by Henry Hasse
At last he got the words out: "Ketrik! By all the red-tailed Zigs on Venus, it's Ketrik! Only he could use an archaic expression like that—what's cookin', indeed!"
There came a rumble of metallic laughter.
"Hi-ya, Janus! Haven't seen you in years. And Kaarj! Last time I saw you was on Deimos, when I robbed the temple of ancients. How are you, kid?" The robot went down, extended a long metal finger as big around as a man's arm. Kaarj retreated hastily!
"Well, ain't any of you glad to see me?" the voice came mockingly. "And after I saved your battle, too!"
"Sure, we're glad to see you," Janus replied shakily. "But good Lord, man, come down out of that thing so we can get a look at you!"
"Hell, no. I'm havin' fun! Anyway, I'm not up here. Not the real Ketrik. My body's lying in an alcove back there at the temple of robots."
Mari had come to stand beside Janus. Her face was flushed from the recent battle, but some of her defiance had fled. The robot bent closer still, seemed to be peering. Then came a long whistle, metallic but shrill, and one of the huge eyes winked!
The girl seemed to recognize that primitive sound and her face turned a deeper red. But she stepped a pace forward.
"Mister—ah—Ketrik, you have saved my people and have earned our undying thanks! But what about the Perlacs—do you think they'll be coming back again?"
The robot chuckled. "Not for a long time! Certainly not when they know I'm around. Those babies have given me a wide berth so far." He added: "I've been intending to pay a visit to your side of the world, but I could tell those dark-skinned brutes were up to something. I decided to hang around and await developments."
"But Ketrik"—Janus hesitated—"what's this about your body?"
"Don't worry, it's safe. This is only the mental part of me. Sure, there's a huge temple about ten miles back, with dozens more of these robots standing around idle." A sudden thought occurred. "Want to take a look? I could carry you across the heavy gravity."
"No thanks!" Janus declined. "My scientific interest doesn't go that far. Maybe the Professor, here—"
"Sure!" Brownell came forward, eager.
"I'll go too," Mark said. "I'd like to see how those robots work."
Ketrik extended a huge hand. Brownell and Mark clung tightly as it swung them up. With the two men perched on its shoulders, the robot went striding back through the forest.
The temple, massive and pillared, rested in a wide clearing.
They saw the robots, dozens of them lining the walls. The quartz discs of their eyes were now dull and lifeless. And near each robot, fifty feet high in the wall, were alcoves.
"Gravity here is normal!" Mark noticed suddenly.
"Yes," Ketrik replied. "That's probably what saved my life. I crashed right through the roof!"
They saw Ketrik's spacer on the floor below them, its nose and forward tubes crumpled beyond recognition.
"I'll show you my body." He strode to one of the alcoves, and the men stepped from his shoulders onto a stone ledge. Before them was a thick glass coffin. Resting in it was the material Ketrik!
It was a large body, as large as Janus, but clean shaven. The blue eyes were open and staring, and even in this suspended state there seemed to be a quality of recklessness, even amusement, about them.
"How do you get the mental self into the robot?" Brownell asked.
"Damned if I know how it works," there was almost a shrug in Ketrik's robot voice. "I just experimented with the thing."
He just experimented! Mark marvelled at this man.
"Don't touch it," Ketrik warned, "but you'll notice there are two cathodes attached to the temples of my earth body. See how the wires lead out, and up to that panelled board on the wall? There are all kinds of coils and things behind that board. Those other cathodes, that you see dangling, were attached to the brain plate of the robot. I suppose the molecules of your mental self flow through the wires. When the transference is complete, you merely detach the cathodes and start walking about, a full-fledged robot! I tell you it's wonderful!"
"Ketrik," Brownell said, as they went back through the forest, "we should be returning to Earth as soon as we complete the new weapon for Man's people. Don't you want to return with us?"
"No, I think I'll stay. I want to be sure those Perlacs don't cause any more trouble for a while."
"There wouldn't be any other reason?" Mark grinned.
