No, it would take a clever writer to work up much interest in the scenery of Mars. Cleverer than I, anyhow.
Anyway, we went barging through the everlasting night of Mars, I and Vans Holors, giant of giants, ten feet tall and over a ton in weight, thickmuscled and thick-headed, but always well-meaning and one of the best of fellows. We were trying to escape from the primordial enemy of men, women. I suppose they mean well, too, in a way, but it’s a job to believe it sometimes.
The dim instincts of the spider-crab creatures who served us as steeds were not exactly the best guides it was possible to have, but it was a case of either wandering around ourselves, hopelessly, or leaving it to the beasts.
We saw many dangerous animals, the worst being the man-apes. But they did not attack us. The formidable pincers of the zekolos, which could snap their heads off like scissors cutting off the heads of poppies, warned them to keep their distance. One or two stones were thrown at us, but fortunately the beastmen had not developed enough intelligence to have mastered the use of bows and arrows. Otherwise I might not be writing you now to tell you how Vans and I got into this silly mess.
We killed one or two apes for food. I’ve tasted tenderer meat, but to watch the zekolos feed, well, I was jolly glad those terrible creatures had never been known to turn on their masters. A grown tiger would be a playful kitten compared to them.
SO, we blundered on. Swimming a stagnant sea, cutting our way through a forest of tangled creepers, climbing through chaotic masses of loose stones and cathedrals of stalagmite pillars climbing fantastic precipices. Nothing but fire or solid rock could stop those zekolos.
A different smell was in the air. A smoky smell, but not the sulphurous smell of the volcanoes. It was a civilized smell, if you know what I mean. Smells of lubricating oil, tobacco smoke, burning rubber and other smells that do not come except where men are. But I could not see where they came from.
Then the zekolos stopped. In front of us was a round hole in the rocky ground, metal-lined. A ventilating shaft of some sort way down there.
This was what the zekolos had carried us to through hundreds of miles of Martian midnight. The Martian equivalent of the top of factory chimney. The faithful creatures had brought us to the only human habitation anywhere near, but not to the main entrance. The front door of this place was probably quite close, actually, but there was no getting to it except by going hundreds of miles through the twisting labyrinth of caverns.
“Good,” I said. “All we have to do is to find a way in. Find a door or wall and knock on it till somebody answers. If we get no answer we’ll burn a way in with our dissolving rays. We have just about enough power left to burn a hole through a fairly solid wall.”
But although we hunted for days we could find no door, and no wall. No sign of human habitation anywhere. Just that one metal-lined hole in the ground, and around it nothing but a tumbled chaos of rocks.
“Only one way out of this,” I said at last. “We must climb down that hole.”
“Not my idea of a joke, little man,” rumbled Vans, shining a light down into a blackness that seemed to go on forever.
You would not fancy climbing down the chimney of a strange factory, would you, expecting to arrive in the inside of a furnace at the bottom, or between the blades of a giant fan? But there was no help for it. We said, “Down!” to the zekolos, and down we went.
With their pincers on the hand-grips, those zekolos went down that ventilation shaft pretty quick. And we had need to hurry, because the air here wasn’t so good.
Some way down we came upon a hole in the chimney wall. It was round and small, far too small for the zekolos, too small for Vans, but just right for me.
“Hold your horses!” I called to Vans. “I’m going to see where this leads to.”
And I ran along the tunnel, torch in hand.
It was a winding tunnel. I soon lost sight of Vans. Then, as I was running round a comer, some sort of trapdoor opened under me. I fell downward, into a sort of net.
Above me, the trapdoor clanged shut.
* * *
HOW long Vans waited for me to come back he says he does not know. He shouted, he banged on the metal walls of the shaft, he got the zekolos to make all the noise they could. But I did not come back. Nothing happened.
At last Vans decided that something had gone wrong. And that the only way to help me was to go on down the shaft and find some other way of reaching me. He went on down, with the zekolos.
