-
-
Notifications
You must be signed in to change notification settings - Fork 0
/
62258.txt
1831 lines (1420 loc) · 85.9 KB
/
62258.txt
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
Project Gutenberg's Meteor Men of Mars, by Harry Cord and Otis A. Kline
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll
have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using
this ebook.
Title: Meteor Men of Mars
Author: Harry Cord
Otis A. Kline
Release Date: May 28, 2020 [EBook #62258]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK METEOR MEN OF MARS ***
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Meteor-Men of Mars
By Harry Cord and Otis Adelbert Kline
Like tiny meteors, the space-ships plunged
into Earth's atmosphere, carrying death for
all who opposed their flight. The fate of a
world rested in Hammond's hands--and his
wrists were fettered at his sides.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It came out of the dawn sky, slanting like a fiery meteor out of the
east. The two men in the skiff saw the glowing streak in the sky and
heard the sound of its passage, like the loosing of a nest of angry
snakes overhead, a scant second before it plummeted into the calm
waters of the Sound.
A geyser of water and steam shot up not a hundred yards from the maroon
and gold skiff. The boat rocked and pitched to the disturbance.
Frank Hammond, seated at the bow, clamped a taped hand over the side to
hold himself, surprise quickening the intentness of his dark, handsome
face. He was a lithe, bronzed figure, clad only in blue trunks and rope
sandals. Stroking for his college crew in years that were warm memories
had padded naturally wide shoulders.
"What the devil?" he ejaculated. "Did you see that, Pete?"
Peter Storm grinned. Two inches under his companion's six foot length,
he weighed ten pounds more--a heavily muscled figure who could move
with deceptive speed as many an opposing eleven had found out in his
college football days. Blond, phlegmatic of nature, he took things
easier than his more restless friend.
"Meteor, you dummox!" he jibed, good-naturedly. "Ever hear of one
before?"
Hammond stared at the spot where the agitation was quieting. "I heard
of them," he said shortly. "But this is the first time one ever fell
this close to me."
Storm shrugged. "Forget it. This is our last day before going back to
the grind. Let's make the most of it. Remember that bet we--Boy!" He
broke off, standing up to haul in.
His catch proved to be a bluefish, a three pounder. He unhooked it,
disgustedly, while Frank, measuring it with a quick glance, gave him a
Bronx cheer. "If you can't do better than that that new hat's in the
bag," he jeered.
They went back to their heaving and hauling, bantering good naturedly
over every catch, completely forgetting the strange visitor from the
skies.
Both were research chemists for the New York Analytical Laboratories;
both were unmarried. They had been inseparable comrades since their
college days, when both wore identical crew cuts, dressed alike, and
always either double-dated or stagged it. In memory of those days their
skiff, the _Crawfish_, had been painted maroon inside and a golden
yellow outside, maroon and gold having been their school colors.
Their vacation camp was on Ramson's Island, just off Ramson's point on
the Connecticut shore. The rocky island was uninhabited. They had left
camp early, intent on making the most of their last day. Reaching the
fishing "hole" they had anchored. Both men taped their hands, and each
prepared his jig, a long bar of lead to which a hook was attached, and
began the process of "heaving and hauling" used in the vicinity for
luring bluefish.
They had been at it for about an hour when the "meteor" landed.
Fifteen minutes later they had forgotten it.
* * * * *
The sun was a huge red ball balanced on the rim of the sea when Frank
suddenly felt a jerk on his line that nearly wrenched his arm from its
socket. He said nothing. His lips merely tightened, eagerly, as he
wished to surprise his companion by hauling in the big one unexpectedly.
But this proved harder than he thought.
His potential catch darted off with such a burst of speed and strength
that it dragged boat, anchor and all!
"Hey!" yelled Storm, clutching the boat sides to hold himself. "What's
on that jig? A shark? Better cut that line before it swamps us!"
"Like heck I will!" Hammond grunted, hanging on to the line with both
taped hands. "This must be the grandfather of all big blues. That new
hat's in the bag!"
With both feet braced against the thwarts, he leaned back and pulled
with all his strength. Bit by bit he hauled the "big one" in close,
till finally he was able to lift it out of the water and into the boat.
Both men exclaimed in amazement at the thing which came over the side
and clanked to the bottom of the boat. It was neither a giant bluefish
nor a shark. It was a shiny, iridescent object, slightly shaped like a
shark, but quiescent now, and seemingly lifeless.
"What kind of a fish do you call that?" asked Storm disgustedly,
leaning forward for better view of the catch. "It looks like a cross
between a shark and a toy submarine."
"Damned if it don't!" Hammond replied, staring bewilderedly at his
catch.
The thing was about thirty inches in length, with both vertical
and dorsal fins. But instead of one dorsal fin it was equipped with
four fins placed equidistantly around the body. These fins contained
numerous tubular quills or spines with round openings at the ends, and
Hammond's hook had caught between two of these spines. It was as heavy
as if made of steel, but despite its weight and metallic sound when
struck, it appeared to be constructed entirely of a bluish, iridescent
mother-of-pearl.
