 Section 1. Four Science Fiction Novellas. A Drift in Space. Blaine Carson worked frantically at the controls. His jaw set in grim lines and his eyes narrowed to anxious slits as he peered into the diamond-studded ebb and of the heavens. A million miles astern he knew the red disk of the planet Mars was receding rapidly into the blackness, and the RX-8 was streaking into the outer void at a terrific pace, out of control. Something had warned him when they left Earth. The Martian cargo of K-Metal was of enormous value and a direct invitation to piracy. Of course there was the attempt at secrecy, and the shippers had sent along those guards. His engineer, Tom Farley, was thoroughly reliable too. But this failure of the control rocket tubes, missing their destination as a result, there was something queer about it. Tommy, he called into the mic. Find anything yet? Well, something. The audio phone drawled after a moment. I'm coming up. What is it, Tom? He asked, when the engineer's round face appeared at the head of the engine room companion way. Farley dropped his voice, and his customary smile was gone. I found the stern rocket tube ignition jammed so it's firing continuously, he said, and the others are all dead. Won't fire at all. That's why she doesn't swing to the controls. Can't you fix it? Lord Man, we're headed out into the belt of planetoids. We'll be wrecked. Nothing I can do, Blaine, without shutting down the atomic engines. Then we'd freeze to death and run out of oxygen. These ships ought to have a spare engine just to take care of the heating and air conditioning. I always said so. What happened to the ignition system? Tom Farley looked over his shoulder apprehensively. Dirty work, Blaine, he whispered. I'm sure of it. Tool marks on the breach of the stern tube, and there's one of those guards I don't like the looks of. Nonsense! The K-Metal people know they're men. They picked these three especially for the job. Who else could do it? There's only the five of us on board. There might be something in what Tommy said at that. A thing like this couldn't just happen by itself. And come to think of it, one of those guards was a queer-looking bird, dwarfed and hunchbacked, sort of, and with long dangling arms. It would be better to investigate. Get them up here, Tommy, Blaine said. The RX-8 drove on and on through the uncharted wastes outside the orbit of Mars. None of the spaceships of the inner planets ever ventured out this far, and Blaine knew there was grave danger of colliding with some of the small bodies with which the zone was infested. If one of those guards was the traitor, he was risking his own neck as well as theirs. Two of them entered the control room with Tom Farley. Big husky fellows of stolid countenance and armed with regulation flammery pistols and gas grenades. Where's the other, the dwarf? Blaine asked. His suspicions mounting immediately. In his bunk, Tom replied with a meaning look. He said he'd be up in a few minutes. The pilot commander addressed the guards. Fellows, he said, I suppose you know were in a serious fix. The ship is out of control and we've missed Mars, where your medal was to be delivered. We're speeding out into the unknown, out past the limits of space travel toward the orbits of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, God knows where. And my engineer thinks that one of your number has tampered with the machinery. Know anything about it? Blaine eyed them keenly. One of the guards, Mahoney, flushed hotly. No, sir, he snapped. At least Kelly and myself had nothing to do with it. But we've been a suspicion in that little Antazzo ever since we came out. It's a peculiar way he has about him, the devil. You think he— An incisive voice from the doorway interrupted. Never mind what he thinks, Carson. I'll do the thinking from now on. At one man they turned to face the speaker. It was the guard, Antazzo, and he was clothed from neck to ankles in a garment of bright metallic stuff that shimmered with shifting colors like those of a soap bubble. A mask of similar stuff covered his face, and in each hand there was a weapon resembling a ray pistol but of strangely unfamiliar design. Mahoney shot from the hip and his stabbing ray splashed full on the hunchback's chest, but harmlessly. That lustrous garment was insulating armor. The traitorous guard should have been shriveled to ascend her at the contact. Antazzo laughed evilly as his own weapons loosened strange and terrible energies. Tom Farley ducked, and Blaine watched in horrified amazement as the crackling streamers of blue radiance from the dwarf's pistols found their marks. Mahoney and Kelly, standing there, bathed for a brief instant in a horrid blue fire. Tottering, swaying, their mouths opened wide in an last agonized effort to cry out. Tiny pinpoints of brilliant pyrotechnics flashing and exploding within the columns of blue fire. Then nothing. Where the two husky guards had stood there was utter emptiness, not even a shred of clothing remained. The air in the control room became heavy and acrid. Antazzo, white-faced and shaking, Blaine cried out in futile protest. My God, man, what have you done? What does this mean? And then, in a blaze of rage, he was on his feet. Murder was in his heart as he set himself for a crashing charge that would sweep the beast from his feet. His own flame pistol was missing. It was a case of killing this monster with his bare hands. Tom was circling, over there, cursing horribly. One of them would get him. Strangely, Antazzo had lowered the muzzles of his pistols. A terrific punch started from the floor, never reached its mark. Blaine saw a tiny puff of pinkish vapor that spurred it from the bosom of that metallic garment. He was coughing and gasping, helpless. Muscles refused to do his bidding. With a moan he dropped into the pilot's seat, knowing that Antazzo's will compelled him. That gas had hypnotic powers. Mechanically his fingers strayed to the controls. And Tom, good ol' Tommy, he was under the influence of the stuff, too, creeping there on hands and knees toward the engine room companion way. Antazzo was talking. We come now to the matter of instructions, he said. You, Farley, will assist me in restoring the ignition system to normal. You, Carson, will keep to the controls and will lay a course to Jupiter as soon as the control rocket tubes will respond. Understand? Tom growled reluctant to send from where he was crawling. Strange, this hypnotic gas. Blaine's mind functioned clearly enough, yet he was utterly at the mercy of this madman's will, a robot of flesh and blood. Jupiter, he exclaimed. Why, man, it's nearly a half billion miles from the sun, not habitable, either. Antazzo had removed his mask and now smiled with a superior smile. We'll reach it, he said. The RX-8 is very fast. And it is not the planet itself we're bound for, but its second satellite. Io, your astronomers, call this body, and it's a world sadly in need of this marvelous K-metal. But, but—enough, the hunchback snarled his rebuke in Blaine's face and turned to Tom. Come, Farley, he said, as if talking to a child. We must get to work. In a daze of conflicting motions, Blaine turned to gaze through the forward port when the two had left the control room. The RX-8 was accelerating rapidly under the steady discharge of gases from the stern rocket tube and had already reached the speed of one thousand miles a second. If one of those tiny asteroids, even one no larger than a marble, should meet up with them, it would crash through the hall plates as if they were paper. His heart went cold at the thought. Oddly enough, he found himself wanting to make this trip with the demonic Antazzo. It was the effects of the pink gas. Even with the misshapen guard down there in the engine room, the power of his will was effective. The devil must be an Ionian, he thought. But how, in the name of the Skylanems, had he reached earth? How had he wormed his way into the confidence of the K-metal people? He must have been there several years, working to this very end. There was a tinkling crash on the starboard side of midships, a screaming swish as something slithered along the side and carumed off into the void. One of those little planetoids, probably no bigger than a pea, and luckily they had struck it glancingly. He wiped the sudden perspiration from his forehead. Pressure on the directive rocket controls brought no response. Would they never finish with that ignition system? A gleaming light flex segregated itself from the massive stars ahead. At first he thought that he imagined it, but a second examination, this time through the telescope, convinced him it was growing larger. Drawing nearer, it was, and resolving itself into a well-defined orb that was directly in their path. Fifteen hundred miles a second, the indicator read now, they'd never know what happened when they struck. Tommy, he bellowed into the mic, are you fellows ever going to finish down there? There was no reply for a moment, and the blue-white globe drove madly toward them. He consulted the chart. Pallas, an asteroid some three hundred miles in diameter, not very big as celestial bodies go, but big enough. Just one minute now, it was Tommy's boys coming drearily, unnaturally through the audio-phone. A minute. Ninety thousand miles. It seemed the asteroid was that close already. And Pazzo was in the control room then, and the effect of his mental dominance became more pronounced. Suddenly the dwarf let out a shriek of terror, when he looked through the port and saw the brilliant body that now loomed so close. Blaine experienced a savage joy in the knowledge that the hunchback was mortally afraid. Lattza! Lattza! in his fear and Pazzo lapsed into his own tongue. Then, remembering, he shouted, We're ready, Carson, swing wide! The directive rockets answered to their controls now. Quick pressure on this, a swift pull on that, swinging the energy value to maximum brought results. The little vessel groaned and shivered under the strain, as a full blast from the forward tubes retarded them. Her hull plates twisted and screeched as the steering tubes built full energy in swinging them from their course. They were thrown forward violently, though the deceleration compensators were working to the utmost. Pallas swung around in their field of vision, and there was a fleeting glimpse of sunlit spires of mountains, shadowed valleys, and mysterious crevices from which clouds of steam and yellow vapor curled. Still it seemed they must crash against one of those slender pinnacles. Near it came like a flash, a dizzying blur now, that drove directly in their straining faces. And then, abruptly, it was gone. Already thousands of miles astern, the danger was passed. Miraculously, they had escaped. And Tazo laughed, a hollow, mirthless cackle. His fingers shook crazily when he untwisted them from their grip on the port rail. Good work, my friend! Very good indeed, he jabbered, his chin quivering in nervous reaction. And now we carry on. On to I.O. Blaine Carson, almost wishing they had collided with the spire, set himself grimly to the task. He was powerless to refuse. End of Section 1 Section 2 of Four Science Fiction Novellas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Four Science Fiction Novellas by Harald Vincent. The Copperclad World Chapter 