Presently they came to the floor of the shaft. They stood on a large grating through which air blew.
Vans decided it was time to holler for help. And he hollered. The zekolos helped by making all the noise they could.
It seemed to make no difference to anybody. Nobody answered. Suddenly the grating opened under them and Vans went flying through the air.
“Now it’s all up with me,” he thought. There seemed to be a vast space under him and tiny lights far below. One light was coming up to him. It was a reflection of his own light, which was still bound to his forehead, and the faraway lights were reflections of the natural searchlights of the zekolos. He seemed to be falling onto a huge mirror. No, it was water. And Vans was as much at home in water as a seal.
He came up, swam a little way and called to the zekolos. They came cautiously, lowering themselves by their long, elastic arms. This water was very stagnant and slimy.
“Okay,” said Vans. “Now let’s find the quickest way out of here.”
They found a rocky shore, where fungi of many kinds, some of it taller than Vans himself, grew abundantly. It was difficult to keep one’s feet. Vaguely, Vans felt that it was a queer sort of place that he had gotten into.
Their way was stopped by a wall of frosted glass. Vans banged on the glass and shouted, although by now he had begun to resign himself to the hopelessness of finding anybody alive in this place. Hardly waiting for a response, he grunted a word of command that set the zekolos trying to break down the wall. Vans was now in a hurry. Some of the odd giant fungi here grew out of human skulls as though they were flower-pots.
The wall did not splinter. Vans had by now concluded that he was in some ancient, deserted burial-ground, and was ready for a change of company. The wall, too tough for the powerful zekolos, yielded at once to the charge that remained in the dissolving ray. Atomic cohesion neutralized, its substance turned to gas where the ray touched it. A neat circle fell out.
Vans went through.
As he did so the place in front of him became, of a sudden, full of bright light. He blinked in a dazzling, cream-colored light that seemed to fill all space. A high-pitched wail of despair sounded in his ears.
* * *
WHEN the trapdoor opened under me, and I felt myself caught in a net, I guessed at once that I had fallen into a rat-trap. Martian rats are enormous, cunning creatures, and I am always liable to fall into traps prepared for them unless I am very careful. No doubt my body, as I walked along the tunnel, interrupted an invisible beam of infra-red light, operated a photo-electric cell and so set off the trap. Mars is full of such tricks.
The net swung downward on a long lever.
Whatever unpleasant surprise this particular trap had in store for the rats it caught, I did not intend to experience if I could help it. I drew my short sword and began to cut my way out. But the net was tough, designed to withstand the attacks of sharp and powerful teeth. I had to saw my way patiently through each strand. My rays I had thoughtfully left with Vans.
It was wasted effort. The net came down, landed, opened of its own accord. I stepped out. The net swung away.
I saw two glowing eyes above chisel teeth. A Martian rat, larger than any Earth dog, rushed upon me. Many rat bones were around. It was that cruel kind of trap that shuts the rats in a large cage with no food but one another. The hungry cannibal before me was sole survivor of many of his fellows.
I jumped to avoid him, but he turned in mid-air. He was old and lean and knew all the tricks of
fighting. The ceiling of the trap was low, and I could not play my best trick, that was to jump high in the air, out of his reach. A desperate slash only half knocked away his paw, which tore my sleeve and deeply scratched my arm. I felt blood, warm and sticky, some of mine and some of his. I was cornered.
Half landing, he twisted convulsively, snarling, and was on me again. I had no time to judge my stroke, but could only stab out blindly. The blade ran into the flesh of his shoulder and snapped off. A paw struck my cheek a glancing blow, but I was too busy to notice whether it hurt.
My blow made him halt. He went back on his haunches, my broken blade sticking out of his shoulder, then launched himself in the air for a spring.
I tried to back, but was against the corner of the cage. The rat’s body came down. I flung up an arm to shield my head from those teeth and claws, twisted my body away.
