Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Phil Roberts had struck his head against the radio panel as he was hurled to the floor, blotting consciousness instantly from his brain. But Jim, in spite of the incredibly tremendous velocity of their spiraling upward rush, had not lost consciousness. He was aware, therefore, that the ensuing moments, or perhaps hours, most probably drew them both to certain death.

  Jim lost all track of time, of motion, of being, in the interval that followed. And it was the sudden slow-up in the spin speed of the craft, plus an inexplicable sensation of falling, that made him open his eyes. Something had happened, something completely different than what he had expected. The X-80 had not been crushed egglike in the slip stream, and the very velocity and angle of the stream was now changing.

  Laboriously, fighting with every sinew against gravity, Jim began a crawling, half-climb through which he eventually gained the thick foreward observations panels of the X-80. It took him a minute to wipe the blurred fog from his mind, and then he blinked out into what seemed to be a rich-blue darkness illuminated only by a round, shining, crystalline ball toward which they were hurtling with incredible speed.

  For fully two minutes, Jim stared numbly, unbelievingly, at the phenomenon.

  “No,” he choked. “It couldn’t be. That couldn’t be an asteroid we’re hurtling down onto!”

  DESPARATELY, Jim pulled himself across the seats before the control panels, his hand seeking the rocket propulsion throttle. There would be a crash coming in a matter of mere minutes. And a cut-off on that power might give them a fighting chance to survive it.

  His fingers found the throttle, and he shoved it hard down, almost losing consciousness from the exertion against gravity. The thunderous vibration from the rockets ceased, and for a moment, Jim fought off blackness that returned in a swift wave.

  Minutes now. Minutes. Phil. Where was Phil? On the floor. Cabin floor. Get to Phil. Make sure he’s all right. If he’s out he’ll get knocked silly by crash. Get to Phil.

  But Jim didn’t reach his companion’s side. He was scarcely able to cover another yard in the five minutes that followed. And in the minute that, followed that, the crash came—roaringly, deafeningly, jarringly.

  Jim knew only the shattering numbness of concussion for the first instant. And then he realized that the gravitational pull was gone, and that he was being hurled forward by the force of the crash, as the X-80 nosed into the unknown asteroid . . .

  CHAPTER III

  Radion!

  JIM HAWKINS did not lose consciousness. For one crushing blinding Instant as the nose of the space fringe fighter buried into the yielding crust of the strange gleaming asteroid, he felt himself slipping into a bottomless well of darkness—but with a supreme effort of will he tore the settling veil of oblivion from his eyes.

  A vast stillness had settled over the ship; the rending shriek of straining metals had faded quickly; the roaring throb of the powerful motors was stilled forever.

  Jim staggered to his feet, conscious of the splitting pain that knifed through his temples. Dazedly, he raised his hand to his forehead and felt the congealing thickness of oozing blood. With an effort he shook away a feeling of nausea, and stumbled toward the radio apparatus, where Phil’s limp body was sprawled.

  It took all of his strength to drag his friend’s body to the aisle of the ship A hand of cold fear closed over his heart as he felt desperately for a pulse in the limp wrist.

  “Phil, guy,” he said tensely. He raised the blond head from the floor and cradled it in his arms. “It’s me—Jim. Please—say something!”

  One of Phil’s bland eyes opened slowly. He studied Jim for an instant and then shook his head groggily from side to side.

  “Okay,” he grunted. “Anything in particular you want me to say?”

  Jim felt a vast relief sweep over him.

  “I should’ve known it’d take more than a power crash to put you out of action, you big baboon,” he said feelingly. He dropped his friend’s head to the floor of the ship. “But you had me scared for a minute.”

  Phil grinned and rubbed the back of his head.

  “Fine way to treat a crash victim,” he said. He sat up and felt his arms and legs experimentally. “I guess we’re both just too lucky to die. Where the devil are we, anyway?”

