The Complete Saga of Don Hargreaves

by Festus Pragnell

  “Or the army.”

  “Oh yes? And think how silly a man that size would look forming fours with three little chaps about your size! He’s more than four average Earthlings already.”

  Vans thinks that Earth armies do nothing but form fours, polish buttons and salute.

  “That might not stop him.”

  “Of course it would,” the enormous bone-head finished. “So Tony Galento can’t have joined up. And even if he’s got a fight just coming off, surely a bout with the Champion of Mars would be more important.”

  Once Vans gets an idea well fixed in his iron noddle I defy anybody to get it out except with a pneumatic drill. So in the end, when I had argued till my wind was nearly gone, I said, “All right. Leave it to me. I’ll find out. I’ll write to Earth.”

  He said, “All right.”

  But I might have known that with the thought of a fight in his head, the poor sap would never wait patiently for someone else to fix the details.

  And he didn’t.

  SEVERAL weeks later Vans came running to me and booming in his great voice, “Don! Don! Look at this!”

  I took the blue form from him. It was an Interplanetary Radio Message.

  “To Vans Holors, Champion Boaster and Bragger of Mars. Message begins. You had better stop shooting off your mouth mighty quick you little shrimp. Stop. Because I’m coming over to your world to smash you into little pieces. Stop. Two-ton Tony Galento. Message ends.”

  It bowled me over for a moment. “It’s worked! It’s worked,” chortled Vans in delight. “Now I shall get my fight!”

  “How did you get this?” I asked faintly.

  “I sent him a challenge. This is his answer. Champion Boaster and Bragger am I? I’ll show him! He may be a lot bigger than me, but I’ll wager I can show him a thing or two he does not know about fighting.”

  Well, there it was. And I couldn’t do anything to alter it now. If the fight was stopped now everybody would say Vans was yellow. Still, there was one consolation. Vans would not leave Mars for the fight. It was to be a home contest for him. And I admit I was a bit curious to see a two-ton Earthling myself.

  And, anyway, the Earth-Mars radio broke down that day. So, all we could do was to wait until Galento arrived.

  And we didn’t have long to wait, either. Galento must have dashed off his radio message and rushed straight to a space-ship just leaving for Mars. Because soon after, two brutal-looking fight promoters from Ossalandok came to fix the details.

  The fight was arranged for the very hall where Vans had fought his epic fight with the three-ton Martian, Hudells.

  CHAPTER II

  Getting Ready

  YOU can guess there was fuss. Sports writers ground out their blurb by the pailful. Galento was a bit of a mystery. All anybody here knew about him was that he had tried to win the Earth championship from Louis and failed. And, the interplanetary radio being still out of action, nobody could find out any more.

  Some writers doubted if an Earthling could really weigh two tons, but the few who had seen him in training said he looked as though he was even more than that. Others wondered if he would be handicapped by Martian rules, which allow you to do almost anything. But he seemed to take to them “like a native.” Some said he was used to the “sissy” Earth way of fighting a number of rounds with breaks in between. The Martian way of keeping right on without a pause until one or the other could not go on would be too much for him. But Galento’s wind was said to be “as sound as a Martian’s.”

  “Vans,” I said, “there is something queer about this fight.”

  “There will be something queer about Galento when I’ve done with him,” Vans answered.

  Then Wimpolo announced that she was going to see the fight.

  “I wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Oh, wouldn’t you?” she said. “Well, I would!”

  “But,” I argued, “that country is dangerous. Not long ago there was war between the king of Ossalandok and your father. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember. I’m going in disguise, fathead!”

  It was useless for me, a mere husband, to argue with her. Because being a Martian girl, she stands nearly ten feet tall and weighs half a ton. I’m only seven stone. I shall never forget the time when she put me in a pickle jar, corked it up and left me to get rescued by Vans. Since then, when I see that “pickle jar” look in her eyes, I pipe down.

  So I asked her what she was going to disguise herself as, and she just put on that cocky, mysterious “wouldn’t you just like to know?” air. I don’t believe she knew herself. Spoiled? I’ll say she’s been spoiled. But what can I do?