Down came the rat crushingly. I slashed, as well as I was able, at his belly with the broken sword. I felt it strike something, then my arm was knocked aside and pinned.
I was helpless, pinned hand and foot by the rat’s weight. His great chisel teeth gaped apart and leaped, so swift, at my throat. Those teeth could bite, I knew, right through an Earthling’s thigh-bone at one snap.
Then, behind the rat, I saw a giant hand. Even bigger than a Martian hand. It picked the rat up in finger and thumb. I, being held by the rat, was lifted too.
The pair of us were flung, whistling through the air at tremendous speed.
CHAPTER II
Pirates of Venus
THE scream, like a shrill scream of fright, that greeted Vans Holors gave way to a sort of sobbing. Blinking in the strong light, he saw before him half a dozen of the oddest-looking creatures. A little bigger than he was himself, they were more or less human, but their bodies and limbs seemed to be rubbery and elastic, stretching and shortening at will. They stood in a line before him, bowing together so that their hairless heads touched the floor. Many-colored fungi grew on the floor and walls of the odd compartment. There was unfamiliar machinery here, too.
“Who are you?” Vans asked, puzzled.
They did not seem to understand, but just went on with their bowing and moaning.
Vans grunted with contempt and turned to make his hole larger so that the zekolos could come through.
A sharp squeal. An arm, elongating itself amazingly, reached out and snatched away the box that generated the dissolving ray.
This action Vans understood.
Shouting, “Give that ray back!” he rushed forward.
The elastic man who had taken the ray dodged behind the others. Vans managed to seize the creature, but not before it handed its prize to one of its companions. Vans turned to chase the second thief.
The compartment was now full of an excited squawking and chattering. Even then the party might not have got really rough if it had not been for the zekolos. The faithful creatures, no doubt thinking that their master was fighting for his life, reached through the hole and seized two of his assailants in their powerful pincers and began to drag them toward the hole in the wall. An elastic man picked up an implement shaped like an ax and tried to chop off one of the arms. Vans hit him hard. The elastic man flew through the air, struck the wall with a dull thud, bounced off and landed on the floor, unhurt.
The other elastic men rushed at Vans. Vans began to fight seriously. He rushed at them, hit two with tremendous blows of his mighty fists. Both went down, and rolled over. But they got up again at once.
A puzzled look came into Van’s simple face. He couldn’t hurt these people. The heaviest blows of his mighty fists just sank into their rubbery bodies without harming them. It was out of all reason. Their arms, shooting out the way they did, gave them a reach that Vans felt was not playing fair.
A snaky arm coiled round his ankles, nearly bringing him down. He struck at it, but the elastic man took no notice of his blows. The air was full of clutching hands at the ends of ten-foot arms. One gripped his left wrist, holding against all his efforts to pull free. Another coiled around his throat and eyes.
That was the end of the fight. Vans found himself coiled round and round with thick ropes of rubber like a silkworm in its cocoon.
* * *
I FLEW through the air in the grip of the Martian rat, then suddenly we struck water.
We sank, but I felt myself free. I came to the surface, and saw the rat come up, look round and come at me again.
I had lost even my stump of a sword, so I turned and swam away. I knew I had not half the speed of the fierce rodent behind me. But a large object flew through the air and struck the water near the creature. It turned and made off in fright.
My rescuer was a giant man, bigger even than a Martian, who stood on a smooth stood bank watching me. His face and clothing were strange to me, unlike anything I had seen on Earth or Mars. I swam ashore, saying, “Thanks for the help,” in Martian.
“You were lucky,” he growled in a deep voice, neither friendly nor hostile, picked me up in a huge hand and began to carry me away.
We came to a large, tunnel-shaped room hollowed out of the rocks, full of strange furniture and equipment. My rescuer rang a bell and three more giants came in to talk about me in some strange language. I knew they were talking about me because they kept looking at me, and their looks were not friendly.