  Jim stood up and a worried frown settled over his face.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “When we hit that suction spiral we were jamming pretty close to the Heaviside layer. I can’t remember much of what happened, but I think we blasted right out of Earth’s atmosphere.”

  Phil whistled softly.

  Jim said, “I think a reconnaissance party is in order.”

  Phil looked at him soberly. “I’m kind of curious myself, chum. You know,” he grinned suddenly, “we might be just about anywhere. Maybe we’re dead and in Heaven.”

  Jim looked about the shattered interior of the ship and touched his hand to the bloody bump on his temples. “If we are,” he muttered, “you can put me down as one disillusioned guest. If we’re ghosts we’re the livest ones I’ve ever heard of.”

  Phil hoisted himself to his feet.

  “We can’t be in Hell,” he said, “that’s for sure.”

  “What makes you so positive?” Jim asked.

  Phil grinned. “I don’t see any Nazis around.”

  “You got something there,” Jim said. “Now let’s get out of this wreck, if we can.”

  THE nose of the ship, weighted with heavy motors, had dug deeply into the surface of the strange asteroid, and the ship was suspended at a sharp angle. The hermetically sealed door in the side of the ship was close to the tail, and the two men were forced to scramble up the aisle, clinging to whatever support they could find, in order to reach the one exit.

  The crash, Jim discovered when he reached the door, had twisted the steel-ribbed structure of the ship, jamming the door tightly. He slammed his heavy rock-hard shoulder against its smooth surface twice without avail. The door was as unbudging as if it had been part of the solid side of the plane.

  Panting, he settled back on his heels and studied the door. “A neat mess,” he muttered to Phil.

  Phil slid back down to the front compartment of the ship and returned shortly with a short powerful claw bar.

  “If this doesn’t do it,” he said, “we can plan on spending the duration here.”

  Inserting the tip of the claw under the edge of the door he shoved with all his strength. The door creaked and gave slightly, but it did not open. Jim wrapped his big hands about the bar, alongside Phil’s.

  “Let’s try it again,” he said.

  With a lunge they hurled all of their weight and strength against the budged door. It gave suddenly, snapping open with a protesting groan.

  Jim and Phil fell forward as the bar gave beneath their weight. Phil rolled down the angled aisle, a tangle of arms and legs; but Jim managed to catch himself in time to avoid a spill.

  Phil crawled to his feet, a ludicrous expression of bewilderment on his face.

  “That’s what a guy gets for exerting himself.” He glared accusingly at Jim. “A fine thing! You take it easy and I take the spills. Some friend!”

  Jim grinned. “I can’t help it if you’re clumsy,” he said. He stuck a hand down and helped Phil to crawl back up the aisle.

  “Are we ready to go now?” Phil asked.

  “There’s nothing to stop us,” Jim said. “I’ll go first. You follow me immediately and keep your gun handy.”

  With a lithe twist he slipped his body through the bent doorway and peered downward. The drop to the ground was almost ten feet.

  He turned and grinned at Phil.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said.

  Phil gripped his shoulder tightly. “Luck,” he whispered.

  Jim swung his legs out and dropped to the ground. He landed in a crouch, every muscle tensed. The shadow of the plane covered him, but his right hand was tightly closed on the butt of his gun. He was taking no chances.r />
  “How’s it look?” Phil called from above him.

  “Can’t tell yet,” Jim answered. “Come ahead.”

  Phil swung out from the plane and dropped to the ground. His short legs buckled at the impact and he tumbled forward. He picked himself up, fuming.

  “I just can’t do anything right,” he muttered.

  “You got down, that’s the important thing,” Jim said. “Keep your gun handy. We’re going to do a little scouting now.”

  TOGETHER the two men moved out from the shadow of the plane. Their eyes swung about carefully and the guns at their sides were ready for instant use.

  “Holy Gee!” Phil said in awe. His gaze moved slowly, incredulously over the terrain that spread about them. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”

  Jim Hawkins didn’t answer. There was nothing he could say, no words at his command that would describe the blindingly magnificent scene he was facing, or the tremendous impression it made on his senses.