Hammond removed his hook from between the spines, and lifted his catch
onto the empty boat seat between them.
"Better heave it overboard," advised Storm, seriously. "It might be a
new-fangled type of mine or bomb. I don't like the looks--"
He stood, open-mouthed, as the "thing" suddenly shot off the boat seat
with a hissing roar like that of a small rocket. It scorched the paint
as it took off with small, orange-green flares emanating from the
tubular quills. It shot upward with incredible speed and was almost
immediately lost to view.
Storm's mouth closed slowly. "Hell!" he said, a little dazedly. "I'm
afraid to start fishing again, Frank. Might catch a cross between a
battleship and a whale."
"I'm hauling up anchor," Hammond countered, grimly. "I don't like the
looks of this at all. The coast guard ought to hear of this."
He got one hand on the anchor rope and was starting to hoist in when
the strange "catch" suddenly reappeared. It came down in a long slant,
circled over the skiff a few times, and finally settled on the scorched
seat from which it had taken off.
Hammond stared at the thing and swore. Peter Storm took a firm hold of
his oar.
Holes suddenly appeared in the strange craft. Hammond noticed that
there were no doors in evidence. The holes seemed to dilate open, like
camera shutters, in the gleaming body.
From these openings a host of small creatures crawled. They swarmed out
toward both ends of the boat seat.
Storm straightened, oar in hand. "Ants!" he snapped, disgustedly. He
began to swing the ash blade down on the scurrying creatures.
The things continued to move about, apparently unharmed. Dents appeared
in the oar and in the seat.
Hammond bent over the scurrying creatures and studied them. "No use,
Pete," he muttered. "They're not ants. There's no division of head,
thorax and abdomen. They're eight-legged and cephalothoracic--more like
the arachnids." His startled surprise was fading under the prod of
scientific curiosity. "Funny thing, Pete--the legs and shells seem to
be composed of the same substance as the 'thing' they come from. Look!"
Storm dropped his oar and came forward. The boat rocked a little to his
shift of weight. A faint humming came from the "thing" on the seat,
catching his attention.
But Hammond, intent on one of the small creatures he was about to pick
up, did not notice. Not until Pete's hoarse shout jerked him away.
"Look out, Frank! That tube--"
Hammond straightened up to face his friend. But Peter Storm had
vanished, as if he had never been!
Between Hammond and where Storm had been was the "thing" on the seat.
The humming emanating from it now was distinctly audible, and ominous!
A shining tube, mounted in a turret, had appeared in one of the
openings. The tube was swinging around, lining itself on Hammond.
The dazed chemist did not think. He reacted instinctively, knowing,
somehow, that that tube was related to Storm's disappearance. He
twisted, violently, and tried to dive over the boat side.
Something halted him in the act. He felt a strange numbness wrap itself
about him, and a cold like nothing he had ever experienced penetrated
to his very vitals. Then he felt himself falling, as if through an
endless blackness....
* * * * *
The darkness faded, slowly. He felt his feet jar on solid ground, and
the terrible cold left him. But for long moments Frank Hammond stood
rigid, his dazed mind trying to accept the strange world he had fallen
into.
The landscape about him was maroon in color. Irregular ridges and
gullies of apparently molten stone hemmed him in. Off to his left he
could see a huge, bubbly pit that reminded him of fumaroles he had seen
in the National Yellowstone Park. Far in the distance, to his right and
left, maroon cliffs towered into blue mists.
Hammond stared at the weird scene. Under him he could feel the slow
rise and sway of the entire land, as if it were unstable, rocking in
space!
For the first few moments Hammond thought he was dreaming. He must have
been rendered unconscious by the strange "thing" on the boat. Soon he
would awaken--
But the slightly swaying maroon landscape persisted. Hammond looked
down at his nearly naked, bronzed body. He hadn't changed. He took a
few tentative steps toward the bubbly pit, and the sudden realization
that all this _was_ real sickened him.
Where was he? What had happened to him and Storm?
A harsh, metallic rattle answered him. Hammond whirled. Topping one of
the far ridges appeared an eight-legged monster of gigantic size. It
was without head or tail. Its unsegmented body was an iridescent blue,
and shaped like a giant pumpkin seed.
The thing flashed menacingly in the bright light of a sun that was but
a huge blur in the misty sky. It headed for Hammond with incredible
speed, a huge foreleg stretching out in readiness.
Hammond wasted no time in speculation. His dazed mind reacted to but
one impulse. Flight!
Turning, he ran for the nearest gully. He went down in a half scramble,
and ran along it, the walls looming over his head.
But his huge pursuer gained on him. He could hear the metallic rattle
of those flashing legs close behind him. Despair gripped the young
chemist as he scrambled out of the gully and ran up the nearest ridge.
The landscape ahead of him was dipping down as he ran, seemingly being
tilted by his weight. The thought came back to Hammond that this must
be a nightmare. The eight-legged, colossal thing pursuing him was
exactly like the tiny antlike creatures that had swarmed out of the
strange "catch" he pulled into the _Crawfish_ but a few hours ago. Or
was it a few hours?