2 The Second Satellite When, eventually, they swung into the orbit of Jupiter and headed toward the enormous red-belted body, the two earthmen were heartily disgusted with the voyage and with themselves. Repeated doses of the pink gas, the ignominy of their utter subservience to the will of and tassel, had worn them down no less than had the hard work and loss of sleep. Both were in vile humor. They endured the triumphant chatter of their captor in bitter silence. Over there, my friends, he said, pointing, See! It's our destination. The golden crescent I.O. is something over a quarter million of your miles from the Mother Planet. See it? It is home, my friends, home to me and for yourselves in the future, if the Zara spares your lives. Lay your course to the body, Carson. Blain growled as he sighted through the telescope. Yet, in spite of his fury, he could not overcome the feeling of excitement that came to him when the powerful glass brought the satellite near. This body was like nothing else in the heavens. And tassel had called it the golden crescent. Rather, it was of gleaming coppery hue, and now as they swung around, it was fully illuminated. A brilliant sphere of unbroken contour. Smoothly globular, there was not one projection or indentation to indicate the existence of land or sea, mountain or valley, on its surface. It was like a ball of solid copper, scintillant there in the weak sunlight and the reflected light from its great Mother Planet. And tassel laughed over his absorption. Looks peculiar to you, does it not? he asked. Rather different from any of the bodies you have visited, you are thinking. Blain grunted, wordless ascent. The globe that was I.O. rushed to meet them, growing ever larger in the field of the telescope. Now it appeared that there were tiny seams in the smooth surface, a regular crisscross pattern of fine lines that looked like. Lord, yes, that was it. The body was constructed from an infinite number of copper plates, riveted or brazed together to form a perfect sphere. Why, the things made of copper, Blain gasped. Copper plates, it is a man-made world, artificial, but where are the inhabitants? And tassel laughed up roarlessly. Not man-made, my friend, he corrected, but preserved by man for his own salvation. A dying world it was, and the cleverest scientists in the universe saved it, and themselves from certain death. What you see is merely a shell of copper, the covering they constructed to retain an atmosphere and make continuation of life possible inside. Your people live inside that shell? Blain was incredulous. What else? We must have air to breathe and warmth for our bodies. How else could we have retained it? It was staggering, this revelation. The young pilot could not conceive of a completely enclosed world with inhabitants forever shut off from the light of the sun by day and from the beauties of the heavens by night. Yet here it was, drawing ever nearer, a colossal monument to the ingenuity and handiwork of a highly intelligent civilization, who had labored probably centuries to preserve their kind. A titanic task. Who could imagine a sphere of metal more than 2400 miles in diameter enclosing a world and its peoples? A copper-clad world. They were coming in close now, and the gravitational pull of the body made itself felt. Blain was busy with the controls, sending tremendous blasts from the forward rocket tubes to retard their speed for a safe landing. The incredibly smooth copper surface was just beneath them, stretching miles away to the horizon in all directions. The inductor compass was functioning. Evidently, Io possessed as strong a magnetic field as did the inner planets. Antazzo now consulted a chart which he drew from his pocket, and examined minutely the surface over which they were speeding. Here and there curious designs were etched on the copper plates, and it was from these he determined their course. Obviously there was an entrance to this sealed-in world. When they had proceeded some 2000 miles in a northeasterly direction, Antazzo gave the order to reduce speed. Off at the horizon there appeared a bulge in the copper surface, a round perturbance that resolved itself into a great dome-shaped structure as they drew nearer. A full 200 feet it reared itself into the heavens, and Blain saw a number of large circular hatches in its side that evidently covered their airlocked entrances. You will land close by the dome, Carson and Antazzo Bart, and both of you will get into your moonsuits. At his tone Blain saw red. He realized on the instant that the effect of the pink gas had worn off, and that he was his own master once more. All the pent-up emotions of the past few days were unleashed. If only he could get in one good punch. They might get away yet. There was plenty of K-metal to replenish the fuel supply. He whirled suddenly, muscles tensed. He faced the grinning hunchback, and was greeted by a breathtaking spurt of the pink gas. This time it was not merely a subjecting of his own will to that of the master, but a complete hypnotism, a somnambulistic state. As in a dream he turned to the controls. Now it came to him that the dwarf no longer spoke. He worked his will entirely without words. His evil mind possessed fully the mind of his victim. For Blain Carson there was no further independent thinking. He was an automaton, a sleepwalker. Like a detached and more or less disinterested observer, he saw that he had landed the ship. Then he noticed three dwarves in bulky, helmeted moonsuits, shuffling clumsily across the copper plates. Hazily he knew he was with the others in an airlock. The hiss and the throbbing of pumps told him that. Under the great dome there was the lightest work of a huge reflecting telescope. Strange pygmy figures scuttled here and there, working at curious machines. There was the constant purr of many motors, the gentle pulsation of floor plates beneath his feet. With the moonsuit removed, he realized the atmosphere was fetid and stifling. A great pressure bore on his lungs, making breathing labored and difficult. And then they were in a lift, that dropped into the depths of its shaft with dizzying speed. And Pazzle's grin, Tom's eyes dull and lifeless, floating there in the haze before his own. It was all a nightmare from which he must soon awaken. There followed a period of complete unconsciousness of movement and his surroundings. Light, light everywhere, a blue-white radiance that beat upon his unseen eyes with unrelenting ferocity. Stabbing pains bore into his very brain, pains that carried with him an unspoken and unintelligible command. Why couldn't they let him alone? Leave him to die in peace. He knew he was on his feet swaying. There were voices, strident and guttural, and then by some magic the veil was lifted. His brain cleared and he saw that he stood before a dais where a much bejeweled and resplendently clad woman sat curled in the luxurious cushions of a golden seat. Chock-white was her face and her lips crimson. Amazing eyes, cat's eyes, pupil's red fleck and glittering stared out at him. The Zara and Tazzo whispered, You will make obeisance. Mechanically, Blaine dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. Tom Farley over there was doing the same, but Tazzo stood erect with arms crossed over his chest and head thrown back. The eyes of the Zara swept him contemptuously from head to foot. All was not well between them. Blaine arose from his humiliating position at a sharp command from the hunchback. Tommy did likewise and the two exchanged sheepish looks. The effects of the pink gas were wearing off once more. They were in a large hall, obviously the throne room of a palace. Men at arms lined the walls on either side of the dais, and these were straight-limbed giants with green-bron skin and regular features, not at all like the deformed Ionian who had captured them and stole in the RX-8. The Zara talked rapidly in throaty gutterals. Her fierce gaze directed at Tazzo and her brows drawn together in a scowl that could have but one meaning. She was displeased with the hunchback, displeased and furiously angry. What was it all about? Hadn't he brought home the bacon? The K-metal they were after. Blaine was nonplussed. Then Tazzo replied to the woman who was obviously his queen. His voice rose in shrill disagreement and his scowl was as fierce as the Zaras. Threatening her, he was the nervy devil. He clinched his fists and raised his arms in an angry gesture, pacing the floor in his fury and thrusting out a pognacious chin while he raved. This Zara woman rose higher in her cushions, and the look that flashed from those terrible eyes would have warned a less excited human, however justifiable his anger might be. But Tazzo was in too deep to draw back. That was plain to see. Blaine held his breath in anticipation of an explosion. It came then, that explosion, and in a way entirely unexpected and horrible to behold. The tiger woman uttered one fierce symbolant, like the hiss of a serpent, a terrifying sound that silenced the hunchback and brought him stiffly to attention, mouth open and eyes bulging with horror. One of those unbelievably wide arms stretched forth, threateningly tense, and a jeweled finger leveled itself at the rash Ionian. From there it flashed an intangible something that leaped to bridge the distance with the speed of light, something that screeched as it flew and crashed like breaking glass when it struck and Tazzo's horrified face. In an instant he was on the floor, screaming and writhing mortal agony. The Zara watched with compressed lips and livid features as a host of black disc-like things covered the squirming body, spinning madly as if driven by atomic energy and emitting a myriad high-pitched tones like the angry buzzing of a swarm of bees. And Tazzo's body shriveled as the things hummed on in their devilish work. Soon there was but a tiny heap of clothing with the angry black discs whirling and singing their song of hate. And then, in a puff of thick yellow vapor, they were gone, their gruesome work completed. The odor of putrefaction lay heavy on the air. Blaine shuddered and a fit of nausea twisted his vitals. It served the devil right, of course, but it was a horrible way to go. These damned Ionians, even to their queen, were bloodthirsty creatures. And what devilish ingenuity they had displayed in their development of weapons. His eyes were drawn irresistibly to the flaming orbs of the Zara. She was actually smiling at him, this beautiful, heartless animal, not a smile of derision, but one of deliberate allure. He felt the hot blood mount to his temples. A languid arm beckoned him to her side, and the amazing creature settled back in her cushions with the drowsy, contented motions of a lazy feline. Watch her step, Tommy hissed. The warning was unnecessary. Blaine shook his head and backed away from the dais, an instinctive recoiling from a loathsome thing. The Zara saw and understood, and she went again into a black rage. She sat stiffly erect and called rapid orders to her men at arms. The earthmen were surrounded instantly, their arms and legs pinioned by powerful hands. Their feeble resistance overcome by the bronze giants as easily as if they had been children. Helpless and hopeless, they were born from the room. This was the end of the story, Blaine thought. Why