  The ground at their feet was as brilliantly bright as a vast field of diamonds, and the rays of the sun slanting through the strangely thick atmosphere of the asteroid, transformed this ground into a scintillating, million-pointed carpet of glory that stretched away as far as the eye could reach, swelling in ordered undulations until it merged indistinguishably with the far distant horizon.

  The atmosphere was dense and heavy, swirling with a soft cloying mist.

  Phil coughed as he drew in a deep breath of the heavy, misting atmosphere.

  “This atmosphere seems kind of peculiar,” he said, shaking his head. “I wonder if it’s going to be all right for us.”

  “I think so,” Jim said. “It’s heavier than Earth’s but it doesn’t seem to have any toxic elements. That isn’t going to be our problem. Our big job is to find out where we are and how we can get back to Earth. This place doesn’t seem to be inhabited.”

  Phil nodded. “That’s understandable. Who’d want to live on a place like this?” He blinked his eyes against the brilliance of the radiations that seemed to emanate from the gleaming ground. “It’d be about like spending your life in the glare of an anti-aircraft beacon. Maybe this’ll teach us to appreciate black-outs when we get back to Earth.”

  “ ‘When’ and ‘if’,” Jim said. His gray eyes were troubled as they swept over the incredibly bright ground, that seemed to stretch away into infinity. “I wonder what causes this peculiar iridescence.” He scraped at the crystalline particles with the tip of his boot. “These crystals look just like free radium, but of course they couldn’t be.”

  “Why not?” Phil asked. You’re thinking in Earth terms and standards now. What might be absolutely impossible on our own planet could be normal here.” He looked down at the gleaming ground and scraped it with his foot, as Jim had done. “Why couldn’t this stuff be radium?”

  “We wouldn’t be alive now if it were,” Jim said. “The emanations from free radium, in quantities like this, would burn our tissue to crisps in a matter of seconds.”

  Phil frowned. “I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. Well, whatever the stuff is, it ain’t easy on the eyes.”

  Jim’s hand had fallen away from the heavy gun at his side. There didn’t seem to be any need for weapons on this barren, brilliant isolated asteroid.

  “Well, what do you think? Phil said. “About our chances?”

  “Yeah.”

  JIM frowned and studied the sweeping glare of the horizon with troubled eyes. “Can’t say yet. But things don’t look particularly good. We’ll have to make a complete investigation. We may stumble on to something that way. Until then, we’ll go awfully slow on our rations and hope for the best. Phil snapped his fingers suddenly. “How about the radio? Maybe we can contact Earth and explain what happened. They might be able to get another plane through the same way we did.” His round face was flushed with excitement. “They wouldn’t have to risk a pilot. They could direct it by radio control and take their directional bearing from our beam. That way they could get supplies and equipment through. And maybe a radio-controlled plane could make a safe landing, where a pilot would be knocked out by that suction stream. It’s worth a chance, isn’t it?”

  “Sure it is,” Jim said. He hadn’t thought of the radio until Phil had mentioned it. “But how about your equipment? It might be out of commission from the crash.”

  “If it is, I’ll fix it,” Phil said jubilantly. “All I need is a piece of wire and a cotter pin and I could repair the dynamos at Boulder Dam. Come on, let’s get to work. I got a hunch we’re going to beat this deal. Why, I’ll bet we’re back on Earth for supper!”

  Jim tensed suddenly as he heard a faint scraping sound behind him. A voice, soft and thick, sounded in the air.

  “I do not think so!”

  Both men were standing with their backs to the wrecked plane. The voice came from behind them, from the direction of the ship.

  Jim wheeled about, his hand streaking toward the gun at his hip. But he never completed that gesture. His arm froze in a paralysis of stunned amazement as he saw the three figures standing by the ship.