"There would and is." The smile was in Ketrik's voice, if not on his metal lips. "I like that golden-haired Amazon—what's her name—Mari?"
"But why return at all?" Mari wanted to know, when the Professor announced the plans. "You have said you wanted a base for the manufacture of your Frequency Tuners. What better place than here?"
"Thank you, my dear. I had thought of that, but after all this is your world, and we are intruders."
Mari was hurt. "After all that you've done for us? And you can do so much more!"
"Then rest assured we'll be back, possibly within a month. True, there is much to be done here but we need new supplies, tools, equipment of every sort."
Janus said: "And with your permission, we'll want to bring back some new men. Not rogues and adventurers like me, but scientific men who can come here and work out their ideas without fear of that stupid Earth Bureau. Men like Mark, here, and the Professor."
Brownell nodded agreement. "I see a new regime. The Tri-Planet Council will have to cooperate with expanding endeavors, or take a back seat. Already I know two men on Earth, and four on Mars, who'll be delighted to come here to carry on their work. And Mark, that reminds me. That new weapon of yours. I think we can ask about it now?"
"Oh, it's nothing much, but I wasn't going to let the Bureau have it on their terms! It's merely an advanced frigidation idea. Works along an extended magnetic beam, absorbing all heat in a given area, almost to absolute zero."
"And he says it's nothing much!" came from Janus.
"It still needs some working out. The coils didn't stand up, the last time I applied it out there."
In two more days they were turning out the neutro weapons in quantity. During that time nothing more was seen of the Perlacs, as the robot-Ketrik maintained a vigilance. Brownell made a last check-up of the spaceship, and more important still, he strengthened the Frequency Tuner to counteract the gravity.
On the last night, Mark tossed restlessly in his bed. He could not sleep, and he didn't know why. Was it something they had forgotten? He didn't think so. Nevertheless he had a preternatural awareness of something wrong....
He arose, dressed quickly. There was never "night" on this side of the little world, but the rooms were automatically dimmed. Silently he tip-toed through the rooms. Brownell was there, sleeping peacefully. And Janus, and all the others.
No! Ferris was gone.
Mark's heart leaped. He had never liked that man, never quite trusted him. Now it came back. Ferris' eternal harping about the fortune he had put into this expedition.
If that little rat was planning— Mark hurried outside. The city was deathly quiet, immersed in sleep. The eternal light struck his eyes and brought him fully alert. He hurried along the street toward the outskirts, toward the base of the hill where the spaceship waited.
As he neared the hill, he spied Ferris. The man was coming down the slope. Ferris saw him, and waved a hand in greeting.
"Hi! Is it you, Travers? What's the matter, can't you sleep either?"
Mark's steps slowed, and he breathed in relief. He'd been wrong. After all, the man had a right to be up.
They met near the spaceship, and Ferris waved a hand toward the crest of the hill. "I was just looking at the Stone. It's the damnedest thing!"
"Yes. Brownell tells me—"
Ferris' hand moved like lightning. Mark found himself staring into the stub end of a neutro-gun. Ferris was no longer smiling and casual.
"In!" he snarled. "Get in there—quick!" He gestured toward the ship, and Mark noticed
the door was open. He moved toward it slowly, then paused, started to turn.
"I'll blast you, Travers!"
Mark shrugged, entered. Ferris came quickly behind him.
"That's better. I don't want to rouse any of the others. Sounds carry far on this world." He paused and grinned, with all but his eyes. "Sure, Travers, I was looking at the Stone. I'd like to get it back to Earth, but it's too much for me. Guess I'll just have to be satisfied with the Frequency Tuner. The Bureau of Inventions will pay me a handsome price for it, no questions asked."
"You sneaking, double-crossing rat," Mark said slowly. "You'll never get away with this!"
"This says I will," Ferris sneered, gesturing with the neutro. "And since you came snooping out here, I'll just take that new weapon of yours."
"It doesn't work any more."
"I'll take it anyway. Hand it over. Careful!"
