by Henry Hasse
"Don't try to stop me!" With his free hand Tor brought the Martian scene sharper into focus. Nothing else mattered to him.
"A last chance, Tor! You can reach Earth on that thing. Let me contact Earth and warn them of what goes on here! Even if we die, they can send the Fleet and blast this place—"
Curt saw it was no use.
He brought his gun around fast, tried a snap shot from the waist. But Tor was faster. He swayed aside, then his own electro sent its beam.
Curt's arm went numb from wrist to shoulder, as the Martian's beam caught his gun squarely and sent it spinning from his grasp. Curt dived low, in a try for the radiant-rifle a few yards away. Again Tor blasted. A spray of molten froth from the floor sent Curt tumbling back. He poised for another try. To think of failure now was to think of death!
But he had failed. This was death!
He heard Lorine cry out, heard Jeffers cursing behind him, as a rush of feet came toward them down the corridor!
Jeffers was battling for his life. A score of men were converging upon them. Jovian, Martian, Earthmen alike, they had but one purpose as they rushed forward under Zemmd's mental command.
That purpose was to kill!
But it was they who died, as Jeffers swept his beam in a deadly crossfire. Lorine had retrieved the electro, and she joined the battle, crouching beside Jeffers in the narrow doorway. Luckily it offered a measure of protection. A few of these men were armed. Beams slashed and glanced from the walls. In a matter of seconds the place was a hell of heat and blinding light.
Tor was intent upon the Tele-Magnum now. Curt sprang for the radiant-rifle, came up with it, whirled to join the battle. But already the men were falling back out of range! They left four of their dead upon the corridor floor.
In the brief respite Curt remembered Landreth, and the Energon-form. The same thing was happening now! The bodies coalesced with an inner aura of electric-blue. Four Energons emerged swiftly and hung poised, spinning, crackling with angry radiance. Then they darted forward.
"Don't let them touch you!" Curt hurled Lorine aside, sprang forward with rifle upraised. Before he could touch the firing stud, the Energons were tumbling back, wildly—as if in panic!
Curt stared. It wasn't his weapon they feared—
Then Curt knew!
It was Tor Ekkov's voice behind him, sending his strident, high-pitched aria into the telector-beam to Mars. Sound! These things feared super-sonic sound!
Lorine screamed, clutched at Curt's arm.
Far down the corridor, reaching almost from wall to wall, the huge bulk of the Zemmd itself sped toward them. Streamers of angry violet splashed before it, illuminating the scene. The Zemmd's own men tumbled pell-mell out of the way.
The four smaller Energons sped toward the parent bulk, touched, and merged. But the Zemmd never paused. Tor's high-pitched tune seemed not to affect it!
A heavy potential rose crackling from the walls. Lorine crumpled and went down. Jeffers, reeling upon his feet, still blasted with the electro but to no avail. Part of the potential washed upon Curt and sent him staggering....
Curt hurled himself back into the room, jabbed the rifle at Tor before the Martian knew what was happening.
"Sing, damn you, keep singing! Send your song to Mars! You were right after all!"
Tor's eyes went wide, but he needed no urging. He sang! The Martian sibilants were meaningless to Curt, nor did he care. Tor's voice reached the higher octaves, far higher than any operatic star of Earth! Down the scale, then up, and up, endlessly, Tor sang his message to Mars. It took on a savage note, something of the pagan was in it—and something of fright.
For now it was Curt who had gone mad with fanatical purpose!
"Sing, damn you, or I'll blast you where you stand." He reached to Tor's side and lifted the electro. He reached to the Tele-panel and fumbled at the controls.
Suddenly the sound amplified a thousand-fold. It flooded the room, reverberating, rebounding into the corridor from wall to wall, as selenic cells poured additional power into the instrument.
"Sing!" Curt shouted. And Tor nodded. Sanity seemed to come back to him, and he realized what was happening.
Curt hurried to the corridor. Already the Zemmd's potential was diminishing! The great bulk was tumbling back, trying to escape the waves of strident sound that washed upon it.