this Zara woman had not made away with them at once was a mystery. Perhaps they were being reserved for an even more terrible faith than that of the hunchback. They were being carried along a dim-lit passage now, and Tom was cursing his captors in a never-ending stream of invective. A metal door opened and then clanked shut behind them. They were dumped unceremoniously on metal tables that resembled those of a hospital operating room on earth. Woven bands quickly adjusted by the bronze giants to help them fast. Blaine turned his head and saw that Tommy was still struggling against the inevitable. A gag had been placed in his mouth. That was why he had ceased reviling the Zara's servitors. The room was cluttered with elaborate and complicated mechanisms that Blaine could not recognize in the slightest detail, accepting that there were many banks of slender glass cylinders which bore some resemblance to the vacuum tubes used on the inner planets for radio communication and television. One of the bronze giants, he saw, was bringing a metal cap from which a cable extended to one of the strange machines. The cap was forced down over his head with a none too gentle pressure, and he could see no more. Then came a sharp buzz from the machine, and a million stinging needles drove into his brain. There was a moment of fleeting visions, strange places he viewed, and strange creatures parading in a phantasmagoria of delirium before his aching eyes. Voices, harsh and guttural, spoke in his drumming ears. Voices that were dimly understandable, though uttered in the tongue spoken by Antazzo and the Zara. Then came sudden and merciful unconsciousness. End of Section 2 Section 3 of 4 Science Fiction Novellas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. 4 Science Fiction Novellas by Harald Vincent The Copper-clad World Chapter 3 Illendar When Blaine Carson opened his eyes, it was to stare at the blue-white radiance of an illuminated ceiling. He lay on a downy cot, and it seemed he had just recovered from a long illness. Weak and sick, he turned his head listlessly to gaze at the ornate embossed designs on a wall of gleaming silvery metal. What place was this? His mind was wool-gathering. Dim memories of unspeakable things struggled for mastery over a hazy consciousness. Suddenly then he remembered, and he sat up in his unfamiliar bed, senses acutely alert. Across the room he saw a figure hunched in a chair, a twisted man-creature who was oddly like someone he had seen. And tazzle! But this one had none of the other's ferocity as he returned Blaine's stare. Rather, there was a look of deep concern in his ugly face. He came immediately to the bedside and looked at Blaine solicitously. I see you have recovered, he said. It is good. Blaine stared and stared. This creature had spoken in the language of the Zara's subjects, yet he understood his every word. It must be a dream, this impossible thing that had happened. And where was Tom? Abruptly he found that he was talking rapidly in this tongue of an alien race. Yes, I've recovered, he said, and I'm amazed at what I find. How have I acquired this knowledge of your language? Where am I, and where is my friend? Can you enlighten me in these things? The other smiled. I can, earthman, he replied. You have been taught our language while you slept. A thought-transference process we use for educating the young. You are in the palace of the Zara, and your friend is safe in the next room. I may add that you are in high favor with her majesty. The wise and creature lowered his voice on the last words, and his knowing eyes spoke volumes. In favor with that she-devil? Blaine went cold at the thought. I want to see my friend, he said shortly. Later, my orders are to bring you to the Zara immediately, you are strong enough, and Pagrani obeys orders. No use to attempt a break now. Blaine was tempted to drive a fist into that ugly countenance and fight his way out of the place. But that would be suicide. He'd wait, get the lay of the land first, and then try to dope something out with Tommy. All right, Pagrani, he said. I'm ready to go before this Zara of yours. As he prepared for the audience, alien thoughts crowded one upon the other in his strangely enlightened mind. With the knowledge of the language had come knowledge of many things relative to the copper-clad world. They'd given him a liberal education. Somehow he knew these stunted creatures like Antazzo and Pagrani were known as Lota, and that, while ruling the sealed-in planet, their kind had originally come from Ganymede, the fifth satellite of Jupiter. Centuries had passed since the inhabitants of Europa and Ganymede had been forced to desert their aging worlds and settled on Io. During other centuries the widely different peoples had co-operated in constructing the Great Copper Enclosure in order to keep the New World alive and capable of supporting life. Then had come a century of bitter warfare, in which the Lota were victorious. Intense hatred existed between the two races, he knew, and a hazy impression of mechanically imparted knowledge told him that few of the Europeans remained alive. We are here, Carson, his guide announced, when they stood before the square columns of an enormous portal. The scene in the throne room was vastly different than when he had first visited it. The Zara sat curled as before, a golden bowl of incense burning at either side of the throne. The men at arms were absent, and instead there were dozens of had-maidens, white-skinned and seductive as their queen, reclining on luxurious cushions that were arranged in a semi-circle before the dais. It was a scene of Oriental splendor, a stage carefully set. Pagrani knelt and touched his forehead to the floor, but Blaine held himself stiffly erect, looking straight into the eyes of the Zara. She smiled and extended her arm in that beckoning gesture. You may leave now, Pagrani, she said, without daining him a glance. Remain in the corridor till I send for you. There was a tense silence as the Zara's gaze, ineffably softened now, held Blaine's. Unconsciously he was drawn to the steps of the dais. Unwillingly, yet inexorably, his lagging footsteps brought him to her side. Cool white fingers touched his arm, and he saw that the red flecks in the black of those white eyes were golden now. Surely there was no harm in this woman. But he remembered Antazzo. Carson, she purred, you are more than welcome to Lautenar, the land of my people and the ruling power of Antrid, the body you call Io. The freedom of the realm is yours for as long a time as you wish to remain. This was too good to be true. You, you mean, he stammered, that Antazzo exceeded his authority in his act of piracy in bringing us here? The golden flecks flashed red, and a cold melt was manifest in the throaty voice, and Antazzo, she replied, was destroyed for his adacious actions. We needed this K-metal of yours, Carson, and he was sent to earth to get a quantity of the material. By magnetic directional waves was he sent. We have no spaceships. His body disintegrated by my scientist for transmittal, and the atoms of his beastly form reassembled in their proper elation when he arrived there. But he threatened me when he returned successful. The possession of the K-metal and his knowledge of its powers and uses had gone to his head. He demanded my hand in return for his work, demanded that he be permitted to mount the throne of Lautenar as my consort. Therefore I destroyed him. The hard eyes softened anew. And, and for his abominable treatment of you, I destroyed him, she concluded. Blaine fought off the spell of those gold-flecked eyes. He looked away in sudden panic. This creature was not telling the truth. She was hiding something, a sinister motive lay beneath her smooth speech. My friend, he said abruptly, what of him? For your sake, my Carson, she purred. He too shall have the freedom of the realm for as long a time as is desired. The cool fingers crept along his arm, firm and compelling. Look at me, she whispered. He thought of the pink gas as his eyes were drawn irresistibly to hers. What he saw in those gold-flecked depths sent a shiffer of apprehension chasing down his spine. Savage, devastating desire mingled with ill-concealed rage at his coldness. This beautiful animal could turn like a flash and rend him limb from limb, and would on the slightest provocation. A commotion in the corridor caused her to release him and sit bolt upright. Temporarily relieved, Blaine wheeled to face the portal. Tommy had broken loose. He heard his strident voice, berating an unseen antagonist in the tongue of the Lota. Then they were in the room, Tommy struggling and arguing vociferously with one of the green-bron's guards. The handmaidens had deserted their cushions and were milling about in a frighted confusion. The Zara's symbolant exclamation startled him into looking at her once more. The same cold fury that had greeted Antazzo glinted icy hard in that grimly beautiful face. It was all over for poor Tommy. But the Zara reached upward and stroked a transparent rod that dangled above the throne, something he had not noticed before. A screaming vibrant note smote the heavy air, a pulsation that beat at the eardrums with painful intensity. Silence fell as the awesome sound died away and echoed faintly from the huge columns that supported the arched ceiling. Tommy cooled off when he saw that Blaine was unharmed. Dreckon, the Zara's voice was a whiplash as she addressed the guard. You will leave my presence and report to your overmen for punishment. Never again molest the earthmen. Begone! Again this amazing woman curled in her cushions and again she purred. Tommy watched in open mouth astonishment as she smiled guilessly at his friend. You may leave now, my Carson, she could. Farley is free to accompany you. Pagranny will guide you and inform you regarding our customs and our people. You will learn much. And then you shall return to Zara Cleone. Blaine had fully expected that Tommy would die a horrible death before his eyes and in his sudden relief bent low and kissed the cold white hand of the Zara. A foolish thing to do. She purred and snuggled into the cushions like the feline she was, a dangerous animal, claws drawn in now but ready to strike out, razor sharp on a moment's notice. Pagranny led them along the corridor to a lift. The car shot upward with breath-taking speed. Say, Tommy was growling in English. What's the big idea? You've got the old girl Gaga trying to vamp her into letting us off easy. Shut up, Blaine returned, irritated. I don't know where we stand any more than you do. But we're going to sit tight now and see what happens. No more rough stuff from you either. What? You're going to just stand around and take it? Whatever they hand us? Of course not, but the time isn't ripe yet. We'll have to wait till we know what it's all about. They were outside then, on the palace roof, and Pagranny motioned them to a railed-in runway that circled its edge. High overhead was the shadowy blackness of the copper shell that enclosed the satellite. Huge laced columns, line upon line of them, stretched off into the distance as far as the eye could follow. Enormous white metal supports that carried the immense weight of the covering which retained the dense and humid atmosphere. Marriads of tiny blue-white