situation he’s up against. You can’t get the complete picture from a three hundred word report. There may be other factors to consider that we here don’t know about. But Halliday’s data isn’t coming in fast enough and I’m taking steps to get at the bottom of the trouble. I’m sending you there, Harrison, because your record indicates that you’re a go-getter. Maybe what Halliday needs is a little more recklessness, a little more impulsiveness and a lot less caution. I’m hoping that you will act as a spur to Halliday. Think you’re up to the job?”
Ward’s eyes were flashing with excitement. His bitter disappointment had vanished.
“I’ll do my absolute best, sir,” he said. The colonel’s words had crystallized his swiftly-formed animosity for this Thomas Halliday. The man was obviously a timid creature without sufficient guts to do a man’s job. Ward felt an itching impatience to get started on this assignment. He wanted to meet Thomas Halliday. He was very anxious to begin his new duties as a spur to the man.
“Halliday hasn’t given us much information about what he’s discovered on that section of Mars,” the colonel said. “He’s confined his reports exclusively to atmospheric data. In his first report he mentioned that the area was inhabited and I got the impression that he hadn’t found the natives particularly friendly. But since he hasn’t mentioned them since, I gather that he hasn’t had any trouble with them . . .
“I guess that’s about all, Lieutenant. This is an important job. And if you find any reason for Halliday’s delay in getting that job done, I want you to flash me a message immediately. I’m putting a lot of confidence in you, young man, but I don’t think it’s misplaced.”
The colonel stood up and extended his hand.
“Good luck, son.”
Ward took the older man’s hand in a firm grip.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll do everything I can to justify your confidence in me.”
He saluted, right-about-faced smartly and strode toward the door. The colonel followed his straight young back with his eyes and there was a smile of pride on his face. Lieutenant Ward Harrison, in the opinion of the colonel, was definitely an excellent addition to the forces of Earth.
Lieutenant Ward Harrison thought so himself, but he would have suffered his tongue to be torn out before admitting it.
THREE days later, at 24:40 inter-Stellar time, Ward Harrison arrived at the Earth observation base located in the uncharted, inaccessible area on the southern plane of the planet, Mars.
As he flashed into the atmosphere of the planet he cut the rear propulsion rockets of his sli
m single-seater and prepared to land. He sighted the base’s small cluster of buildings and the mooring tower in his fore visi-screen and he made quick rapid adjustments on his instrument panel as his slender ship slanted toward them in a screaming dive . . .
When the nose of his ship made contact with a mooring socket, he set all instruments at zero. He climbed to his feet and stretched wearily. Then he walked to the sliding side door of the ship, released the air lock and stepped out onto the ramp that flanked the mooring tower.
From this position, some two hundred feet above the ground, he had his first look at the terrain of Mars. Great gray wastelands spread endlessly in all four directions and the only break in this monotony was a low ridge of hills on the far-distant eastern horizon.
Ward shivered slightly. He hadn’t been prepared for anything this depressing. The small group of squat buildings beneath him looked like tiny objects adrift in a vast, terrible gray sea.
A man appeared at the door of the central building and Ward felt an idiotic sensation of relief at the sight of a human, moving figure in that dead, silent, gray terrain.
The man waved to Ward and walked from the doorway toward the base of the mooring tower.
Ward descended to the ground in the small cage of the tower elevator. He stepped out onto the soft, flaky soil of Mars as the man he had seen from above came up to the tower.
“Lieutenant Harrison reporting for duty, sir,” he said. He saluted and noticed with a certain satisfaction the other’s embarrassment at this military recognition which he didn’t deserve.
“My name is Halliday,” the man said, after a short awkward pause. He extended his hand. “I’m certainly glad to have you here, Lieutenant.”
As Ward shook hands, he appraised the man carefully, and found nothing in his examination to change his previously acquired opinion.
Thomas Halliday was small and stooped, with sallow features and nervously shifting eyes, which looked startlingly large behind thick strong glasses. His hair was thin and faded brown in color. There was a peculiar tight look about his mouth and jaw, as if he were in a continual state of faint exasperation.
This, thought Ward, was the man who had been holding up the development of this area for three years. And, looking at him, it was easy to see why.
Ward had his bag in his hand. Halliday, noticing it, asked, “Did you bring any arms with you?”
Ward patted the raytube in the smart military holster at his hip.
“Just this,” he said. He added drily, “Expecting trouble?”
“No,” Halliday answered. His eyes shifted from Ward’s and swept about in a long inspection of the vast, sprawling, deserted terrain that stretched away on all four sides like a boundless ocean.
“But,” he added, “it’s when you’re not expecting trouble that you’re most likely to run into it.”
WARD smiled to himself as he followed Halliday’s thin stooped figure to the main building, a squat solid structure of heavy duralloy steel, with only one door and no windows at all.
The man was obviously a neurotic mass of nerves, or else he was indulging in a bit of melodrama to impress his new assistant.
Halliday stepped aside at the door and Ward preceded him into the hot, sparsely furnished room. Halliday followed him, closing the door behind him and setting the mechanism of a powerful automatic lock before turning to Ward with an apologetic little smile.
