Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Planet Stories July 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
MASTER of the MOONDOG
By STANLEY MULLEN
_Idiotic pets rate idiotic masters. Tod Denver and Charley, the moondog, made ideal companions as they set a zigzag course for the Martian diggings--paradise for fools._
* * * * *
It was Charley's fault, of course; all of it....
Temperature outside was a rough 280 degrees F., which is plenty roughand about three degrees cooler than Hell. It was somewhere over theLunar Appenines and the sun bored down from an airless sky like anunshielded atomic furnace. The thermal adjustors whined and snarledand clogged-up until the inside of the space sled was just bearable.
Tod Denver glared at Charley, who was a moondog and looked like one,and Charley glared back. Denver was fond of Charley, as one might beof an idiot child. At the moment they found each in the other'sdoghouse. Charley had curled up and attached himself to the instrumentpanel from which be scowled at Denver in malignant fury.
Charley was a full-grown, two yard-long moondog. He looked like anoversized comma of something vague and luminous. At the head end hewas a fat yellow balloon, and the rest of him tapered vaguely to ablunt apex of infinity. Whatever odd forces composed his weirdphysiology, he was undoubtedly electronic or magnetic.
In the physically magnetic sense, he could cling for hours to anymetallic surface, or at will propel himself about or hang suspendedbetween any two or more metallic objects. As to his personality, hewas equally magnetic, for wherever Denver took him he attractedcurious stares and comments. Most people have never seen a moondog.Such creatures, found only on the moons of Saturn, are too rare to beencountered often as household or personal pets.
But Tod Denver had won Charley in a crap game at Crystal City; andthereafter found him both an inseparable companion and exasperatingresponsibility. He had tried every available means to get rid ofCharley, but without success. Either direct sale or horse-trade proveduseless. Charley liked Denver too well to put up with less interestingowners so Charley always came back, and nearly always accompanied byprofanity and threats. Charley was spectacular, and a monstrous carebut Denver ended by becoming fond of the nuisance. He would miss theradiant, stupid and embarrassingly affectionate creature.
Charley had currently burned out a transformer by some careless andexuberant antic; hence the mutual doghouse. Scolding was wastedeffort, so Denver merely sighed and made a face at Charley.
"Mad dogs and Martians go out in the Lunar sun," he sang as apunishment. Charley recognized only the word "dog" but he consideredthe song a personal insult; as if Denver's singing were not sufficientpunishment for a minor offense. Charley was irritated.
Charley's iridescence flickered evilly, which was enough toshort-circuit two relays and weld an undetermined number of hotswitches. Charley's temper was short, and short-circuiting allelectrical units within range was mere reflex.
Tod Denver swore nobly and fluently, set the controls onautomatic-neutral and tried to localize the damage. But for Charleyand his overloaded peeve, they would have been in Crystal City insidethe hour.
So it was Charley's fault, of course; all of it....
* * * * *
It was beyond mere prank. Denver calculated grimly that his isolatedsuit would hold up less than twenty minutes in that noon infernooutside before the stats fused and the suiting melted and ran off himin droplets of metal foil and glass cloth. The thermal adjustors werealready working at capacity, transmitting the light and heat thatfiltered through the mirror-tone hull into stored, useful energy.Batteries were already overcharged and the voltage regulators snappedon and off like a crackling barrage of distant heat-guns.
Below was a high gulch of the Lunar Appenines, a pattern of dazzlingglare and harsh moonshadows. Ramshackle mine-buildings ofprefabricated plastic straggled out from the shrouding blackness undera pinnacled ridge. Denver eyed the forbidding terrain withhair-raising panic. He checked the speed of the racing space sled,circled once, and tried to pick out a soft spot. The ship swooped downlike a falling rock, power off. Denver awaited the landing shock.
It was rough. Space was too cramped and he overshot his plannedlanding. The spacer set down hard beyond the cleared strip, raisingspurting clouds of volcanic ash which showered his view-ports inblinding glare.