suns there seemed to be, stretching off between the columns, carried on thick cables and radiating the artificial daylight of the interior. Hot damp odors waved it across the roof, the odors of decayed vegetation. Most amazing of all were the dwellings. In orderly rows like the columns, they were flat-top, syndrical things that reminded Blaine of nothing so much as the tanks of an oil refinery back home. And the space between was overgrown with dense tropical vegetation, tangle and matted and shooting transparent tubular stems up to a height of a hundred feet or more, where they sprouted great spherical growths that looked like enormous sponges. Of a sickly, pale-green hue, these growths overran everything, climbed the columns and were lost in the shadows above the multitude of lights. The big sponge-like blossoms expanded and contracted rhythmically. Breathing they were like living things. Specially cultivated plant life to assist in maintaining the oxygen supply balance by decomposition of carbon dioxide. A marvellous, artificial world. The streets and moving ways are in tunnels beneath the soil, Pagrani was explaining. What lies before you is the city of Illandar, capital city of the Empire, and like all other cities of Antrid, is self sustaining. The vegetation is inedible. All of our food is synthetic and highly concentrated. You were fed by intravenous injection while under the influence of the language machines. Our heat and power is obtained from the internal fires of Antrid, and alas, these are being exhausted with great rapidity. Our shortage of power is becoming acute, and again our peoples are facing extinction. That explained their need for the K-metal. It came to blame in a flash that Antrid was in source straits and that this expedition to Earth had more back of it than had been revealed. Even with the supply of K-metal and Tazawood stolen they could not carry on forever. A screaming object went hurdling through the blackness over their heads. Something, a vehicle of enormous size with rows of lighted ports on the underside that roared its way under the roof of copper and was gone in an instant. One of our monorail cars, Pagrani told them, a complete system interconnects all cities and divisions. They are capable of circling the globe in a day of your time. Their familiarity with conditions on Earth was astonishing. Probably Antazzo was but one of the many spies who had been sent to the inner planets. Pagrani discussed the speed in their own terms. Someone had crept up behind them, a slight olive-skinned youth who touched Blaine softly on the shoulder. Pagrani did not see. He was pointing into the distance and expounding on the merits of the monorail system. The youth touched a finger to his lips to enjoin silence and thrust a crumpled ball of metal foil into Blaine's hand before the pilot realized his intention. A message, undoubtedly. Some instinct, or some slight sound, warned Pagrani as he turned on his heel just as the slender lad was slinking away. Black rage contorted his features and Blaine saw him make a quick motion toward the inner folds of his jacket. Pagrani, he shouted as he saw a glint of steel, don't. But it was too late, and the lot paid him no attention anyway. One of those wicked ray-pistols sent forth its crackling blue flame and the youth stood there, bathed in the eerie blue light, dazzling blasts of exploding atoms were seen within the flare. Then there was the nothingness into which O'Honey and Kelly had gone. Blaine shouted horrified and angry protest, and Tommy rushed into the mix with their guide. But the glowing ray-pistol waived them back. Other guards, the big green bronze ones, were running in their direction. The message, Pagrani snapped. Give it to me. Quick as a flash, Blaine crumpled the foil more tightly. A hard little pellet now, he tossed it over the rail far into the matted vegetation below. One mind as well hunt for a needle in a haystack as for that tiny ball. But Pagrani would not forget. He'd report to the Zara. They were in for it now. End of Section 3 Section 4 of Four Science Fiction Novellas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Four Science Fiction Novellas by Harold Vincent The Copperclad World, Chapter 4 Before the Council Pagrani lost no time in reporting the incident to the Zara. The earthmen were hustled to the throne room of the palace where the leopard woman sat in conference with their advisors. An ominous silence greeted their entrance. Ugly faces leered at them from the long table. What is it, Pagrani? The Zara's chalky face went whiter still. The Rulans, your Majesty, they have endeavored to communicate with the prisoners. Did they succeed? Cleone's voice was terrible in his fury. They did not. I destroyed the messenger, and the message itself was lost in the jungle where Carson flung it. The Zara shot a fleeting glance in Blaine's direction and permitted herself the ghost of a smile. It is well, she breathed, but it must not happen again. Have Theodore brought to me. Pagrani turned off to do her bidding, and Blaine turned uncertainly to follow. You will remain, Carson, you and Farley. The incisive voice of the leopard woman halted him in his tracks. Theodore was chief of the Rulans. It developed. There was but a handful of them in the realm, and they were the last survivors of the civilization of Europa, descendants of those original brave souls who had settled on Isle as a last resort in the effort to perpetuate their kind. He was a magnificent creature, this Theodore, tall and straight in his muscular leanness and with white-set gray eyes in the face of a Greek god. Olive skinned like the messenger he was, and with the high forehead of an intellectual. He swept the assemblage with a haughty gaze when he faced the Zara. Theodore, she snarled, it has come to my ears that a Rulan lad carried a message to one of my guests from Earth. What means this? I know nothing about it, Your Majesty. Theodore gazed into the wicked eyes, unafraid. You lie. There is some treasonable scheme in which you had hope to enlist their help. You will tell me the entire story, here before the Council. There is nothing to tell. You will confess or I shall destroy every Rulan in the Tritunagaru. The Zara's words were clip short with deadly emphasis. Theodore paled, and his lips tightened in a grim line, but he stood his ground. I have nothing to confess, he said. With a whistling, in-drawn breath, the leopard woman threw back her head and motioned to one of the green-bronzed giants who guarded the entrance. There was a nervous stir around the Council table. At her command the guard drew back a heavy drape that hid an embrasure in the far wall. There, on a stubby pedestal, was revealed a glimming sphere of crystal—a huge, polished ball that shimmered a ghastly green against a background of jet. Slowly in its depth some milky cloud took shape, swirling and pulsating like a living thing. Then it flashed into dazzling brilliance, and the globe cleared to startling transparency. It was if it did not exist. Rather they looked through an opening in the cosmos that carried their gaze to another distant point. It was a large open space that was revealed to their eyes—a sort of public square where many of the olive-skinned rulens were coming and going to and from the entrances of the circular tank-like structures that surrounded the area. They were greeting one another in solemn fashion as they passed and watched furtively the green bronze guards who were everywhere. The sound of their low-voiced conversations came clear and distinct from the depths of the crystal sphere. Your choice, Theodore, the Zara-Hist. There is nothing—nothing, I tell you. The rulen's chief voice was panicky now. Cleone's snarling command was carried to those guards out there in the Tritunagaru by some magic of the crystal sphere. As one man they snapped to attention. With deadly accuracy they released the energy of the ray pistols. It was a shambles—that square of the Tritunagaru—a slaughterhouse. Agonized creams of the doomed rulens rent the air of the council chamber. They organized hastily and rushed again and again into the crackling blue flame of the disintegrating blasts of the guards' fire. It was hopeless, unarmed and unprotected. They were at the mercy of Cleone's minions. Sick and trembling, Blaine cried out against the massacre. He was seized instantly by two of the green bronze guards who had been watching his every move. Tommy, too, was in their clutches once more, fighting valiantly but without avail. The sphere went blank and silent, and the drape was returned to its place. Still muttering disapproval, the members of the council gazed at their queen in alarm. There was no telling what this vile creature might do. The slaughter continues, Theodore, she gloated. Soon your handful of followers will be no more, and good riddance. Swain drunkenly, eyes glazed with the horror of the thing. Theodore went raving mad. In one wild leap he was upon her, his fingers sinking into the white flesh of her throat. Woman or no woman, he'd have her life. But it was not to be. A quick move of the jewelled fingers was followed by a crashing report. Theodore staggered and drew back, spinning on his will to face them all with the stinted, pain-grazed eyes. Astonishment was there, and horror, but the fire of undyne courage remained. His olive skin turned suddenly purple, then black from the poisoned dart that had exploded in his entrails. He collapsed in a still heap at the feet of the Zara. She stood there a moment in the awful silence, caressing her bruised throat with fluttering fingers. She had faced death for one horrid instant, and was obviously shaken. Then she recovered and flew into her rage. Out of my sight, all of you, she screamed. Out, I say. The earthmen are to be freed, and Begrani will conduct them to their quarters. Go now. The counsellors made haste to comply, jostling one another in their anxiety to jam through the doorway. Blaine found himself released. He took one step toward Cleone, murderous hatred in his heart. But he recoiled from the expression in those red-flecked eyes. They softened instantly and looked into his very soul, saw through and beyond him into some far place where relief and happiness might be attained. And then, suddenly, they were swimming in tears. The Zara dropped into a seat and buried her sleek coiffured head in outstretched arms, her shoulders shaking with sobs. An incomprehensible anomaly. This queen of the Lota, a strange mixture of cruelty and tenderness, of cold hatred and the longing for love. A dual personality hers, susceptible to the deepest emotion or to utter lack of feeling as the mood might dictate. Blaine tiptoed softly from the room. They were in the corridor now, and Tommy was blowing off at a great rate. Even Begrani was stunned and shaken. But Tommy raved. Forget it, Blaine growled. Where do we go from here? He couldn't have explained his emotions then, even to himself. To our quarters, she said, damn her. Tom Farley swore in picturesque English. And we, he wound up his expressive tirade. We are getting in deeper and deeper. We can't do a thing. Why in the devil doesn't she put us out of the way and get it over with? What's she keeping us round for, anyway? Blaine was asking himself that very question. Begrani regarded them