At last my rescuer looked at me and spoke in Martian.
“The others think I should have let the rat finish you,” he announced. “You came here as a spy, if nothing worse. I saved you because I thought we could get information out of you.
You had best give us all the information you can, or you will soon wish you had been left to the rat. Do you understand?”
“I am no spy,” I said, “ ‘only a lost traveler.”
“That sort of lie is not going to make things healthy for you. You talk the Martian language, yet you are only half as tall as most Martians and less than an eighth of the average weight. How is this?”
I explained that I was a native of Earth who had lived on Mars for several years.
He looked at the others, and they talked.
“Belangor says it is possible. What is your name? Where on Mars do you live?”
I said that my name was Don Hargreaves, and that I was son-in-law to King Usulor, Emperor and Overlord of all Mars.
He laughed nastily.
“You can leave out those lies. Who sent you here?”
“Nobody. I got lost in an uninhabited cavern and came down your shaft to find help.”
“That sort of lie, Earthling, is not going to help you one little bit. Nobody has entered the cavern above our heads for a thousand years. Why should you enter it now? Who was with you?”
“I was alone,” I said, not wanting Vans to be caught.
“You crossed those great swamps and forests alone?”
“Yes.”
“And you came down the shaft alone?”
“Yes.”
“Now we know you are lying. No man like you could do all that without help. And we will use persuasion until we get the truth out of you.”
He reached for me. I dodged his hand. He frowned, reached again. I avoided him again.
The others were now coming forward, helping their friend get hold of me. But I always move too quickly for any lumbering giant of a Martian to get a grip on me. And I was too quick for these giants, too. I jumped clean over their heads, quite an easy feat in the light Martian gravity. Then, before they could collect their astonished wits, I ran through the nearest door.
THERE was no light outside the door. A long, straight cavern stretched before me with many doors. I went into the first. A bird cage hung about fifteen feet up. I jumped, caught the bars, opened the door and threw myself fiat on the floor of the cage.
But I had not thought about the bird. It was a four-legged green bird some three feet tall, and strongly objected, it appeared, to Earthlings entering its cage. It began to squawk and beat its wings nearly fast enough t
o blow my hair off with the wind it made.
A giant looked in, said something to the bird, and went out, looking for me. A search for me was in progress, voices shouting, feet running.
My hide-out would have been an excellent one, if it had not been for my companion. Presently it plucked up enough courage to make a sudden peck at my leg. The razor-sharp beak cut a piece out of my trouser-leg. If only I had had my sword I’d have taught him better manners. But, the way things were, I just couldn’t spare the time to fight that bird with my bare hands.
The bird was obviously getting ready for another peck. I opened the cage door and jumped out. That dratted bird, not satisfied with the damage he had already done, came blustering and squawking out, kicking up such a stink that loose feathers flew out of him all over the place.
I went out, feathered nuisance following. The passage was ablaze with light now, but for the moment empty. Excited voices were everywhere. I tried a door. Drat it! It had a queer lock I couldn’t turn. Someone was coming. I dashed through a door already half open.
I was back in the room from which I had originally escaped. Four giants were arguing earnestly, and luckily not looking my way. There was a large box on the floor, and, dashing to hide behind it, I found the back open and got inside. A lot of apparatus here gave a faint buzzing. Careful what you do, Don, I thought, or you will get yourself electrocuted.
But I still hadn’t got rid of that miserable bird. Presently the giants noticed it, and tried either to catch it or to drive it away. Anyway, it went away for the time being.
Then there was a lot of talking and coming and going by those giants and those queer flexible rubber-men. But they talked mostly in that strange language. I couldn’t get much idea of what was going on here.
Then, on a wheeled table, another giant was brought in, a giant in Martian clothes badly torn and stained with the slime and muck of a hard journey and grim battles. He was coiled from head to foot in rubber ropes.
The Complete Saga of Don Hargreaves Page 24