Mark shrugged, tossed the box-like weapon to him. But his mind was racing. Ferris had the upper hand, all right, and he would get away with this if Mark didn't do something quick. Mark glanced around. They were in the control room, and he knew the Frequency Tuner was ready. He said:
"What about Brownell—Janus—the others?"
"What about 'em? They wanted to come out here, so let 'em stay. Yeah—for the next hundred years!"
"What about me?"
"You know, I think I'll just take you along—for a short distance, anyway."
Mark's voice was taunting. "Because you're not quite sure how to handle this Frequency control. You'll need me."
"And that's where you're wrong. I've studied it plenty. It's easy!"
Mark dropped suddenly to his knees, and with the same movement his body lashed forward—low and hard. He heard the neutro sing, and felt the swirling heat of it over his shoulder. But Ferris was quick. He danced lithely back. His right hand with the gun in it came swinging up.
The heavy gun caught Mark squarely under the chin.
He came struggling back to consciousness, aware that he was still lying prone. He allowed his brain to clear before opening his eyes, but already he could tell they were in space.
He thought of his friends on Perlac—stranded! It would be a miracle if they ever succeeded in building another spaceship there, with their limited equipment.
"Hi, Travers. We're on our way. So I can't handle the Tuner, eh?"
Mark groaned, rolled his head a little, feigning grogginess. But he was alert now, and he cursed himself for a fool for underestimating Ferris. He heard the man's voice go on:
"And to show how much I need you, I'll just toss you out somewhere between Perlac and Pluto. Or maybe between Pluto and Neptune. Which would you prefer?"
Mark's heart leaped. They couldn't have come far, then! He was lying near the control-console and he knew they were on robot control. Ferris must have set the course already. He was confident now, watching Mark, for he knew it took minutes to adjust that complex set-up.
Mark stirred, grasped a metal stanchion to help hoist himself erect. His plan was made. To the right of the console was an auxiliary unit, feeding emergency power to the Tuner. He wondered if Ferris knew of it. He glimpsed Ferris coming toward him. Mark surged erect, his right hand darted out. It came down in a full sweep against the auxiliary impellator.
The spacer leaped ahead, sickeningly, as acceleration multiplied in a split second. Mark glimpsed Ferris flying backward. He hadn't time to see more. Both hands gripped the stanchion now as intolerable pressure built up. His arms seemed to be wrenching from their sockets. Slowly, agonizingly, he managed to encircle the stanchion with his left arm. His right hand seemed to weigh a ton as it reached out. It touched the impellator stud ... reversed it.
Mark sagged limply forward as acceleration lowered. He hadn't the strength left to turn his head, see what had happened to Ferris.
When he did, minutes later, he saw a limp figure against the far wall. The limbs were twisted beyond recognition. The head was crushed. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Mark changed direction, headed in a sweeping parabola back toward Perlac. He avoided Brownell's previous mistake and swung wide of the planet, approaching it from the light side. He landed safely near the city. The others had already missed the ship, and they received him joyously.
They left the next day, after a final check-up. Mari had prepared long lists of items for them to bring back to her people.
The robot-Ketrik was there too, to bid them bon voyage. Brownell said:
"Ketrik, you can reclaim that body of yours. Sure you won't change your mind and go back with us?"
Again Ketrik resorted to archaic expression:
"Are you kidding?" and he glanced at Mari with his huge robot eyes.
They lifted gravs, and not until they were crossing the orbit of Pluto did Brownell remember something. He chuckled, said to Mark:
"Suppose Ketrik does transfer again to his body, as he probably will. How's he going to transport it across that heavy gravity?"
For a moment Mark was startled. Then he grinned and replied, "Well, don't worry your mind over that. I'll bet you a thousand to one he'll do it! Positively. That man will find a way!"
The End
*****************************
Dread-Flame of M'Tonak,
by Henry Hasse
Planet Stories Fall 1946
Novella - 21147 words
A flame of pure thought ... green and unspeakably
vile ... thrust from its own supra-dimension into
the Solar warp, it found one whose malignance
matched its own—and who would bargain with it.
Against them—Ketrik, outlawed and alone!