with something of understanding in his beady eyes. But he was nervous and apprehensive and broke in on their conversation to urge them into action. The Zara must be obeyed. The corridor was deserted now, and their footsteps echoed hollowly from the bare metal walls. Begrani was ahead, leading the way, when Blaine was startled by an insistent tap on his shoulder. Another of the rulens it was, repeating the gesture of the youth who had been killed on the roof. But this one had no message. He was after something else, telling them in pandemime to make a break for freedom and to follow him. Blaine caught Tommy's attention. And Begrani, worn again by the sixth sense of his, turned his head. With a bellow of rage he whirled into action, ray-pistol in hand. But Blaine was prepared for him this time. He wasn't going to witness another murder, not now. Flinging Tom Farley aside, he let loose a terrific jab that landed full on Begrani's mouth. The ray-pistol cracked harmlessly, its deadly energy spreading itself in searing the middle of the ceiling. Then he wrenched the weapon from the astonished lot and was boring in with body punches that quickly had the dwarf gasping for breath. These creatures knew nothing of fighting with their hands, except in the fashion of clumsy wrestlers. The thud of hard fists against yielding flesh was a new and terrifying experience. Begrani was game though, and he flailed about with his powerful arms, endeavouring to get his opponent in his grasp. Side-stepping to avoid one of his rushes, Blaine brought up a terrible uppercut that ended flush upon the lot's jaw. His head snapped back and his knees gave way beneath him. Down he went in a flabby heap. Suddenly ashamed, the young pilot turned to the Rulan. Tom's eyes were shining. It was easy to see that he felt better about things now. I am a friend, the Rulan whispered in the lot tongue, sent by one who would have conversation with you. It is of the highest importance, but we must make haste. Will you trust me? Blaine saw deep concern and sincerity in the fellow's blue eyes. What do you say, Tommy? he asked, looking to his friend for approval. I say, let's go. He seems OK to me. Their new guide was familiar with the passages and especially so with dark and little used stairways that connected the floors of the huge building. They soon reached the roof through a hatch that opened on a small penthouse which was in deep shadow and entirely hidden from the runways where the green bronze guards paced constantly. A slender cable dangled before them, and at its lower end they saw a basket-like car which their guide bid them enter. When they had done so, he tugged on the cable, giving a rapid twitching signal. Suddenly they were soaring up into the blackness above the lights of Antrid. The swift journey ended in a tiny enclosed vehicle where another Rulan operated the cable drum which had made the trip possible. The car was unlighted, safe for the faint glow of a headlamp, and it was not until the lower door was closed that they were permitted a view of the interior of the strange vehicle and had a good look at the two Rulans. Now, the one who had brought them said, I can explain. I am Theodos, son of Theodore. My companion is Dantas, son of Dantor, the greatest scientist in all Antrid. We are taking you to Dantor who has knowledge of the mad plans of the Lotta, and is in need of your help in thwarting them. Are you willing? Why, why yes, blain-stammered, looking deep into the earnest eyes of Theodos. You know the fate of Theodore? I do. The young Rulan fell silent, then shook his head as if to clear it of unwelcome thoughts. There are but few of us left, O'erthman, he said then, and I'll expect a like fate sooner or later. But that is beside the point. We have important work to do, work that brooks no delay. We leave now for Trituanu, with your consent. Tom Farley was examining the machinery of the car with interest. This is one of the monorail cars, he inquired, when Dantas had seated himself at the controls. Indeed not, the Lotta do not even know of the existence of this vehicle. We could not get right of way on the rails, so this gravity-car was developed in secrecy. It is provided with variable repulsion energies that can be adjusted to keep it at a fixed distance from the inner surface of the copper shell. Thus it misses crossbeams and braces. It is drawn forward by similar energies, or more exactly, by the component of a number of attracting forces. We do not display lights, so are thus comparatively safe from discovery. They'll catch us sooner or later, though, of course. Dantas indulged in a fatalistic shrug of his shoulders as he concluded. At his manipulation of a number of tiny levers that were said into the control panels like the stops of an organ, the car lurched forward. Silently, swiftly, they sped on through the gloom under the great copper shell. Through the viewing glass of a periscope arrangement that let no betrain light escape to the outside, they watched the endless lines of illuminating globes slip by beneath them. Weirdly vast and shadowy in the upper reaches, the lattice-supporting columns on either side merged into continuous, semi-transparent walls as the car gathered speed. The city of Elendar was left far behind. Patches of jungle flashed by, other cities, and always the endless rows of blue-white lights. There was neither night nor day in the sealed-in world, only the artificial suns that never set. Continuous subjection to the ultraviolet and visible rays of the vast lighting system was necessary to the growth and reproduction of the plant life that was so essential in keeping the atmosphere breathable. Tommy had forgotten everything save his interest in the mechanism of the car. He and Antus were fast friends already. Chin in hand and eyes avoiding the pain of mourning in Tidus' fixed gaze. Carson lost himself in gloomy meditation. As he thought back over the events of the past few days, he could scarcely believe they had actually occurred, or that he was sitting here in a mystery car speeding through the rank atmosphere of an enclosed world a half-billion miles from his own. Home seemed incredibly remote and desirable just then, and the future dark and forbidding. End of Section 4 Before the car came to a stop, Tidus rummaged in a locker and stretched forth his hands as if carrying something delicate and fragile. It will be necessary for you to put this on, he said. It will be unsafe otherwise. Blaine stared mystified. Was this Rulan kidding him? Put what on, he asked. A thousand pardons. I had forgotten that you do not know. I hold in my hands a cloak, an invisible thing that will hide you from the guards and from the Zara's crystal. Another secret of my father's. Dantor developed it for him only recently. Blaine felt the texture of the stuff then, crumpled it in his fingers as its gossamer-like weight dropped in loose folds around his body. But there was nothing there to the eyes. It simply did not exist except to the touch, and he felt no different with it on than he had before. Where's Tommy? he asked suddenly, seeing that Dantus now sat alone at the controls. Tidus laughed. He has been covered in the same manner, he said, and is safely hidden from sight as you are. Incredulous, disbelieving, Blaine called out to his friend in a tremulous voice, and Tom Farley's odd response reassured him. Keep close to me, Tidus told him. The car had stopped and he directed them into the basket of the lift. The two earthmen collided violently, and clinging to each other in their ghastly invisibility, laughed crazily for a moment. As far as any observers might know, there were only the two rulens in the basket. Blaine fingered Pagrani's ray pistol when the cable lowered them swiftly to the roof of a huge steel cylinder that rose, a solitary and unlovely structure, in the midst of the jungle a thousand miles from Elendar. The indicator informed him that seven energy charges still remained in the storage chamber of the little weapon. Its possession brought him a measure of confidence. Careful scrutiny of the roof had shown it to be deserted, so the basket was brought to rest in a deeply shadowed portion. Immediately they stepped out, and it was sent swiftly aloft by remote control of a portable ether wave that Dantor produced. They encountered two of the green bronze guards in one of the passages below, and these challenged the rulen lads with drawn pistols. The alarm was out. Fortunately Pagrani had not recognized Tidus, or all would have been lost. But the Zara was watching every rulon community, and had instructed her guards to take the earthmen into custody at all costs. Those remarkable cloaks were all that saved them. They breathed easier when the guards passed on. Now they were in a lift, dropping speedily into the depths of the Trituanu. When the cage came to rest they were hustled into a maze of winding passageways that led ever downward. A wall of damp stone finally blocked their progress, but at Dantos' touch of a hidden spring a section of the solid rocks swung aside to admit them to a concealed room where the lights were bright and where a delegation of rulons awaited their coming. With the cloaks of invisibility removed, they were welcomed by Dantor, a tall white-haired rulon who was startling like his son. They were a solemn lot, these rulons of the older generation, but they gazed on the earthmen with sympathy and understanding. An entirely different breed from the Lota. This room was a secret laboratory, fully equipped for chemical and physical research. Dantor sat before a small replica of the Zara's crystal ball as he addressed the visitors. No doubt you are puzzled, he began, using the language of the Lota with an accent that softened his harsh gheterals over the calamity that has befallen you. And it is not to be wondered at. But your own danger is as nothing compared with the danger that now threatens our whole solar system. It is to explain that and to ask your cooperation in warding off the holocaust that I have sent for you. Since the destruction of the Tritunagaru, we rulons number less than one thousand, of whom three hundred are here. The Trituanu is foremost of the royal laboratories of Lotanar, and its work is carried out entirely by our people. It is only on account of our superior accomplishments in science that the Lota have allowed us to exist for so long a time, and in this connection, I might say that the Zara has been taken severely to task for her wanton massacre of the rulons of the Tritunagaru. But that is neither here nor there. It is merely a sightlight I am giving you. The important thing is this K-metal of yours, and its relation to the plans of the Lota. Antrid, as you know, is a dying world, coming rapidly to the end of its resources. And, as our ancestors did before us, the Lota have been casting their eyes about for a new home. The inner planets beckoned, especially your earth, but it was manifestly impossible to reach them as their insufficient fuel in all Antrid to provide for the voyage of even one spaceship. Then, with the long-range searching rays of the crystal ball television and sound reproducers, they discovered the use of this K-metal. The sending of Vantazo to your earth followed. The rest you know insofar as his activities are concerned, but what you do not know