Skids shrilled on naked rock, causing painful vibrations in the cabin.Denver wrenched at controls, trying to avoid jagged tongues of brokenlava protruding above the dust-floor. Sun-fire turned the disturbeddust into luminous haze blanketing ship and making vision impossible.The spacer ground to an agonized stop. Denver's landing was rough buthe still lived.
He sat blankly and felt cold in the superheated cabin. It was nice andsurprising to be alive. Without sustaining air the dust settled almostinstantly. Haze cleared outside the ports.
Charley whined eagerly. He detached himself from the tilting controlpanel and sailed wildly about like a hydrophobic goldfish in a bowl ofwater. A succession of spitting and crackling sounds poured from himas he batted his lunatic face to the view-ports to peer outside.Pseudo-tendrils formed around his travesty of mouth, and he wrinkledhis absurd face into yellow typhoons of excitement. This was fun.Let's do it again!
Denver grunted uncomfortably. He studied the staggering scene of Lunarlandscape without any definite hope. Something blazing from the peakof the largest mine-structure caught his eye. With a snort of bitterdisgust he identified the dazzle.
Distress signals in Interplanetary Code! That should be very helpfulunder the poisonous circumstances. He swore again, numbly, but withdeep sincerity.
Charley danced and flicked around the cabin like a free electron witha careless disregard for traffic regulations and public safety. It waswordless effort to express his eagerness to go outside and explorewith Denver.
In spite of himself, Tod Denver grinned at the display.
"Not this time, Charley. You wait in the ship while I take a quicklook around. From the appearance of things, I'll run into troubleenough without help from you."
The moondog drooped from disappointment. With Charley, any emotionalways reached the ultimate absurdity. He was a flowing, flexiblephantom of translucent color and radiance. But now the colors fadedlike gaudy rags in caustic solution. Charley whined as Denver wentthrough the grotesque ritual of donning space helmet and zipping uphis glass cloth and metal foil suiting before he dared ventureoutside. Charley even tried to help by pouring himself through thestale air to hold open the locker where the tool-belts and holsteredheat guns were kept.
Space suiting bulged with internal pressure as Denver slid through theairlock and left the ship behind. Walking carefully against thetreachery of moonweak gravity, he made cautious way up the slopetoward the clustered buildings. Footing was bad, with the feeling oftreading upon brittle, glassy surfaces and breaking through to buryhis weighted shoes in inches of soft ash. A small detour was necessaryto avoid upthrusting pinnacles of lavarock. In the shadow of theseoutcroppings he paused to let his eyes adjust to the brilliance ofsunlight.
A thin pencil-beam of light stabbed outward from behind the nearerbuilding. Close at hand, one of the lava-needles vanished in soundlessdisplay of mushrooming explosion. Sharp, acrid heat penetrated eventhe insulating layers of suit. A pressure-wave of expanding gasstaggered him before it dissipated.
Den
ver flung himself instinctively behind the sheltering rocks. Prone,he inched forward to peer cautiously through a V-cleft between twojagged spires. Heat-blaster in hand, he waited events.
Again the beam licked out. The huddle of lava-pinnacles became a coreof flaming destruction. Half-molten rock showered Denver's precariousrefuge. He ducked, unhurt, then thrust head and gun-arm above thebarricade.
* * * * *
Two dark figures, running awkwardly, detached themselves from thehuddled bulk of buildings. Like leaping, fantastic shadows, theyscampered toward the mounds of deep shadow beneath the ridge. Theroute took them away from Denver, making aim difficult. He firedtwice, hurriedly. Missed. But near misses because he had not focusedfor such range.
By the time he could reset the weapon, the scurrying figures haddisappeared into the screening puddles of shadow. Denver tried todistinguish them against the blackness, but it lay in solid, coveringmass at the base of a titanic ridge. Faintly he could see a ghostlyoutline, much too
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