“You’ll find it rather cramped at first,” he said. “I’ll sleep out here and you can use the storeroom as a bedroom. That’s all the living quarters we have, excepting the kitchen, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Ward set his grip down and glanced about at the chart-covered walls, the plain, badly scuffed furniture and he was not particularly enthused at the prospect of being cooped up in this hot little oven of a room with Halliday.
“What about the other buildings?” he asked. “Surely there’d be room there for me to bunk.”
“We use those building for equipment,” Halliday said. “And besides, this building is safer.”
Ward glanced at the little man with a faint, ironic smile.
“Is there something here to be afraid of?” His tone was blandly polite, but he could not completely conceal an undercurrent of contempt.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, Lieutenant,” Halliday said, “but this area of Mars is not quite the safest place in the universe.” He removed his thick glasses with a nervous little gesture and smiled uncertainly at Ward. “I really think it wiser for you to sleep here.”
“Unless that’s an order,” Ward said, “I’d rather sleep in comfort in one of the other buildings and take my chances on your bogy-men catching me.”
Halliday replaced his glasses. He was no longer smiling.
“I’m afraid, Lieutenant, you must consider it as an order.”
He turned slowly and re-checked the huge gleaming lock on the door, then walked to a littered, dusty desk in one corner of the room and sat down. It was obvious that the discussion was ended.
Ward shrugged and carried his grip into a small windowless storeroom that was directly off the main room of the small structure. There were bales of supplies, a cot and a stool. A vague musty odor permeated the air. He tossed his grip onto the cot, stripped off his tunic and walked back into the room where Halliday was seated at his desk.
Halliday looked up with a smile and removed his glasses with a characteristic nervous movement of his thin hands.
“Not exactly the choicest accommodations, eh?” he said, in an attempt at heartiness, which struck Ward as being almost pathetic.
“I’ll get by,” Ward said. He loosened the collar of his shirt and glanced at the massive steel door, closed and tightly locked. “Any objection to letting in a little air?” he asked. “It’s pretty close in here.”
HALLIDAY smiled and his eyes flicked to the closed door. He put his glasses on again and spent quite a time adjusting them to his thin nose.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to put up with the closeness,” he said.
Ward sighed and sat down in a chair facing Halliday.
“You’re afraid of something,” he said bluntly. “Supposing you tell me about it.”
“As a matter of fact, I was meaning to,” Halliday said. “You see, on this section we’re pretty well isolated from the rest of the Earth stations on Mars. We receive all supplies and mail by a direct materialization unit. No space craft puts in here. We’re here all alone and if anything happened to us all the data and work that has been compiled might be lost.”
As Halliday removed his glasses again with a quick aimless gesture, Ward thought, “A lot you care about the records and data. It’s your skin you want to save.”
Halliday coughed and replaced his glasses.
“This area is inhabited by a species of creature which I do not believe has been classified. I do not know if they are human or if they possess intelligence. I do not even know if they are ‘alive’ in the sense that we speak of life. Possibly their energy is of electrical or carboniferous origin, or it could be even vegetable in nature. As you see I know little enough about these neighbors of ours, but I do know that they are dangerous. They resent the work that is being done here.” Halliday frowned and twisted a pencil in his hands. “I’m not even sure of that. Possibly they are without rational motivation at all. It may be that they are merely moved to action by the sight of another object in motion. But whatever their reason, they have been very troublesome. That, really, is all I know about them. And that is the reason that I exercise such care. I have a small periscope installed on the roof and before I unlock the door I study the entire surrounding terrain to be sure there are no Raspers in sight.”
“Why do you call them Raspers?” Ward asked.
“Because of a peculiar sound that seems to emanate from them,” Halliday explained. “My former assistant and I had to call them something and Raspers seemed as logical as anything else.”
“Have you ever seen one of these—er
—Raspers?” Ward asked.
“I’m not sure,” Halliday said thoughtfully. He removed his glasses again. “I’ve had two brushes with them, but I’m not sure that I saw them distinctly either time. Possibly the picture that came to my mind, later, was supplied by my imagination. But I know that there is something very repellent and fearsome about them. I felt that much.”
Ward crossed his legs and lit a cigarette casually.
“Can these things be killed?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Halliday answered. “The two chances I had I was too scared to find out.”
Ward felt a cold anger against this man growing in him. This man had been entrusted with the task of surveying the atmospheric conditions of this area—a vital, desperately necessary job—and he was dawdling along, timidly hugging the cover of this fortress because of a stupid, half-imaginary fear of the natives of the area. He felt his cheeks growing hot.
“We can’t stay cooped up here indefinitely,” he said. “How about the work we’re supposed to be doing. Or does that bother you?”
HALLIDAY looked at him queerly and then dropped his eyes. He fiddled nervously with his glasses.
Ward suddenly found the gesture maddening.
“For Pete’s sake!” he exploded. “Leave ‘em on, or leave ‘em off, one or the other. That’s apparently your only job here, taking those damn glasses off and putting them back on again.”
“I’m sorry,” Halliday said quickly, apologetically. “It’s just a habit I guess. It’s a little something to break the nervous tension of being here all alone, thinking . . .”
His voice trailed off and his hand moved nervously toward his glasses and then fell back limply in his lap.
“About the work here,” he said in a mild, controlled voice, “we are forced to work on a definitely limited schedule. I have field apparatus located at points several miles distant from here. But we can’t venture out to take the necessary readings until the weather is propitious.”
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 140