is this. The Lota have constructed a huge steel tube that is set deep into the crust of Antrid, an enormous rocket tube, if you please, like one of those on your spaceship. They plan to use the energy of this supply of K-metal in setting up tremendous streams of electronic discharges from the Great Tube, and thus to swing the satellite from its natural orbit. They would send this entire world hurdling through space toward the inner planets, and by proper control of the rocket discharges bring it close to your earth, where it would become a secondary satellite at close range. Then they could war on you at their leisure, and finally take earth as their new home. Thus have the Lota planned. What? Blaine exclaimed. Why, we'd blast them from the skies before they were started. They haven't a chance. Dantor knotted gravely. I am sure of it, he agreed. I have seen your great guns in the crystal, but they are blind to that possibility. And there are other serious flaws in the plan. The incentive, of course, lies in the certain knowledge that we are using up internal heat of Antrid so rapidly that less than a century of life now remains to its peoples. Our power is produced by admitting water to the interior through myriads of tubes that serve the double purpose of introducing the water and conveying the generated steam back to the surface, where it produces electricity by driving great turbine generators. This electricity is distributed by charging the copper shell and the ground beneath at high frequency. It is then collected from the air between the heaters and various machines that use it. But the shortage is ever more serious and Antrid is cooling off. Thus the need for the K-metal and thus the sending of Antazzo. And now for the flaws. The Zara, in killing Antazzo, frustrated her own plans, as he alone of all her people knew how to use this marvelous energy producer. Realizing this, she set about to make friends with you too, in hope that the information might be obtained from you. It was a great mistake and raised an unexpected obstacle. Well, I'll be damned, Blaine exploded. No wonder she tried her wiles on me. Tried to make a sucker out of me, didn't she? Dandor smiled knowingly. More about Clion later, he said. Actually, she is enamored of you, Carson. And besides, she's not really responsible for the mad plan herself. But that tale can wait. The basic and most serious flaw in the plan is this. It cannot possibly succeed, no matter how successful their attempts. What they do not understand and will not believe, when I tell them, is that the only result of the mad experiment will be the complete destruction of the solar system, Antrid and themselves included. Complete and horrible annihilation, I say. Dandor paused and eyed his visitor solemnly. In his mind's eye, Blaine could not visualize such a thing, nor picture the possible explanation. But he saw that Tommy had paled and was clenching his fists. Tommy was more of a scientist. It must be he realized what this enterprise involved. Dandor was speaking again, in low, intense tones. What they are refusing to see is that the delicate balance of the solar system will be disturbed if a body as large as Antrid is moved a half-billion miles sunward. All bodies are kept in their orbits by a nice balance of mass attraction and centrifugal force. If a single one is altered, all others are affected. What would happen is easy to calculate. First off, when Antrid approached the inner planets, all bodies in the system would change their paths, and the altered forces would cause severe earthquakes, tidal waves, and other natural disturbances of disastrous extent. These would increase in violence as Antrid do nearer to the sun. And, if she finally took up her position as a new satellite of the earth, the entire solar system would be in chaos. By this time, even if life still remained on earth, it would quickly become extinct, for the vastly increased tidal forces on that body would flood the land to the peaks of the highest mountains. Earth would draw in closer to the sun due to the loss of velocity, an increased mass of the earth-moon system. Tremendous new forces would rend asunder the earth, its moon, and Antrid. Venus and Mars following suit as the forces equalized, we would have a dead universe. Tommy believed him. That was apparent from his furrowed brow and grim-set jaw. I'll never give him the secret of the K-metal, he graded, nor will Carson. I'll gamble on that. We'll die here before they'll get it out of us. Blaine seconded his remarks fervently. Then, turning to the Rulun scientist, perhaps, he suggested, we might remain in hiding here for an indefinite period. Perhaps even we might contrive a way of getting to the store of K-metal and regaining possession of it. They'd be licked for sure, then. Dantor beamed. That is exactly why I sent for you, he said. Then Solbrina knew, he added, but I fear that would not be the end. They will not give up. Another emissary would be transmitted to duplicate and tassels exploit on earth, and in five of your years the danger would again be faced. They would take infinite precaution to prevent a second failure. We must make it for ever impossible, now. How can we? My God, it's hopeless, Blaine groaned. Nothing is hopeless, my boy. Consider the plight of the Ruluns. No, there is still hope, and we will leave you to think it over, if you are willing. It is necessary that we Ruluns sure faces above before we arouse the suspicions of the guards. Of course we're willing. We'll stay as long as you say, and help. Blaine was intensely earnest, and Tommy chimed in with his old-time fervor and enthusiasm. But hope of success seemed remote. A murmur of approval came from the assembled Ruluns, and Dantor wiped a trace of moisture from his tired old eyes. Thank you, he said simply. This chamber is insulated from the searching rays of the crystal spheres. You are safe for the present, and will be supplied with everything you need. And I shall return shortly to discuss the matter in further detail. The two earthmen were alone then, in the uncanny silence of the underground retreat, regarding each other with odd comprehension. What patient, hopeless creatures these Ruluns were! Knowing they were doomed, and without thought of their own safety, they were bending their every effort to the impossible task of saving the universe from the madness of the Lota. What do you know about that, Tommy said after a while. Is it true, what he said? Blaine asked. What would happen to our world, I mean, and to the rest? Not a question of doubt. He's doped it out to a tee, smart guy, this Dantor. What do you think? Is there a chance? Think, hush, Tommy interrupted him. Didn't you hear something? The silence was ghastly, depressing. Blaine heard distinctly the beating of his own heart. Then it was there again. That sound. A muffled scream from the other side of the stone door. A woman's scream of desperate entreaty. A shuddering, long-grown moan trailing off into deathly silence. End of Section 5 Section 6 of Four Science Fiction Novellas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Four Science Fiction Novellas by Harald Vincent The Copper-clad World Chapter 6 Ylana Blaine was tugging at the lever he had seen the Ruland Jews in opening the stone door from the inside. Tommy, less excited, tried to press one of the invisible cloaks into his free hand. Here, he begged, don't be a damn fool. They'll get you, the devils. But the great block of stone was swinging already, and the young pilot squeezed through and into the passage. He stumbled over the crumpled figure of a young girl and into the arms of one of the green bronze guards. Recovering instantly, he prodded the big fellow's ribs with the ray-pistol. Stick him up, he snarled. Then, realizing the words were meaningless to the other, he said, Raise your hands above your head. That's right, stand still now, or I'll use the ray. The guard, his face ghastly in the dim light, obeyed. But his wary eyes never left Blaine's for an instant. A short way down the hall was the body of a young Ruland. Blaine shuddered as he saw it was headless. The ray had nearly missed that time, its energy spent before complete disintegration was affected. The girl lay still at his feet. With quick fingers he frisked the guard, finding his ray-pistol in one gasket and aid. What was he to do with the big fellow? He ought to let him have it, but somehow he couldn't. Tommy was in the passageway then, invisible. The big guard stifled an amazed cry as his husky voice came out of the nothingness. These devils of earthmen, they had worked their evil magic on the Zara, had she not ordered that their lives be spared? And now there was this. His thoughts were written large on the ordinarily expressionless countenance, and Blaine was tempted to laugh at his affrightened dismay. Come on, you bonehead! Tommy was saying in English. Bring the big bum inside. I'll carry the girl. Hurry! There'll be a million of them in a minute. The girl's huddled figure was raised by unseen hands. Poised in mid-air for a moment, it floated juggily, unsteadily through the crack of the partly open stone door. The guard, wide-mouthed and staring, muttered supplication to the war gods of Vantred. Safely inside the secret chamber, the earthmen made haste to truss up the guard and gag him. He was as tractable as a child under the invisible fingers of Tommy Farley, with eyes imploring the evil spirits for mercy. And when Tommy's head appeared, drifting unsupported by a body, to be followed by arms and shoulders that seemed to materialize from nothingness, the big fellow struggled panic-stricken in his bonds, shaking with superstitious terror. Blaine straightened the girl's limbs where she lay on a low couch. She was breathing in low-shuttering gasps, but a swift examination assured him that she had not been harmed. Her beautifully chiseled ivory features were fixed in an expression of nameless dread. A mass of red-gold hair tumbled in confusion about her face and shoulders, and when the pilot smoothed this back, his heart did a most peculiar flip-flop. Sort of jumped into his throat and stuck there. This rule and maiden was a vision of feminine loveliness, if ever there was one—a dream. Tommy watched him with a cynical smile, and said with mock contempt, so you're the guy who swore you'd never tangle up with a femme. Just a month ago, too. Now, look, first you get this sorrow woman all head up over you, and now this one's got you all head up over her. You make me sick. There was no fitting retort. Besides, this thing that had come to him was too serious, too big. He couldn't kid about it, even with Tom. While he'd always pictured this very girl in his thoughts, he had always dreamed of meeting her some day. And here she was—a living, breathing reality. She was stirring, too. Now, breathing easier. Her eyes opened wide, frightened, innocent ones like a child's, blue-gray and fringed with long lashes that raise dewy from the smooth ivory of her cheeks. Anteus, my brother, she exclaimed remembering, where is he? I saw, I thought, and the guard—he wanted to take me—oh! Hands fluttering to cover her face, she was sobbing now, and Blaine raised her in his arms, clumsily attempting to comfort her. Your brother, he said gently. I'm afraid the guard did away with him. He