He didn't know. He no longer knew anything. Grim-faced, his breath
beginning to come in gasps, he slid down a steep maroon bank, and raced
along the shadowed cut that gradually deepened.
It was a hopeless flight. Behind him the clattering monster came,
running along the top of the ravine which was too narrow to allow it to
enter.
The steep-walled cut suddenly ended. The sides here were steep and
smooth--a perfect cul-de-sac. Hammond turned, his brown fists clenched.
The walls hemming him in were perhaps fifteen feet above his head. The
metal monster halted on the rim. A strange light blinked on in the nose
of that creature, or mechanism. It probed down at him, spotlighting
him. A giant foreleg, ending in a formidable pair of forceps, reached
down along the light beam for him.
The focussing light, swinging along the opposite wall before steadying
on Hammond, had revealed to the desperate research chemist a transverse
fissure, barely wide enough to admit him. Hammond took the chance. The
giant claw was but a foot above his head when he twisted, sprang away
from the wall. The forcep jerked, swung after him. Hammond beat it to
the fissure by a foot.
He didn't stop. He kept running, looking back over his shoulder to
see if the monster was following. He didn't notice the fissure ended
abruptly in space. Not until he suddenly felt himself treading empty
air. Then he began to fall, turning slowly, like a slow motion diver in
the newsreels.
* * * * *
He fell a long way. In terms of feet, as he judged it, the drop was
incredible. Below him a huge mass loomed out of a brown, heaving sea.
Above him--he saw it, once, as he faced upward in his turning fall--he
glimpsed what was a gigantic span of maroon earth, hundreds of feet
thick, that was supported by the huge, maroon cliffs at either side.
It was from that span he had fallen!
A strange, numbing thought came to him, then, so incredible in its
implication he discarded it. But it persisted, kept tapping at the back
of his mind--
He was still in the _Crawfish_!
The thought was fantastic. Yet it was less incredible than if it were
not true. The turreted tube, evidently, had sprayed an invisible ray
that had so changed him in size that the antlike things he had been
about to examine now loomed like colossi over him. The ridges and
gullies and fumaroles were brush marks and paint bubbles in the maroon
paint of the seat, and the towering cliffs were the boat sides. The
high span from which he was falling must be nothing less than the boat
seat!
And the huge, elliptical land mass toward which he was falling must be--
He landed then. The substance beneath his feet was soft, spongy. It
broke his fall. Around him was a momentary red glow, as of the sun
shining through a filter that blocked out all waves above the red band.
He passed through slimy pools within the huge mass, and momentary
revulsion gripped him. Then he emerged out into brief daylight, riding
a huge disc to the brown, heaving sea.
He hit with a splash. Fathoms deep to him, he went directly to the
bottom, as if he were composed of a substance many times heavier than
lead. And he remained on the bottom. Not even his instinctive attempt
to swim upward could lift him to the surface.
The ironic thought hit him then, as death stared at him with grinning
face. The huge mass through which he had plunged must have been
the body of one of the bluefish they had caught. Evidently, though
incredibly reduced in size, his weight in relation to the earth's pull,
was still one hundred and eighty pounds. And the brown, heaving sea at
the bottom of which he now rested, was merely the bilge water of the
_Crawfish_. And in the next minute or two he, Frank Hammond, was going
to drown in it!
He turned, instinctively, and ran for the boat side. Again he felt the
boat tip to his unbalancing weight. Overhead the bilge water rushed to
lap high against his side.
There was danger that his weight would so tip the skiff that it would
ship water from the Sound. But he had to chance it, or drown where he
stood.
His lungs were nearly bursting when he came upon the dark, gigantic
loom of the boat side. And strangely, at this moment, the steep slant
of the floor began to level--the bilge water washed back from the side.
The thought came to Hammond, then, that Peter Storm must be running
for the opposite side of the boat, instinctively realizing the need of
keeping this strange world on an even keel.
Lungs bursting, Hammond started the climb up the dark wall. Like some
tiny mite, almost invisible to the naked eye, Hammond finally emerged
from the bilge water. Aching lungs drew in great draughts of clean air.
Spent, still somewhat dazed by the incredible truth, he did not notice
the eight-legged colossus that came down along the cliff toward him.
Not until it loomed over him, and a giant claw reached down for him,
did he become aware of it. And then it was too late.
He gasped, tried to dodge.
A giant forcep grasped him about the middle, and with a quick, deft
motion another claw-like appendage clipped a small, parachute-like
metal harness over his shoulders. Then the first forcep lifted him,
easily, and drew him up to the metal monster where a round port dilated
open and he was thrust inside.
* * * * *
The huge claw withdrew, and the port closed. Hammond blinked his eyes.
He was in a big room, the ceiling of which was transparent, letting in
a subdued light. Ringing him, in a circle two deep, were warriors of
an ancient era. Amazons, complete to breast plates and oval shields,
cinctures and sandals. Lithe, beautiful, yet erect and disciplined,
they watched him as a trainer watches a jungle cat on its first day in
the arena.