  So, time went on and I still hadn’t the foggiest idea what fool trick my great gawk of a wife was up to now.

  Anyway, Vans kept right on with his training, and telling everybody what he was going to do to Galento. Everything he said, of course, went straight to Galento’s training camp, and back would come the reply. Galento, it seemed, would not need a space-ship to take him back to Earth. Vans would throw him there. And Galento was going to tear out Vans’ liver and eat it.

  Some parts of the preparations I didn’t like. The riveting of steel points to the teeth for instance. But these were the only aids to nature allowed. Bare feet and bare hands was the rule. Otherwise knuckle-dusters and steel boots with points would finish the fight too quickly for the crowd.

  MY MARTIAN wife said no more about the fight. I thought she had forgotten it. Thank Heaven! As though she could disguise herself, with photographs of “Our Beautiful Princess” in every Martian paper! Beautiful! But I do not see her with Martian eyes. I suppose the Martians would wonder what on Earth we see in Sonia Henie and the rest. A jolly nice girl, mind you, excellent wife and all that, but certainly not beautiful. Not to my way of thinking, anyhow.

  Usually these pictures showed me sitting on her shoulder or her knee, or something just as daft. Some of them, were really too bad. The one where I had fallen into a waste-paper basket in a park and she is lifting me out by one foot for instance. Or when I climbed a tree to save a child’s ball and fell and she caught me. This sort of picture makes the future ruler of Mars look silly. I keep on saying so. But nobody takes any notice of me.

  Where had I got to? Oh, yes, about this fight. When it came off at last there I was, sitting in a ringside seat near Vans’ corner. Leastways, I suppose you’d call it a ringside seat, but this ring was really an octagon. More of a ring than the squares of rope I remember back on Earth, in a way. And these ropes they used here were live snakes.

  I looked round at all the big crowd, just as many women as men, and I proudly reflected that the women of Britain or America would never go to such a brutal, gory spectacle for amusement. Or would they?

  My eyes were close to the edge of the ring, and my view of the scrap was more of feet than of anything else, especially when they were close to me.

  Galento was certainly big. He looked a lot more than twice as heavy as Vans. I looked at him, the size of him, and the odd splay-footed way he walked. You know what I mean. When some people walk they throw their feet out sideways like a camel. Most Martians do.

  Well, Galento did that.

  Suddenly I said to myself, “That man’s no Earthling. He’s a Martian.” Somehow or other a Martian had got to Earth, passed himself off as an Earthling, and fought a fight for the heavyweight championship. Now he was back in his native world, and posing as an Earthling still so as to get a fight with the reigning champion.

  Or perhaps he had never been to Earth at all. Even a radio message can be faked. Especially seeing that communications had broken down and nothing could be verified.

  There was something crooked here. I thought of whispering a warning to Vans before the fight began. But what could I say to him? And what could he do now, anyway?

  It was too late. We had to go through with it.

  CHAPTER III

  Running Commentary

  Now I suppose you want me to tel
l you how the fight went. Afraid I’m not much good at that sort of thing, actually. I have often listened to radio accounts and read reporters’ stories of big scraps and, honestly, it beats me how they do it. When I watch a fight I can’t tell you what is happening. All I see is a lot of whirling arms and legs. And which arms belong to which man I can’t tell.

  Anyway, here is a copy of the Martian radio commentator’s account.

  “Well, here we are, male and female Martians, here we are! Before me is the ring which will soon be splattered with the blood of our champion, Vans Holors, and of the Earthling, Tony Galento, who has come all these millions of miles to be battered to pulp. Or so Vans Holors says. What does Galento say? Well, never mind. What we want from Galento are deeds, not words. If he can match his words with actions, then we shall see something worth seeing. I said, if.

  “Judging by the sleepy expression on his face it hardly looks as though he can be quite the he-man fighter he is supposed to be.