is no more. Yes, I remember now. I saw. She shuddered and became still. Her tossled golden head, somehow finding a comfortable hollow beneath Blaine's shoulder. And then, bravely, she sat erect and faced him. I—I suppose I shouldn't feel so badly, she said. We always expect it. But I was so fond of him, and he was the last. I am alone now. Not alone, said Blaine. You have me—us, that is. We are the earthmen, you know. And you are safe here. You are Carson, she inquired. Yes, and my friend is Farley. That is how your people address us, but we had rather you call us Blaine and Tommy. Tom Farley was grinning like an idiot. Didn't he have any more sense? Blaine thought. The girl would think he was making fun of her. I am Ullana, she said simply. The stone door opened silently, and Tidus slipped in, closing it swiftly behind him. He stared at the girl and at the trust-up figure of the guard. So, he exclaimed, this is the explanation. He breathed heavily as if he had run a long way, and his face was flushed with excitement. Why? What's wrong? Blaine sensed a calamity. The Zara—she must have seen you in the crystal. She is in a murderous rage, and has visited her wrath on the Tritue Anu. Even now Dantor is on his way to Elendar in answer to her summons. Tidus, I'm sorry. It is my fault entirely, but we heard Ullana cry out. You did quite right, Carson. I should have done the same myself, and actually it makes little difference as far as we Rulans are concerned. We had not long to remain in this life, anyway. It is only that your hiding place might be revealed. That our plans to outwit the Loda will fail. You, you think she will make away with Dantor? No, he's too valuable as a scientist, but the guards are awaiting her orders to repeat what happened in the Tritue Nagaru. She depends on the work of his laboratory a great deal, though it may be she'll stay her hand. He was fussing with the controls of the small crystal as he spoke, and it sprang to life with the peculiar shifting milkiness. Then, clearly, they were looking into the council chamber at Elendar. Cleone was there, pacing the floor. Dantor had just arrived with two of the green bronze guards. The Zara, though nervous, was curiously calm and polite in her greeting of the aged scientist. Dantor, she said, I want these earthmen. I cannot produce them, Your Majesty. You will not, you mean. Cleone dropped her voice. For two reasons, Dantor, I must have these earthmen. And they must not be harmed. We need them on account of this K-metal that was brought by Antasol, whose ugly body I so foolishly destroyed. Two reasons, you said, O Cleone, Dantor smiled moingly. Yes, too, said the Zara defiantly. I love this Carson, if you must know. And it is the only influence for good that has ever come into my life, Dantor. O can't you see, I must have them! Blaine felt the hot blood mount to his temples. Tommy giggled like a moron, and Ylana drew away ever so slightly. It was true, but still it was a definite withdrawal. Damn this leopard woman, anyway. He is not for you, O Cleone, Dantor was saying. To the people of his world the very thought of such a woman as yourself is repulsive. A murderous, he would call you. Their reactions to the taking of a human life are entirely different from those of the Lota. They are, you will pardon my saying it, more like those of the Rulans. The Lota holds life cheap. They hold it dear. To your people you are not a bad woman, only a foolish one who sometimes, in the heat of passion, upsets their plans by the sudden snuffing out of a life that is valuable to those plans. Do you not see my point? He is different. To him you are the wickedest woman whom he has ever encountered, a monster. This was strong talk. Blaine drew a quick breath, anticipating another of her black rages and sudden death for poor old Dantor. But Cleone suddenly was on her knees before the old scientist, pleading with him. Creature of strange caprices. Though human-like in her emotions went in her softer moods, she was more like the feline to which Blaine had likened her, when those soft moods had passed. Somewhere overhead, in the chambers of Trituanu, there was the sound of a muffled explosion. Its shock was felt even here in the Rockhewn secret apartment. Tidus went wide. Quickly he manipulated the controls of the crystal sphere. It can't be, he exclaimed. The guards would not disobey her, and she has ordered no action. Swiftly then, the searching ray of the apparatus swung back to the Trituanu itself, boring into the vast structure above them. One of the chemical laboratories was completely wrecked. Mamed and dying rulons were everywhere in the rooms. And those who staggered to their feet were shot down by the green bronze guards who stood at the doorway. Then, floor after floor was revealed in the all-seeing crystal. Everywhere it was the same. Merciless, cold-blooded destruction of the rulon scientists, the most valuable of all in the lot scheme of things. The earthmen were speechless with horror. Yulana once more buried her head in Carson's shoulder, moaning helplessly. The scene shifted again to the council chamber of the palace in Illandar. The Zora had not risen from her knees. She was still pleading with Dantor. She knew nothing of the massacre. Ianito, Titus gasped. It must be he. And once more the view was changed. They were in the huge dome through which they had entered this mad world. Near the base of the great telescope a bullet-headed lot was gazing into the depths of one of the crystal spheres, watching the carnage in the Trituanu and shouting his orders to the guards. Slay, slay, slay, he yelled. Not a rulon shall remain in all entered. It is Ianito commanding you. Ianito the great, master of our destinies, dictator supreme. Let not one escape, I command it. Then will come the great day of release of conquest, a new home, a new world to wait you for the taking. It is as I thought, Titus groaned. It is the end. He has taken things in his own hands at last. The sphere went blank at his touch of a lever. His shoulders drooped and he spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. What in the devil, Tommy exploded. Can this guy overrule the Zora? Is he that powerful? He is actually the ruler of the world that is entered. The power behind the throne. Cleone must do his bidding. He has seen that she is softening and resolved to speed things up himself. A sudden bedlam could be heard in the corridor outside the stone door. This Ianito had gone the Zora one better. He had located them, probably saw the capture of the guard and the rescue of Ylana on the very spot where his minions now hammered for entrance. They will take you, Titus whispered. There is no doubt as to the orders issued by Ianito. They will take you alive and bring you to him. You will be compelled to yield the secret of the metal that energizes. Not on your life, we'll refuse. Blaine was very positive. Titus smiled sadly. There is the pink gas you know, he reminded him. No, Carson, there is but one way. You must go out into the jungle and hide for a time. Danter will return later. It is certain he will be spared, and he will contrive some way of outwitting them. Come, there is a passage. Blaine saw the wisdom of the argument. It was their only chance. There was a blast that shook the ground beneath their feet, and a huge section of the stone door was blown into the room. He drew Ylana close with the possessive encircling arm. They were in a dark, narrow passage now, following the whispered voice of Titus. It was damp and rankly odorous there in the darkness, and slimy things wriggled over the floor, brushing their ankles clamily. Behind them there was the roar of another explosion and the shouting of angry voices. The guards were in the secret chamber and hot on their trail. Titus was fumbling with something ahead of them where they had halted, something that rattled and clanked and finally came free. A door opened into the deep shadowed green of the jungle. Go now, quickly, he warned them. Hide yourself as far in as you dare go. You will be lost, but will later be directed by a mental image from Danter. I shall advise him from the spirit world. We do that, you know, we rulens. But I must leave you now. I must hold back the guards to give you time. Go, friends, farewell. In his hand Titus held the ray-pistol they had taken from the captured guard. He would account for a few of the Lota, at least. Blaine reached for him to restrain him. It was unthinkable that this fine latch had sacrificed himself for them. But Titus was gone. He had slipped away into the black depths of the passageway. Come on, snap to it, Tommy grated, his voice brittle with suppressed emotion. The kid's right. Let's go. He pushed his way into the matted growth of the jungle. Holding Ylana close and not daring to look into her eyes, Lestie should see what he knew was there. Blaine followed his friend. The mysterious depths of the pale green forest closed in about them. End of Section 6 Section 7 Of Four Science Fiction Novellas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Four Science Fiction Novellas by Harold Vincent The Copperclad World Chapter 7 In The Jungle The head progressed not more than twenty paces into the dense undergrowth when the gleaming wall of Trituanu was entirely hidden from view. The artificial sunlight seeped through the mass of vegetation overhead, a ghostly green twilight that made death masks of their faces. But of the lights themselves, of the great lattice columns, of enormous sponge-like blossoms of the upper surface of the jungle sea, nothing could be seen. They were deep in a tangled maze of translucent flora that was like nothing so much as a forest of giant seaweed transplanted from its natural element. The moss-like carpet beneath their feet was slushy wet, and condensed moisture rained steadily from the matted fronds and tendrils above. The air they breathed was hot and stifling, laden with rank odors and curling mist that assailed throat and had passages with choking effect. Weird whisperings there were from above and all about them. It seemed almost that the uncanny, weaving green things were alive, and voicing indignant protest over the intrusion of the three humans. Ankle deep in the rain-soaked moss, their clothing drenched and steaming, they pressed ever deeper into the tangle. All sense of direction was lost. Guess we'd better rest now, said Blaine, seeing that Ullana was gasping from her exertions. They'll never trail us here. How about this crystal thing, the searching ray, Tommy ventured. It cannot follow us, the girl explained. Certain juices of plants provide an insulator against the ray. In fact, it was an extract of these that was used in protecting the underground laboratory we just left. We are safe now, and I am very tired. So that was the reason Tidus had been so certain they would be safe in the jungle. Blaine had wondered about that searching ray, and now Ullana's statement had stilled his doubts. Poor kid, she was all in. Her shoulders drooped and she leaned on his arm for support. His conscience troubled him for having forced the pace in the difficult footing. They need not have come so far in. A glint of light through the close-pack stems caught his eye, something phosphorescent it was, shining there in the green twilight. A giant mushroom. Towering