Hammond waited. The thought came to him, now, that these were very
modern Amazons. For beside the shield they carried a weapon that
closely resembled a modern rifle. And on their shoulders each carried
an identical parachute-like contrivance similar to the one fastened on
Hammond.
The young chemist took a deep breath. He said: "What's the idea, girls?
This some kind of a new game?"
The sound of his voice seemed to startle them. A golden haired warrior,
perhaps a minor officer, for she wore a green armlet, made a short,
quick gesture.
The ringing warriors closed in on Hammond. Instinct moved the young
chemist's arms--the instinct to fight, to win free of this strange
experience he could not understand. But crippling that instinct were
the habits of civilization.
He couldn't bring himself to hit these girls, warriors or no.
Yet he tried to win free. He pushed the first two off their feet,
whirled, and bucked the rest of the line with his shoulders. They
parted under his assault. But with disciplined movement the others
closed in and fairly smothered him under them.
He felt metal clasped about his arms and legs, and suddenly he was
unable to struggle, to heave free of that pinning mass. Panting, his
face grim, he subsided.
* * * * *
The Amazons reformed ranks. He was left with arms and legs chained in a
manner that allowed him, when on his feet, to take short steps forward.
The officer with the green armband gestured again, and gave with it
a verbal order. Her voice was musical, in a tongue entirely alien to
Hammond.
Two warriors marched forward, bent, helped Hammond to his feet. The
officer took hold of the free length of blue chain, and started to walk
Hammond toward the far end of the big room.
Hammond followed. Behind him the two warriors kept pace, rifle-like
weapons held ready.
A door dilated open in the wall, and Hammond found himself in a long,
softly lighted runway. He was marched along this to another door, and
motioned within.
The door closed behind him.
It was a small room, bare and blank on three sides save for a number of
iron handgrips on the walls. The fourth wall was transparent. Hammond
shuffled to it. At the same moment the floor under him pitched and
rolled, and the clank of machinery rumbled through the iron monster.
He grasped the nearest handgrip, and clung. Looking out through the
transparent wall, he could see that the monster tank (for now he
guessed the eight-legged antlike thing to be) was climbing up the boat
side to the seat.
The tank leveled off. Above him towered the outlines of the "big one."
Scores of the monster tanks were climbing back up the parent side, to
disappear in as many openings.
The tank which held Hammond moved steadily, nosed into its compartment.
The door closed after them. The tank rumbled on across a large, dimly
lighted room, more like some enormous storage garage, for Hammond could
glimpse the bulks of dozens of the huge tanks along the far walls, and
in one corner he saw several of what resembled fast, ultra streamlined,
all metal planes.
The tank came to a halt. The door of Hammond's cell opened, and the
officer with the two guards came in. Hammond was motioned to follow her
out.
He was led out of the tank which was immediately maneuvered to its
niche among the vague bulks along the wall. A door dilated open at the
officer's approach, and they passed through it into another long, green
lighted runway. They went along this for some distance, then turned
into another room, as huge as the colossal garage into which the tank
had entered.
Thousands of the wiry Amazons were swarming in through a hundred
doorways to this room. Evidently they were members of the expedition
which had been sent to locate and capture him, and which must have
consisted of nearly a hundred of the strange, ambulatory war tanks.
The Amazon officer led him across this huge room which reminded Hammond
of a railway or bus terminal, and into another corridor. It was then
that the hugeness of the "big one" became evident to Hammond.
They marched through a number of huge rooms, climbed three spiral
ramps, and popped into a half dozen tranverse corridors. And only on
these upper levels, in rooms that held banks of whirring machinery, did
Hammond see the males.
They carried no weapons. They all wore white, collarless crew neck
garments that resembled smocks which came down to their knees. They
sported bearded chins and jowls, but smooth shaven upper lips. The
beards were all trimmed to sharp points, and they looked alike as
stenciled copies.
But here and there among them were some with remarkable physical
characteristics. Each of these occasional individuals had a
tremendously large left arm, fully as big as one of his legs. It was
carried crooked at the elbow, with the forearm held horizontally
in front of him. The right arm, on the contrary, was spindly and
underdeveloped. These males had thin, scraggy beards, and strange dull
eyes that followed Hammond as he was marched past.
If the other males noticed him they gave no sign. They seemed
completely subordinated in this huge craft.
The spiral ramps kept leading upward. Finally they reached a corridor
with a transparent ceiling, and Hammond realized that he was now at the
top of the strange craft. A moment later he was led before a door at
either side of which stood a stiff Amazon guard.
The guards saluted the officer by raising the right hand to the heart.
Then they stepped aside. The officer stared at the closed door. Her
forehead furrowed slightly. Then she nodded. Turning, she removed the
shackles from Hammond, stepped back.
The door dilated open. The officer made a sharp, unmistakable gesture
with her right hand, and the armed guard took a stolid step forward.