  They were small, oddly formed creatures, with bright snapping eyes that stood out with startling clearness against the dead whiteness of their thick coarse skins; their heads were huge and bald. In the center of their intelligent faces were wide spatulate appendages that apparently were noses. These hung down, almost meeting the small round holes that served the strange creatures as mouths.

  But even more paralyzing than the appearance of these suddenly materialized creatures, were the heavy revolvers they held in their small, claw-like hands, and trained unwaveringly on the two American fliers.

  “Do not make sudden moves,” the tallest of the three creatures said, stepping forward a pace. His voice was curiously soft and thick; but it was the unmistakable accent of the words, guttural and throaty, that Jim Hawkins recognized with an unbelieving gasp.

  “I do not wish to kill you,” the strange creature said. “Not now, at least. After what you have done to my people I should kill you without mercy, but I have other plans.”

  Jim’s eyes dropped to the guns in the hands of the weird creatures. Phil followed his glance.

  “It isn’t possible,” Phil whispered hoarsely. “This is something we’re dreaming.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jim Hawkins said.

  THE completely weird scene was like something from the half-forgotten depths of a hideous nightmare. The brilliantly gleaming ground cast a pale aura of unnatural light over the incredible creatures that had materialized, seemingly from the murky swirling atmosphere. Silhouetted against the shattered hulk of the once-trim American strata fighter, they looked like evil gnomes from the pits of Hell.

  But there was something in the scene even more incredible and menacing than the appearance of these inhuman creatures; and that was the fact that in their small, claw-like hands were held German Luger revolvers; and that their soft stilted speech was tinged with the unmistakable guttural growl of a German accent!

  Jim’s jaw went slack in amazement. Forgetting everything, including the obviously hostile intention of these strange creatures, he wheeled to his companion.

  “Good Lord, Phil!” he gasped. “Those guns. Lugers. Nazi pop-toys! On this god-forsaken little asteroid—

  are Germans!”

  But Phil had noted the weapons also, and his eyes were round with incredulity. He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t find words to express his amazement.

  “Phil—realize what that means!” Jim choked. “On this asteroid in space are Nazis—the lousy swine are ahead of us; they’ve beaten the Allied Nations to the punch I Somehow, they’ve conquered space!”

  Phil Roberts finally found voice.

  “They can’t have!” he groaned. “Maybe there’s some other explanation to this. These squatty little devils are speaking English, remember that. Hell, they might have gotten those guns—”

  Jim cut him off.r />
  “English with a Nazi accent, brother. English as Axis as a concentration camp. Explain away that!”

  The creature who had stepped forward, obviously the leader of the small group, now interrupted his captives angrily.

  “Do not talk,” he said. “You will come with us. If you attempt to resist you will be shot instantly. You see, we have learned some things from you.”

  Jim pointed at the gun in the creature’s hand.

  “Where did you get that gun?”

  A fleeting expression touched the broad blank face of the small creature. It might have been a smile or it might have been a frown; it was impossible to tell.

  “Those who once used these weapons have no further use for them,” the creature said.

  “Who are you?” Jim asked. He knew he was taking a chance in questioning this creature; he might be answered by a blast from that grim Luger; but there were things he must know.

  “My name is Dexlon,” the creature answered. “And I find that you are talking too much. There is nothing more to say. Advance, and keep your hands away from your sides.”

  Jim shrugged. “Come on,” he said to Phil, from the side of his mouth, “they’ve got all the aces.”

  WITH Phil at his side he walked slowly toward the three strange creatures. When they were within four feet of them, Dexlon held up his hand.

  “That will be enough.” He motioned to the creatures beside him and they stepped forward quickly and removed the gun belts from Jim’s and Phil’s waists.

  One of the creatures stepped behind them and pointed a Luger at their backs.

  “You will follow me,” Dexlon said. “You will die instantly if you attempt to resist.”

  “Okay,” Jim shrugged, “you’re calling ’em. But something is as screwy as the very devil about this set-up.”

  “You said it, chum,” Phil muttered, as they set out across the vast, gleaming wastes, following Dexlon and his companions.