seven feet from the ground, the great umbrella-like top was a glow with sulfurous light on its underside. And beneath its ten-foot spread, the mossy carpet was dry. An ideal shelter. Here Ullana might find the rest she so sorely needed, and in comparative comfort. She curled up beside the huge stem, and half-buried in warm dry moss, immediately fell asleep. The earthmen sat gazing solemnly at each other, speechless. In the dim distance the roar of a monorail car rose faintly at first, then grew louder and louder, only to fade away once more into the whispering silence. A steady patter of jungle rain drummed on the mushroom top. God! Tommy muttered after a while. I'd give my right eye for a cigarette. Me too. Blaine was hugging his knees, nodding drowsily. A nice rare steak with mushroom sauce wouldn't go so bad either, he drawled. Ah, have a heart! I'm so sick of these vitamin pills of theirs I never want to see one again. Yeah, but they're better than nothing. We haven't any of those even. Say! Tommy jumped to his feet in sudden remembrance. I saw a bush, back there about fifty feet, with bunches of red berries on it, like grapes they looked. May be good to eat. Sure, they may be. And then again they may be poison. We can't take any chances like that. Leave them alone. Tommy growled unintelligibly and fell to walking around their shelter with nervous strides, keeping just within the dry area and glaring savagely into the steaming jungle. Blaine smiled grimly. Nerves. Tommy always was like that. Always had to be on the go and doing something. His own nerves were jumpy to-day. They were in hot water this time for sure. Had to keep on, though. They were still alive, or at least half alive, and the solar system was intact as yet. If only Tom Farley would quit his infernal tramping. Cut it out, Blaine snapped, peevishly. You'll have us both bug-house. Can't you sit down and take it easy? Tommy stopped in his tracks. Sorry, Blaine, he said, but he remained standing, staring off into the jungle. Then, suddenly he exclaimed, Say, I'm going for some of those grapes, or whatever they are. I'll bring a mess of them back, and we can wait until you Lana wakes up. She'll know whether they are poison or not. I'll go ahead, but don't get yourself lost. Yell out if you can't find us, and I'll answer. OK, don't worry about me. And in three steps Tommy was swallowed up in the undergrowth. Blaine stole a glance at the girl, and something caught at his throat. God! She was beautiful. There must be some way of getting her out of this mess. Dantor, perhaps, might show the way. He ought to be sending that message soon, a mental one, Theda said. Poor kid, Theda's, gone to the happy hunting grounds now, no question of that. And he intended to advise Dantor from the spirit world, as simple as that it was. They were game, these rulans. Fatalist, though, and resigned to the inevitable, hopeless. But a wonderful people in a rotten world. He soon felt his head droop, and in a moment he began to doze. When he awoke it was to the touch of Lana's soft fingers on his arm. We are alone, she asked. Lord! he exclaimed, rising stiffly, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. How long have I napped? I shouldn't have. A swift look around the small clearing disclosed the fact that Tommy was missing. He shouldn't have let him go. A sudden panic gripped him. Tommy! Tommy! he called out. There was not even a knacko in the reply. Only the whispering of the jungle overhead, and all around them. His friend was gone. You Lana, he said, his voice trembling. We are alone. Farley is lost, swallowed up in this terrible forest. And then, suddenly, she was in his arms. Those wondrous blue eyes, swimming in tears, looked into his own. Soft red lips, upturned, met his lips, clung there. I am sorry, my Carson, she said softly, when he had released her. Sorry that your good friend is lost. But perhaps, more brightly, he has but straight away. When the mental message comes you will be reunited. He will hear it as well as you. Blaine shook his head. In his own heart he knew he would never see Tommy again. He had wandered too close to the Trituanu, and had been overpowered by the green bronze guards. Their ray pistols, he shuddered at the thought. I have you now, my Carson, the girl was saying, only you. In a days of pain and happiness intermingled, he knew he was holding her close, drawing her fiercely to him. And then, raising doll-eyes to stare over the precious head and into the jungle that hid his friend, he froze with horror. A flat serpent head with wide slavering mouth and beady eyes swayed there directly behind her. Pendant it was, on a scaly and slimy length of undulating body that coiled high above in the matted growths of the jungle. As he watched, rooted to the spot, the great head drew back and poised, vibrating, ready to strike. In one quick movement he flung the girl aside, and whipped out the ray pistol he had taken from Pagrani. He pressed the release and a whirring sound came from the little weapon. But no crackling blue flame sprang forth to blast this creature into nothingness. Jumping aside, he was thrown to the ground by its lashing body as the great snake struck and missed. But the pistol was useless. Short-circuited by the moisture, no doubt. He crouched there, calling huskily to Ulana. She must run for it, force her way back into the thick undergrowth where the thing could not reach her. She lay there, helpless with terror. Then, in a flash, she was on her feet, dashing to his side. God, the huge head was poised there again, pulsating, glittering avid eyes upon them. Instinctively, Blaine raised the pistol just as the head darted forward. The release clicked home. And wonder of wonders, the blue flame crackled spitefully. Exploding atoms, dazzling in the green twilight. Mindy thrashings of the huge coils high up in the tangled foliage. Crashing and tearing of great stems and rope-like tendrils. But the enormous body was headless, a dead thing in the throes of its final reflexes. Only the one charge had been spoiled, and the little pistol had served them well. He drew Ulana into the thickest of the undergrowth for protection against the tremendous slashing thing that crashed into the small clearing where the giant mushroom grew. Their shoulder was destroyed. He must find another. He must be forever on guard over this girl, whose hand clung so confidently to his own as they wedged their way into the thicket. Carson! Ulana! A familiar voice rolls above the whisperings of the jungle. A voice familiar, yet unreal. Supernatural. A calm, commanding one that did not sound, but echoed only in the consciousness. Hark! Ulana gripped his hand more tightly. Did you hear? It's Dantor! The message Tidus promised. In odd silence they waited. A tiny ball of orange fire flamed suddenly in the depths of the rushes directly before them. A sign! Ah! You are there! The voice broke in. I have your mental reactions. You will follow the orange beacon to the Trituanu, where I await your coming. Be of good cheer, my children! What magic was this? The science of the Rulans was beyond comprehension of the earthman. Here was telepathy in its most perfect form. Communications from the spirit plane, the orange flame. It was also utterly fantastic! The plane had to look earnestly at the girl to assure himself it was not a dream. She smiled confidently. And the orange flame was moving off into the undergrowth. They must follow its beckoning, flickering light. It was a nightmare, that journey back through the jungle to the Trituanu. Dantor must be in a fearful hurry, for the orange flame moved swiftly. If they stopped a moment to rest it danced there impatiently, then receded into the green shadows until they were forced to follow for fear of losing it. Ullana's light robe was torn and sodden with moisture. The perfectly rounded ivory-shoulders, bare now, were scratched and bleeding from contact with thorny protuberances that covered some of the lighter read-like stems. But the brave girl was uncomplaining. She clung doggedly to the earthman's hand when they were able to walk erect, followed swiftly and unquestioningly when they were compelled to crawl or wriggle through an almost impenetrable thicket. Once she cried out in alarm, and Blaine turned back to see that the wiry tendrils of a spiny, globular plant had wound themselves around her slim body and held her fast. As he grasped her hand to draw her away, other tendrils curled about his waist, and he too was imprisoned. They burned the flesh, those writhing things, and tugged mindily. Ullana screamed with the pain of the many that held her in their tightening grasp. It was alive, this thing that grew there, a huge ball with a thousand stinging tendacles. A carnivorous plant. Even as the realization flashed across his mind, he saw that the spiny sphere was opening. Split vertically, the two halves fell apart to disclose the steaming interior whose walls were lined with sharp dagger-like projections of foot in length, and the wiry tendrils were drawing them in. Almost insane with horror, Blaine released the disintegrating energy of the weapon he still carried in his free hand. Twice he pressed its release, and twice the searing blue flame spurred it from the glass tube that was its muzzle. Only a few charges remain now in the marvelous weapon, but once more it had served them well. The open-mouth plant monster vanished with the clearing of the blue vapor, and the ensnaring tendrils relaxed, falling from their bodies like so many loosened cords. Blaine caught the swooning girl in his arms. Half carrying her, he struggled on after the orange flare. The base of one of the lattice-supporting columns loomed vast in the eerie twilight gloom, and he leaned a moment against one of its vine-wrapped members. The girl was exhausted and clung limp in his circling right arm. Still the orange beak condensed on. If only downed her would ease up a bit. Couldn't he give them a little time? On and on he staggered, plowing through the sloppy footing and the dripping clinging greens that were everywhere in his path. Slimy fawns wrapped themselves around them, impeding his progress, clinging as if they too were alive. The whispering silence closed in on them, vast and mysterious, menacing, awful. And then he stumbled against a metallic wall. The curved side of the Tritonanu. His brain cleared and courage returned with a rush. The tiny orange flame danced merrily, leading him along the wall toward the door he knew was there. Breathing easier now, his pace quickened as Dantor's guiding light slithered along the gleaming wall. Sometimes it was almost hidden from sight by the curvature of the welded plates, and he was forced into a jog trot to keep it in view. Grimly, tenderly, he clung to the delectable creature whose soft body drooped against him. The door. The self-same passage through which they had escaped opened before him. Grateful even for this doubtful protection, he crossed the threshold and trudged worryily along with his precious burden. Blindly trusting in the miraculous powers of Dantor, he followed the orange beacon which now seemed to smile cheerfully as it lighted his way through the winding rock-walled tunnel. Dazed and spent, he collapsed in the arms of the aged Rulan when he reached the end of the passage.