Hammond shrugged. Ducking a little to clear the top of the doorway, he
stepped inside.
* * * * *
Across the well lighted room, close to the transparent prow of the
ship, was a huge, metal desk. Papers and small charts lay scattered
upon it. But Hammond's eyes scarcely noticed.
He stopped, just within the room, the door closing silently behind
him. Then he took a deep breath, and grinned: "Now I know I must be
dreaming!"
The girl behind the desk did not smile. She looked at him, solemnly,
then a strange, quick fire leaped across her startlingly beautiful
face. She lowered her gaze abruptly, and her hands stiffened on the
desk. She rose, and when she looked again at Hammond there was a
hardness, a piercing penetration to her sea-green eyes that seemed to
probe like a surgeon's scalpel into Hammond's very brain. A fire seemed
to spread, quickly, through his mind, as though long dormant cells
were stirring, growing to awareness.
And with it, impacting strangely on his ears, the girl spoke, her
voice low and musical. "Earthman, your thoughts are unpleasant to me.
I, Gena, commander of the spacecraft, _Vandar III_, with a million
warriors at my disposal, am not for you."
Hammond's grin changed to a startled gape. Confusion moiled in his
brain. How had she known what he was thinking? And where had she
learned English! She spoke it like an American.
The girl smiled, as if hearing his confusion. She was a tall, lissome
girl; a corn-yellow blond of remarkable beauty. But there was an
imperiousness in her manner, a quiet dignity to her regard, a grace to
her movements that set her above the Amazons that had captured Hammond.
That she was a warrior also, albeit, the commanding officer of this
strange craft, was evinced by her attire which was the same as that of
the other female fighters. On a small table to her left was a shield,
differing from the plain blue of the others by the single, glowing
white star in its center. With it reposed one of the rifle-like weapons.
On her left arm she wore a metal band, like that of the minor officer
that had escorted Hammond here. But this band was of gold, and it held
the same symbol of high status, the single white star of glowing stone
that writhed with a strange white fire.
Hammond took control of his confused thoughts. He said: "I'm sorry if
I've offended you, Gena. But I can't control my thoughts, and they were
sincere." His handsome face lighted with his quick, infectious grin.
"You are very beautiful, and very desirable."
The quick fire leaped across the girl's face again, and in Hammond's
mind there suddenly beat a tumultuous surge of emotions other than his
own. Then the girl's face went sombre, and the strange surge in Hammond
abruptly ceased. "You are a very impetuous young barbarian," she said,
coldly. "But perhaps your uncouthness can be excused. You will indeed
prove an interesting specimen to present to Aleea, the Queen Mother."
Hammond frowned. He had almost forgotten the utter strangeness of the
entire experience, but it came back to him now, and with it the clamor
for explanation.
The girl read his thoughts. "I, Gena, am not of Earth. Nor did I,
before you entered this room, know your language, or know that your
people call this planet Earth and the planet from which I come Mars.
All this, and as much of Earth and your civilization as you know I have
probed from your mind while you stood there."
She came around the desk, smiling now. "Your thoughts are confused.
You do not readily believe. Mars--impossible! No ship has yet been
constructed that can negotiate the airless void of space--no _Earthian_
craft!" she emphasized. "But we of Mars have."
Hammond looked about him, out through the transparent hull wall to the
far low maroon cliffs that he knew were the boat sides. He shrugged.
Fantastic or no, this was the reality, and with a true scientist's
adaptable mind he accepted it.
"How is it then," he questioned calmly, "that the warriors that
captured me did not learn my language, nor read my thoughts?"
Gena's imperial features held dignity. "I am a commander," she
answered. "Which means that I am a thorough master of that which
your scientists call ESP--extra-sensory perception--as well as its
opposite, which they have not yet recognized, but which they might
call EST--extra-sensory transmission. It takes a certain type of
personality, even on Mars, and years of training to attain to the power
to perceive what is in other minds, plus the power to transmit to them,
selectively, and at will, that which I wish them to know, understand,
or obey."
Hammond relaxed, his keen mind enjoying itself. "Then you are not
speaking to me in American? Yet to me it seems you are talking my
language."
Gena's eyes quickened. "Precisely. I am speaking the language of
the mind. Your mind reinterprets what I say in the phonetic symbols
you call American, due to speech habits, just as it interprets such
phonetic symbols as thoughts and ideas. If you spoke another language
the written symbols and sounds conjured up by your mind would be
different, but the thoughts and ideas conveyed would be the same."
Hammond frowned. "Then, if you and your people use only the language of
the mind, how does it happen that I heard spoken words which I did not
understand?"
"I did not say we use _only_ the language of the mind. We have our own
phonetic symbols; in fact, I am talking audibly to you now. When you
first entered I probed your mind, and put you _en rapport_ as you might
call it, not only with our mind language, but with our thought symbols,
so you now reinterpret both as your own language."
Hammond shook his head. "But I still speak in American."
"No, you are only thinking in American. You are now vocalizing in our
language as naturally as if you were speaking your tongue. Here, look
at this chart."