Now Curt could feel the shrieking crescendo, like a file rasping over naked nerve-ends. And the Zemmd seemed to disintegrate! The color died away. It broke apart into hundreds of the smaller Energon shapes.
They were dull and disorganized now, moving aimlessly, crashing into the walls where they clung, then slid to the floor.
But a few of them retained their inner life-force! They came surging forward. Curt threw up the radiant-rifle, spread a swath of disintegrant power that sent them buffeting back. Gradually they blanked out, until nothing moved in the length of corridor. The Zemmd's men had long since vanished from the scene.
It was over in minutes. Behind Curt came a harsh roar, then a crash of tubes and metal as the Tele-Magnum failed under the overload of power. But Tor still sang.
Curt stepped warily forward, touched one of the grayish translucent shapes. It was warm. A decided shock, more than electrical, went through his arm.
"These things aren't finished yet! We've got to hurry!" He stared at Lorine. "What happened to Jeffers?"
She shook her head. Horror was still mirrored on her face. But Jeffers was gone! Somehow he had managed to make his way out!
All weariness vanished, as Curt raced back through the corridors with Lorine hurrying after him. He had a chill premonition of what Jeffers was up to!
A deathly silence settled over them. Tor's singing had stopped. Not until they reached the lifts did Curt notice that Tor had caught up with them. The little Martian was deathly pale but his eyes fever-bright, as he shook his head drunkenly and clutched at his throat.
Curt paid him no heed now. They tumbled into one of the cars. A propulsion beam hummed, and they rose swiftly toward the upper compound.
Jeffers was there, battling his way past a score of the Zemmd's men. But there was a great difference in these men now. They seemed disorganized and aimless without the coordinating, driving power of the Zemmd!
Jeffers was heading toward a hangar-like building. The spaceship with the Frequency Tuner! The man's scheme was obvious now; he had given up on Lorine, decided to try it alone!
Curt hurled himself forward, and a path opened for him as the men scurried to cover before the blast of the radiant-rifle. At all costs he must reach Jeffers—
He was too late. Already Jeffers had reached the building fifty yards away. He fumbled at the door, then disappeared. Curt was there seconds later. A gorge of despair rose in him, as he found the door barred from the inside.
There might still be time! Jeffers would have to find the secret of the Electronic Curtain reaching above them. Frantically, Curt blasted at the door. The metal resisted stubbornly, but gradually it began to melt away.
Then, from within, came a smooth droning sound. It increased in tempo. The building trembled against the full reverberant power. The Frequency Tuner! Jeffers was going to try to drive through the Electronic Curtain.
Curt realized his danger, and whirled away. The building smashed apart like an eggshell, hurling debris in all directions. Curt plummeted forward, caught a glimpse of the silver spacer streaking obliquely up on the whining power of the Tuner....
But it wasn't enough! It struck the Curtain and penetrated part way, and there it dangled. There came a scintillant hell of fire and flaming metal. In seconds, the spacer's hull became cherry red and then white. Huge molten blobs of it dripped down, then an explosion sent them scattering across the compound.
What was left of the spacer came slipping out of the gaping rent in the Curtain. Gravity took it. It fell in a fiery tangle of wreckage.
Curt was scarcely aware that his legs propelled him away from the scene.
"There went our last chance! Jeffers fixed everything!"
Curt's voice was a well of bitterness. These Energon forces weren't finished by any means, and Curt knew it. Their work would go on....
But his mission for DeHarries was finished. The secret of this place was still secret.
The fate of the Federation had rested upon Curt's shoulders, and he had failed.
As if in answer, a blaze of violet light appeared far across the compound. It was the Zemmd again!—a smaller entity now, but Curt knew it would increase in power as more and more of the Energons revived to join it!
It moved slowly, as if searching. Searching for the Curtain—and Lorine. It disappeared, appeared again, and once more vanished from sight.
"No use fighting that thing." Curt looked down at his hands, then laughed bitterly. He had lost the radiant-rifle somewhere. Even his electro was gone. "Maybe if we keep out of sight, it'll think we perished in the spaceship!"