I
Ketrik came in from Perlac, came fast, using the Frequency Tuner all the way. Now his great bulk came forward in the control-seat, his eyes fastened intently on the dark blue disk of Earth that loomed ahead.
"Strange," he muttered. "Strange, no Patrollers! I expected an escort at least, if not a challenge!"
But no one heard. Ketrik, as always, had come alone. The helio from Mark Travers, recorded on the sensitized receivers at Perlac, had been more than a summons and a plea; it had contained an undertone of urgency. Ketrik had left at once, making the trip from the newly discovered outer planet in record time, thanks to the secret power-unit which the Earth Council still coveted.
Ketrik thought of that now, as he neared Earth where he had not set foot for so long. He remembered the tedious negotiations between Earth and Perlac, designed to bring the latter planet into the Solar Federation—a status hardly equitable to the Perlac government, due to Earth's high-handed demands. For Earth still claimed priority on Brownell's "Frequency Tuner," despite the fact that he had been forced to flee with his invention to Perlac; and since then there had been an alarming exodus of Earth's scientists to Perlac where they could work out their ideas unhampered. [1]
The Earth Council remained haughty, adamant. Only six months ago there had been a skirmish beyond Jupiter in which several Earth Patrollers had gone to flaming destruction against the speedy Perlac ships. The "Perlac Incident" was developing into open, bitter warfare. Venus remained wisely aloof, riding a crest of peace under the reign of Princess Aladdian. And on Mars, Dar Vaajo sat brooding on his ancient throne, silent and watchful.
"Maybe I'm being a fool," Ketrik murmured now as he crossed the orbit of Earth's moon. "Mark Travers guaranteed me safe landing and full protection—nevertheless—"
Weary but still cautious, he switched to the auxiliary rocket-power, then went to work dismantling the Frequency Tuner. In a short time he had jumbled the unit into a confusion of its component parts, and carefully hid it away. He trusted Mark Travers ... but there were others.
As he picked up the grav-beam for his landing, he thought again of Mark. It would be good to see him again after four years. He wondered if the lad's status as "Member of Council" had changed him any. Even more, he wondered at Mark's urgent message.
&n
bsp; The city spread below. Then the landing field. Ketrik berthed with practiced ease, stepped down from the lock.
The guards closed in fast. There were dozens of them. Ketrik had only time to glimpse the black-and-silver insignia of the elite Council Guard, the drawn guns and grim purpose on their faces. Even as he whirled back toward his ship, the deadly song of a heat-beam sounded past his ear—so close he could feel the swirling scorch of it.
Ketrik came erect and motionless. He turned slowly, brain wry with the thought that he'd come into a trap after all. But he smiled—a twisted smile which failed to erase the hard lines of his face. His eyes were a puzzle, gray and serene but somehow mocking beneath the dark bangs tumbling across his forehead.
The Guards formed a watchful circle about this man whose deeds were renowned throughout the System. For a moment their Captain hesitated. Then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward. His gun became intimate with Ketrik's wishbone.
"George Ketrik, I arrest you by order of the Supreme Earth Council! You will come along peaceably or suffer the consequences!" The man's voice was overly loud, arrogant. With a dramatic gesture he removed Ketrik's gun, then whirled him into the hands of the Guards. They marched toward a waiting tube-car. Other guards were trying to keep back the crowd, passengers for the Venus Express who thronged the field.
Ketrik's eyes were emotionless now, devoid of color. He said tonelessly: "Taking quite a chance, aren't you, Captain? I've only counted fifty of your men."
"We've heard too much about you, Ketrik! And we want you alive—that's why we didn't try to take you in space. I'm glad you're being sensible about this."
Ketrik shrugged his towering shoulders as though to say, "Why not?" But his mind raced. So they wanted him alive. They were nearing the tube-car now, and the crowd, eternally curious, was trying to press in.
It was now or never. Ketrik stumbled. His elbow shot back, caught the captain in the stomach. With the same motion he snatched the latter's heat-gun, and bending low, lunged to the left. The crowd parted before his onrush. Women screamed at sight of the gun he waved before him.