* * * * *
Hammond glanced at the chart she held before him. It seemed written in
English, though the ideas conveyed were somewhat startling and foreign,
having to do with intricate calculation of space travel. Yet Hammond
recalled that only a few moments before they had been in strange and
unintelligible symbols.
He nodded, slowly, a little awed. "You have advanced far on Mars.
And here on Earth we smugly pride ourselves on our knowledge, on a
civilization that even now is tearing itself to shreds. Surely, you of
Mars, with your advanced science, have succeeded in founding a better
and more peaceful world."
The girl's eyes clouded, and for a moment her thought control slipped.
Hammond had a wondering sensation of fear and anxiety.
"We have come far, Earthman," she nodded. "Evolution seems to have
started from the same base on Mars, and taken the same general course
as that of Earth. With variations, of course. We, the Metiphrons, the
mammals of Mars, have achieved to high civilization. Our cities are
united and at peace--among ourselves. Our science has wrought wondrous
changes. We have crossed space, and we have harnessed as well as
condensed the atom. On Mars we are of normal size, which is to say we
average about the size and weight of you Americans. This space ship,
those tanks, our weapons--all weigh and bulk accordingly. But for space
travel, and for certain doubtful ventures, we have condensed the atoms
of our bodies and that of this craft and all our weapons, without
changing their mass or qualitative characteristics. The electrical
particles are all there, and in precisely the same proportion. But in
each atom the particles are much closer together, moving in smaller
orbits."
Hammond nodded. "Then I still weigh one hundred and eighty pounds?"
"You did, till your weight was reduced by the degravitator strapped to
your back. Remove it, and your body, without changing size, will once
more attract and be attracted by your planet sufficiently to weigh one
hundred and eighty pounds. This ship, small as it no doubt appeared
to you and your companion, weighs countless tons. Were it not for the
giant degravitator in the central room it would plummet down to the
ocean depths."
Hammond nodded, slowly. "With such science, and at peace among
yourselves, you must be supreme on your planet. And yet--" His gaze
shifted to shield and weapon on the small table. "You seem a warrior
people."
Gena's face clouded. "Life is a struggle, Earthman. Forever and beyond,
perhaps. We Metiphrons have achieved to unity and peace. But on Mars
evolution took two parallel paths. That which culminated in the
Metiphrons, my people, arising as on Earth from the lowly protozoa.
And with it, keeping pace, that of the crustacean--culminating in the
opposite life form of Mars--the Sediphrons. For centuries now they
have fought us for mastery of the planet. Somewhat related to your
arachnidae, their later evolution has been consciously anthropomorphic,
as they strove to imitate us in everything, even in bodily shape. Their
motives?" The girl smiled bleakly. "The ancient motives of life--to
enslave us, to be dominant on the planet, to infuse our blood with
their own in order to speed their anthropomorphic evolution--and
finally, to use as food those of us not suitable for slaves or to bear
their hybrid progeny.
"You can see why the very thought of them is repugnant to us. Why every
female bears arms from infancy. And why we hoped to find aid, from the
females here on Earth, for our fight to crush the Sediphrons."
Hammond nodded. "Then the Metiphron males don't bear arms?"
"Bear arms?" Gena smiled. "The males attend to our machinery, take care
of the incubators and watch our young until they are able to take care
of themselves. But fight?" She shook her head, as if the idea were
strange and almost laughable.
Hammond grinned. "Things are somewhat changed around on Earth, Gena.
The women do plenty of scrapping here, of course--and there's some who
would insist they have it over the males, most of the time, in domestic
life. But the really big blowoffs, like the ones going on in Europe and
in Asia--they're still strictly for males."
The girl commander shrugged, dubiously. "Men are too phlegmatic to make
good fighters."
She broke off, caught by a warning red signal that suddenly flashed to
life on a complicated instrument board to left of the desk. For the
space of several seconds she concentrated, her pretty brow slightly
furrowed. When she turned to Hammond there was a worried frown in her
eyes.
"My audiodetector indicates the proximity of a strange space ship.
Its commander does not answer my telepathic inquiries. Something is
definitely wrong. I must place my sub-officers on the alert. Also
Ardine, my division commander, who is conducting the search for your
friend, Peter Storm."
Once more she concentrated on the issuance of telepathic orders.
* * * * *
The floor suddenly lurched violently beneath them. Hammond thrown off
balance, went down to his hands. He twisted erect, supple as a cat, and
reached out a supporting arm for Gena, who had been thrown against the
desk. A strange thrill tingled through him at the softness of her.
The girl was half turned, facing the transparent prow wall. She said:
"Zuggoth, the Sediphron King!" There was fear in her, momentarily.
Then she stiffened, her brow furrowing in telepathic concentration,
evidently issuing orders to the defense posts of the _Vandar III_.
Hammond, glancing over her shoulder, saw that a second craft, exactly
like the one he was in, had alighted on the boat seat beside them.
Holes were already dilating open in the gleaming side. Ugly muzzles,
huge and ominous to Hammond's changed perspective, thrust through these
holes. A moment later the flash and roar of heavy artillery shattered
the quiet.