  “Nor Holors either, to be quite honest. Holors is sitting there with a wide happy grin on his face as though he hadn’t a care or an enemy in two worlds. I remember the champions we had before this one. He-man fighters, they were. They didn’t sit in their corners with silly grins on their faces. They were champions.

  “Ah! Holors jumped from his seat and made a dash at me then. Galento jumped up at the same time and met him. Work it off on Galento, Holors. Win the fight and I’ll take it all back.

  “The two men face each other in the center of the ring, showing their steel-pointed teeth. Not much action yet. Going to sleep where they stand, I think.

  “Ah! One of them moved then. Galento tried a quick stab with his left fist, missed and jumped back out of harm’s way. Careful, Galento! He might hurt you.

  “Ah! A sudden spring from Holors! He has jumped in the air. Good for you, Holors. That’s the spirit. Galento looking scared, manages to get the smaller man’s ankle in his hand. Holors kicks him in the face with his free heel. Beautiful!

  “They break apart.

  “They circle . . .

  “Holors has difficulty in getting at a much bigger and taller man. Funny isn’t it, when we are used to thinking of Earthlings as little men we can put in our vest pockets to find that Earth can also produce a man bigger than our biggest.

  “Galento tried a sudden kick. Holors dodged.

  “Oh, beautiful! Holors has dodged under the leg, run round Galento, jumped on his back, and is tearing at his throat with his steel-pointed teeth! Good for you! Don’t worry! Our surgeons can patch up any damage you do.

  “Galento pulls the smaller man off. Holors scores with both feet to the ribs.

  “They grapple and fall.

  “Galento is trying to gouge out Holors’ eyes. Careful, Galento, I say. Synthetic eyes are not so good as natural ones. The rules—Ah! Holors twists his head. Ah! I knew Galento was asking for trouble! One of his fingers is in Holors’ mouth. It is bitten off! Holors spits it out . . .

  “Holors, as you can see in the teleview, is scarcely marked, but Galento—No. Galento is not nearly so badly marked as I thought. Both the finger stump and the neck have stopped bleeding. Galento is still as full of fight as ever. Warming up, in fact.

  “His rushes make the smaller man run round the ring pretty lively. The crowd is getting impatient. I don’t blame Holors. This Earthling is three times his size and seems to take any imaginable punishment without noticing it. Holors’ fists and his heels have crashed into the bigger man in a hundred places, and there’s not a mark to show for it. Not a mark. This Earthling seems to have flesh of rubber, like the elastic men of Venus, and to be incapable of being hurt by the heaviest blows, or even by those tearing tigers’ teeth of Holors.

  “It is unbelievable. It is uncanny.

  “Holors looks to me to be tiring. He is slowing down. Galento keeps advancing, trying to grapple. When he gets hold of him squarely the smaller man will have no chance against his much greater weight . . .

  “AH! HOLORS springs on Galento’s back again. Going to try some more teeth work on the giant Earthling’s throat. He has done that a dozen times now, torn that great throat to ribbons, or so it looked, yet Galento has not a wound to show. And his finger! I thought Holors bit it off. But Galento now has all his ten fingers quite sound again.

  “It’s got me beat.

  “What’s this? Holors is trying something new. He seems to be trying to pull Galento’s head right off. Galento’s hands have found Holors’ head as Holors sits on his shoulders, and is trying to do the same, under difficulties.

  “Something has got to go now.

  “Both men strain with all the might of enormous muscles. Because Holors is enormous, although he looks small now against his colossal adversary.

  “Whooooooo!

  “Your forgiveness, male and female Martians. What I see now, what you all see, is so unbelievable that it takes my breath away. Galento’s neck is stretching! Under that terrible heave of Holors it has stretched nearly half a body length. (Five feet).

  “That makes Holors the winner. Our Champion wins. The doctors at the ringside get to their feet. Because when Galento falls they will have only a few seconds to work it to save his life.

  “No! By thunder no!

  “Galento’s head snaps back in place as Holors jumps off. He turns and rushes at Holors again. Holors, amazed, is nearly caught.

  “What is this? What manner of man is this Earthling, who cannot be injured and who never tires?