"Curt!" Lorine's huddled figure came suddenly erect, she stood taut with excitement. Then they all heard the sound. Somewhere overhead, but coming nearer. The sound of a spacer!
It sped past the broken rent in the Curtain a hundred feet above. It returned, braked, hovered on underhull repulsion beams. Then it eased through the hole in the Curtain with little room to spare, trailing part of the K'Yarthan fog with it.
Already Curt was racing toward the spacer, as it settled down. A man stepped from the lock, others crowding behind him.
"Back! Back there, you!" The man levelled a deadly power-rapier at Curt. "Who are you, and what is this place?"
"Never mind who we are," Curt grated, "lift us out of here!" He recognized the Imperial Venus Emblem on the man's tunic.
"We were Tele-casting, and a strange beam cut into our etheric channel! The Empress Aladdian ordered that it be traced. Our directional-finders brought us here." The Venusian Guard stared around at the flaming holocaust.
"Man, if you value your lives, get us in that ship and lift gravs!"
Something of Curt's urgency caught at the man. He nodded, turned and gave swift orders. The radiant bulk of the Zemmd came into sight again and Curt saw it speeding, whirling toward them.
They tumbled into the ship. The lock closed, and seconds later they were lifting up, carefully, through the Curtain. There the spacer poised. The Venusian stared through the under ports at the blazing, angry bulk of the Zemmd.
Something of the truth mirrored in the man's eyes as he turned to Curt.
"Shall we try blasting it? We have neutros and Ingrams! We have—"
"No! It'll take super-sonic weapons to completely destroy these things. Powerful ones. Take me to Aladdian! I must contact Co-ordinator DeHarries of Earth."
Tor Ekkov paced endlessly, as they sped toward the hospitable continents of Venus. His glorious voice was gone, but his eyes had come alive and vibrant. He knew he'd soon return to his own people.
But Lorine ... she was a forlorn and shattered figure. Her face had gone tragic, especially at the mention of Earth.
"You're still thinking of what Jeffers told you?" Curt said. "Yes, Lorine, I'll have to take you back to Earth. But I can get absolute amnesty for you now. I shall demand it! And there are other reasons, Lorine. There are reasons—"
A tightness in his throat made his voice sound strange.
She whispered, "Yes?"
Curt drew her to him, and she was happy in his arms.
The End
[1] Alcatraz of the Starways, (na) Planet Stories May 1943.
[2] Passage to Planet X, (nv) Planet Stories Winter 1945.
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Survival,
by Henry Hasse
Other Worlds Science Stories March 1950
Short Story - 6164 words
“There is no stronger urge,” the ruler of Mars said. “This puny thing you call love cannot stand against it. I will put you to a test—and your lives will depend on it!”
It was pretty much of a mess, all right (especially with Ruth bordering on hysteria). That would not do! Clint Anders glanced at the dark-haired girl huddled beside him in the strange-powered Martian vehicle.
“Steady,” he whispered, “steady! I sense no hostility from these creatures. Naturally they’re curious!”
“But where are they taking us? Clint, I—I’m frightened. I wish I had died in the crash with the others!”
“Don’t talk like that, darling. We’ll pull out of this.”
Clint regretted leaving the wrecked Terra, but there was no choice. These creatures had come upon them instantly from out of the Martian magnetic storm; almost as if they were waiting there for the crash. Clint wondered about that, and during the long trip across the desert he turned his professional attention to them. They were, beyond doubt, arachnid—eight-limbed, with furry gold-tinged bodies and bulbous heads. Huge faceted eyes glittered blackly. They carried no weapons, but there was a quiet aura of insistence about the way they herded the two Earth people into the long tubular conveyance. All attempts at communication had failed, and Clint had the feeling that they were disdainful of his efforts.
He glanced back across the endless ochre desert. The Terra lay out there . . . and the bodies of Commander Clark, Chief Technician Mowbray, the half-dozen other members of E-M Expedition I. Mowbray had died near the grav stabilizers, working frantically to the end. The fury of the magnetic storm was something new to their experience. Clint and Ruth alone had been stationed at the rear rocket control, and reached the crash nets barely in time . . .