At the same time hundreds of the eight legged war tanks swarmed out of
holes in the lower part of the space cruiser. Some of these charged
toward the _Vandar III_, and were immediately met in combat by the
divisions Gena had ordered out to assist sub-commander Ardine in her
search for Peter Storm. Others scuttled off to engage the separated
scouters.
Gena seemed to have forgotten Hammond. She watched the heavy electronic
artillery from the hostile war cruiser, her mind sending telepathic
command after command to the various sections of the ship. The
_Vandar's_ own artillery was firing, but spasmodically, as if trouble
was aboard. Gena's brow furrowed.
* * * * *
Hammond watched the strange battle. The ambulant tanks, he saw, were
not only fighting with similar guns of lighter calibre, but were
engaging each other with their clawed feet, like crustaceans. The
guns did not fire projectiles, but flashes of electronic force which
resembled lightning. The armor of the space ships held under the
primary blasts, but was eroded by them, and repeated bolts, striking in
the same spot, would eventually break through.
The quick flame of combat surged through Hammond as he watched. "Why
don't you maneuver the ship?" he shouted, forgetting the girl-commander
could read his thoughts. "Circle over them, come down on them from some
blind spot. You can't win in this position. They've got more guns!"
The girl faced him, as if suddenly aware he was by her side. Her
features were white, and there was strain in her, in her flashing eyes.
"I can't!" she replied. "There were traitors among the men in my crew.
Sediphrons, disguised as hybrids. They have seized the control room,
and wrecked many of our big guns. We've lost!"
"No!" Hammond cried, roughly. "The control room! Maybe we can still
take over, if there's not too many of them. If they haven't wrecked the
driving mechanism we might still get away. Where is it, Gena?"
The girl looked at him, strangely. "The males of Earth are indeed a
different breed," she commented. Then: "Come! Perhaps we have a chance."
She gathered up her shield and electronic rifle, and headed for what
seemed a blank wall. Hammond followed. A door suddenly dilated open
before Gena, and they passed through, hurried down a short, deserted
ramp that spiraled downward for about a hundred feet.
It ended at an open doorway. Beyond, in the midst of electronic crackle
and strange battle shouts, a dozen hybrids were holding the control
room against a company of Amazons trying to force their way in from
another doorway across the room. Two of Gena's operators were on the
floor, evidently dead. Three others struggled in the grip of the
scraggy bearded, huge-armed "fifth column" hybrids.
Other hybrids were smashing the delicate controls. These saw Gena and
Hammond first. They swung around, reaching for electronic rifles.
Gena succeeded in killing two of them. Hammond, closing in quickly
behind her, noticed that the rifles were fired, not from the shoulder,
but held with the stock beneath the arm, and manouvered with one hand
while the shield was held with the others.
Before she could fire again Gena became the target for two of the
traitors. She caught the flash from one rifle on her shield, but could
not raise it in time to ward off the other. The electronic bolt caught
her squarely on her helmet.
With a muffled growl Hammond charged. The scraggy bearded traitor
fired hurriedly, evidently disconcerted by sight of a bronzed, muscled
male diving for him. The blast seared lightly across Hammond's back
muscles. Then his hurtling body smashed into his opponent, hurling him
down.
He swore monotonously, viciously, clubbed with savage fists at the
bearded, screaming face. His victim screamed for aid.
At the next instant a wave of the fighting Amazons, evidently spurred
to frenzy by sight of their fallen leader, surged forward, blasting
into the room.
Hammond clung to the struggling saboteur he had floored. The Sediphron
had lost rifle and shield, and was gouging at Hammond's eyes with the
fingers of his dwarfed right hand. The other, huge and leg-like, was
locked behind the chemist's neck in a bone crushing grip.
Hammond's shoulder muscles writhed. He thrust his right hand up to a
scraggy bearded chin. To his surprise, not only the chin but the whole
face came away, revealing another beneath it. A hideous, crablike face
with popping eyes that stood out on stalks. It was covered with a green
chitinous armor.
Startled, the Sediphron "fifth columnist" relaxed its grip on his neck.
Hammond wrenched free. His hand clamped down on the huge arm.
The Sediphron surged back, leaving the artificial limb in the chemist's
hand. A huge, toothed claw was revealed. The Sediphron surged in,
reaching for Hammond.
The Earthman twisted, a faint sneer writhing his lips. The Sediphron
was unbelievably clumsy. Hammond caught the descending claw and gave
a sharp, quick twist. The entire limb came off in his hands, broken
cleanly at the shoulder joint. Swinging the heavy limb in a swift
moulinet the Earthman brought it down with crushing force beneath the
popping eyes of his adversary. It crashed through the chitinous skull
as if it were an eggshell.
Hammond whirled back to the fallen girl-commander, bent by her limp
body. Her fallen rifle caught his eye, and he reached for it, sensing
the swift swirl of battle swing toward him.
His fingers fell short. A numbing pain lashed through his head,
bringing quick blackness.