  “I don’t give much for Holors’ chances now. The champion of our planet has tried every trick he knows. They don’t work. This Earthling is a real superhuman being, proof against anything we can put against him.

  “Holors is still trying. Holors is not giving in. He won’t until he is unconscious. We all know our Vans. He’s no quitter.

  “He still dodges round Galento, sailing in with leaps, kicks and punches. Waste of time and strength, Vans. You are doing no good . . .

  “Being only one-third the size of Galento, Vans has to move three times as fast to make up for it. He has got to leap to reach Galento’s face. It is wearing him down . . .

  “Vans is pretty nearly done . . .

  “Now he runs right round Galento in one of those remarkably quick and clever runs of his. And is he quick and clever! But it is no use. A last effort, I think.

  “He is on Galento’s back again. More tooth work . . . No, he is trying the head pull again.

  “Will Galento’s neck stretch once more?

  “Ah, it does! Longer and longer!

  “The doctors crane forward, unable to believe that the Earthling can survive.

  “But he does.

  “Holors lets the head go back on the shoulders again. He jumps off. Galento rushes at him.

  “Why, what is this?

  “Galento rushed the wrong way!

  “Instead of rushing at Holors he rushed backwards, away from him. I don’t get it.

  “AH! I see! It’s all clear. Holors has put Galento’s head on again back to front! Galento’s face now stares out at his back. When he tries to go forward he goes the opposite way from the way he is looking.

  “Oh, that’s clever, Vans! That’s clever!

  “Now, unless Galento can put his head right he is helpless.

  “Holors, giving Galento not a moment’s peace, kicks and punches. Galento, head fixed the wrong way, can only kick backwards. It is very awkward for him.

  “The snakes that form the ring are getting very restless. One of them has unhooked itself and its head is actually lying on the floor of the ring. This is very bad. A contest of this importance, and the snakes won’t behave!

  “Holors has Galento’s foot in his mighty hands. He is heaving with all his strength. Galento is forced to stoop. Holors turns. Galento is forced to hop on one leg, round and round. Faster and faster.

  “Galento’s foot slips. He is off the ground. He is being whirled through the air round and round Holors’ head.


  “But what is this? Holors seems to be failing. The terrific whirl slows. Holors lets go. Galento flies through the air, crashing into the midst of the crowd. Work for the doctors there.

  “Holors reels against the snakes. What has happened to him? He looks nearly out.

  “Believe it or not, Galento has survived that awful crash. And fresh as ever. Unmarked too. Apart from the odd fact that his head faces his back and the back of his head is to the front, he might have begun the fight only this minute.

  “Awkwardly, because he has to walk backwards, he reaches the ring. The snakes unhook to let him in.

  “And now we see the latest turn in this astonishing contest. Galento approaches Holors as he leans against the snakes. Holors does not try to get away. His eyes are half closed. Galento, with his enemy behind his back yet in front of his face, plants three backward kicks in the middle of his body.

  “Holors is out.

  “Galento stops and thinks. Then he picks the helpless Holors up by one heel and throws him—straight up.

  “Up, up!

  “He’s gone through the roof.

  “What’s this now? A commotion at the ringside. An Earthling is jumping into the ring. This is all wrong.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Aftermath

  I DID not like the way that commentator jeered at the men to get them into a real killing fury. What that Martian crowd wanted was blood, and plenty of it. Bloodthirsty lot of cannibals, if you ask me.

  But it was odd the way Holors could bash and tear that uncanny giant and not hurt him. I saw Galento’s little finger bitten off, I saw it fall on the ring floor and a snake swallow it. And five minutes later that Giant had grown a new finger. The same with the damage done to his neck. It just repaired itself in a little while. By rights that neck should have been a really nasty mess. Something to satisfy even that Martian crowd’s thirst for blood.

  But it wasn’t. It was undamaged.

  Then the way Galento’s neck stretched. Like a piece of chewing-gum. And when Vans let it go it just snapped back to normal, Galento shook his head, the bones snapped into place, and Galento was as good as new and rushing at Vans again.