Now a pang of regret and irreparable loss seized Clint. He turned back to Ruth, gripped her hand. “I think we’ll be all right. These Martians seem intelligent. They may help us, after we manage to communicate..."
The sled-like vehicle was slowing. They topped a gradual rise, and suddenly a city appeared below, with bizarre conical structures reaching multi-hued across the sands. Minutes later they were speeding in what seemed to be an underground monorail. There came a sighing as the car stopped against a cushion of air. Doors slid back. Their captors motioned them out.
Their breath was taken away by the splendor of the room they entered. Walls of soft rose-marble reached high into a silvery filigreed dome. Under the radiation of a pale orange glow, the immense floor gleamed like quicksilver. In the center was a dais, topped by a shimmering cushioned throne, topped in turn by a brooding figure of black and gold—twice the size of these other creatures, twice as bulbous, twice as awesome.
The figure moved, leaned forward. Quite suddenly then a thought, a single thought only, engulfed the room with a tremendous potentiality:
“I am Dhaarj!”
With a shudder, Ruth turned her eyes away.
“Careful!” Clint placed his arm about her. He hadn’t quite grasped the thought this creature was trying to convey, but he felt the overtones across his mind, he sensed the power. They had come here to study life on Mars, but now Clint had a feeling that life was studying them!
Dhaarj, High Lord and Most Supreme Effulgence of all Mars, was indeed studying them. He sat imperiously upon his throne. His eight spider-like limbs rested upon eight individual cushions. His immense head bowed downward while a pair of eyes, cold and black as the depths of space, stared at these two strangers brought to him from out of the desert. The twin antennae atop his head vibrated rapidly.
“I think he’s trying to communicate!” Clint whispered.
Dhaarj was indeed trying to communicate. His limbs curled and uncurled with the effort to penetrate the minds of these alien two. He sent a message with enough force to broadcast a command to his entire planet! But it was soon apparent to Dhaarj that the stupid creatures could not understand. He gave it up for the moment, and glanced at h
is attending scientists. Already Dhaarj’s prodigious mind had been recipient of all known facts concerning the approach of the alien spaceship! For days his astronomers had charted it with incredible exactness. But try as they might, there had been no way to prevent the crash. Now he waved an impatient appendage.
“Did you,” he telepathed, “carry out my orders? Have you extracted the thought-patterns from the brains of those who died in the ship?”
He had unconsciously raised his thought-power to the fourth magnitude. The Head Scientist, startled, bowed until his antennae scraped the floor. “Oh, yes, your Eminence! Yes! We followed your esteemed instructions. Needless to say, the results were most gratifying!”
“I shall be judge of that. Well, what are you waiting for? Transmit these results to me! ”
With a show of nervousness, the scientists moved closer together to form an interlinking unit. Their combined mental flow began transmitting to Dhaarj all that they had extracted from the brains of the dead Earthmen. All that each Earthman possessed as the sum and total of his mind, now entered the vast reservoir of Dhaarj’s brain . . .
Clint leaned forward tensely, watching the tableau. He tried to grasp some inkling of the mental flow, but only the faintest of overtones washed across his brain and were gone. There was a feeling of foreboding. He never once removed his gaze from the huge arachnid life-form, Dhaarj.
And when his scientists had finished, Dhaarj sat unmoving and baffled. He glanced at the two Earthians below him. Here were intelligent beings, beyond the faintest shadow of doubt. But their mental patterns! To Dhaarj those patterns were baffling, unreasonable, utterly incongruous.
“An element has been lost,” he vibrated to his scientists, now standing a safe distance from the deadly glory of his throne. “All these Earthmen could not have been mad. Yet, while logic is known to them, they seem to have disregarded it. Where rudimentary patterns of thought dictate one course of action, they incomprehensibly have followed another!” He glared at his Head Scientist. “Are you sure you did not bungle the thought-patterns in extracting them?”