* * * * *
Consciousness returned slowly to Hammond. He felt himself being
carried. But it was the sharp barked order that lingered in his mind,
that seemed to rift the blackness that shrouded his aching brain.
His eyes opened. He found himself looking up into the hideous, crablike
face of a Sediphron who carried him by the shoulders.
The sharp, imperious voice came again, halting Hammond's carriers. The
young chemist was put on his feet, flanked immediately by a half dozen
Sediphrons with menacing electronic rifles.
Hammond stiffened. He was back in Gena's big observation and chart
room. A horde of armed Sediphrons filled the room, drawn up in stiff
military array.
Behind the metal desk sat a huge man-like crustacean, deep green in
color. An enormous, toothed claw rested before him on the scattered
flight charts.
The crablike mouth moved constantly. Words drummed against Hammond's
ear, in a language he strangely understood. "Bring in the other Earth
specimen, Vard. And the Metiphron sub-commander, Ardine."
Hammond turned. Only then did he see Gena, flanked by a Sediphron
guard, facing the hideous crustacean behind the desk. Their eyes met,
and a warm surge of thankfulness enveloped Hammond.
"Thank God, Gena!" he thought, forcefully, "you're unharmed."
The girl-commander smiled wanly. "This is the end, Earthman. Zuggoth
has won."
The crablike thing behind the desk teetered a little in the chair. His
thoughts interrupted harshly. "Not the end, Gena, for you. You and your
sub-commander will round out my harem back on Syrrvi. This daring,
primitive Earthian male and his companion will be minutely examined."
Back of Hammond a door dilated open. Grim-faced, with a gash over
his left eye, stocky Peter Storm was pushed into the room by a squad
of Sediphrons. A flashing-eyed brunette, reaching barely to Storm's
shoulder, walked by his side, head erect.
Storm's grim face relaxed as he saw Hammond. His mouth cracked into a
wry grin. "So they got you, too, Frank!" he said in English.
Hammond nodded, gravely. "How'd they get you, Pete?"
Storm shrugged, looked down at the brunette by his side. "Ardine
finally cornered me, with one of those eight-legged tanks. _Under a
nail in the boat seat!_" Storm shook his head, as if the thing was
crazy. "We were heading back for the 'big one' when the other space
cruiser landed on the seat and started blasting. Three Sediphron tanks
cornered us and wrecked our vehicle. Ardine," he glanced down at her
again, in a manner that flicked understanding into Hammond's eyes, "put
up a good fight. But they finally got us, and marched us here. Looks
like this Zuggoth has taken the ship. A division of his blitzkrieg
panzers are mopping up--"
Zuggoth's harsh order suddenly obtruded. "Silence!"
Storm shrugged. The Sediphron warriors in the room stiffened
expectantly.
The hideous crablike mouth worked. "Imperial orders of Zuggoth, first
in command over Kulaav, land of the Sediphrons! All the males of the
_Vandar III_ shall be immediately put to death, and stored in the cargo
rooms, along with the female warriors who have been killed in battle.
These we shall use for food on our journey back to Syrrvi. The unharmed
females shall be divided among you, according to rank, and placed in
your harem. All but these two--" His huge claw lifted to indicate Gena
and Ardine. "They are reserved for the First One!"
A low, satisfied beat of sound came from the attentive warriors.
"The machinery of the _Vandar III_ shall be immediately repaired for
our triumphant return to Kulaav. These two strange males, natives
of Earth, I personally wish to dissect in the laboratory. Important
information concerning future forays in greater force to this green
planet may be obtained in this manner."
The huge claw waved imperiously. "I, Zuggoth, first in command, have
spoken."
For a moment there was silence. In that stillness Hammond's desperate
gaze sought Storm's. Death, so casually pronounced, death on the
dissecting table. It was monstrous.
It was Storm who moved first. He took a quick sidestep, and swung,
without preamble. His still taped, solid fist crushed through the green
chitinous armor of the nearest guard's face. Then he was whirling,
striking again, and Hammond was joining him, lashing at the nearest
guard, trying to slash a path to Zuggoth, first in command.
It was a bitter battle while it lasted. Hammond nearly made it. He
saw Zuggoth rear back in alarm, half lift his electronic rifle--Then
a clubbed weapon sank the fighting chemist to his knees, and a moment
later he was smothered under a pile of bodies.
Chains were shackled about his wrists and ankles. He was jerked erect
to face Zuggoth, who had relaxed again in his chair. The ball-like eyes
of the Sediphron king glared at him.
"Take them to the dissecting rooms at once!" he ordered. "There shall I
cut the wild life from them, slowly, with much pain!"
Hammond shook the hair from his eyes and met Storm's battered grin with
one of his own. Then his gaze sought Gena's.
The girl's face was white, her lips trembling. Her thoughts reached
him, heavy with regret. "Goodbye, Earthman!"
The chemist's lips went grim. "Goodbye, Gena," he answered. Then a
Sediphron guard shoved him roughly toward the door, after Storm.