by Harl Vincent
Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Vulcan's Workshop
By Harl Vincent
Transcriber's Note: This e-text was produced from Astounding Stories,June, 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Savagely cursing, Luke Fenton reeled backward from the porthole, hisgreat hairy paws clapped over his eyes. No one had warned him, and hedid not know that total blindness might result from gazing too earnestlyinto the sun's unscreened flaming orb, especially with that body notmore than twenty million miles distant in space.
[Sidenote: Mighty Luke Fenton swaggers defiantly in Vulcan's Workshop,most frightful of Martian prisons.]
He did not know, in fact, that the ethership was that close: Luke hadnot the faintest notion of the vast distances of the universe or of theabsence of air in space which permitted the full intensity of thedazzling rays to strike into his optics unfiltered save by the thick butclear glass which covered the port. He knew only that the sun, evidentlyvery near, was many times its usual size and of infinitely greaterbrilliance. And he was painfully aware of the fact that thefantastically enlarged and blazing body had seared his eyeballs andcaused the floating black spots which now completely obscured hisvision.
Stumbling in his blindness, he fell across the hard cot that was thesole article of furniture in the cell he had occupied for more than twoweeks. Lying there half dazed and with splitting head, he cursed theguard who had opened the inner cover of the port; cursed anew thefish-eyed Martian judge who had sentenced him to a term in Vulcan'sWorkshop.
Several of Luke's thirty-eight years had been spent in jails and sundryother penal institutions devised by Earthman and Martian for thepunishment of offenders against the laws of organized society. And yetthey had failed to break his defiant spirit or to convince him of theinfallibility of his creed that might makes right. Nor had they takenfrom him the gorillalike strength that was in his broad squat body, themagnificent brute lustihood that made him a terror to police and citizenalike. Instead, the many periods of incarceration had only served toincrease his hatred of mankind and his contempt of the forces of law andorder. Especially was he contemptuous of the book-learning that gave theauthorities their power.
As the pain back of his eyes abated, Luke could see dimly the shaft oflight that slanted down from the porthole to the bare steel floor. Hissight was returning, yet he lay there still, growling in his throat, hismind occupied with thoughts of his checkered past.
* * * * *
Steel-worker, mechanic, roustabout, he had worked in most of thepopulous cities of Earth and had managed to get into serious troublewherever he went. It was his boast that he had never killed a man exceptin fair fight. And yet, at thirty, finding himself wanted by the policeof a half dozen cities of Earth, he had signed up in the black gang of atramp ethership bound for Mars, knowing he would never return and caringnot at all.
At first, he had been riotously happy in the changed life on the newworld. There had been plenty of soul-satisfying brawls and plenty ofchulco, the fiery Martian distillate. On his many and frequent jobsthere were excellent opportunities to rebel against authority, and hehad fomented numerous mutinies in which he was always victorious butwhich usually landed him in one of the malodorous Martian jails for amore or less extended stay.
Then had come that final fracas in the Copau foundry on the bank ofCanal Pyramus. Overly optimistic, Luke's new boss had struck out at thechunky, red-headed Earthman during an inconsequential argument and hadpromptly measured his length in a sand pile as a hamlike fist crashedhome in return. They had picked up the foreman and taken him to theinfirmary where it was found that his skull was fractured and that hehad little chance for life. There were the red police after that, andLuke, single-handed, trounced four of them so soundly and thoroughlythat someone sent in a riot call. It had taken a dozen of the reservesto club him into submission at the last.
That was too much for Martian justice. In pronouncing sentence the judgehad termed Luke an incurably vicious character and a menace to societysuch as the planet had never harbored. And Luke, his head swathed inbandages from which his wiry red hair bristled like the comb of agamecock, had grinned evilly and snarled his defiance.
And so they were taking him to the dread prison camp known as Vulcan'sWorkshop, a mysterious place of horror and hardship from which noconvict had ever returned. Vaguely Luke knew that it was located onstill another world, away off somewhere in the heavens. He had seen thelips of men go white when they were condemned to its reputed torture,had heard them plead for death in preference. Yet its terrors had notawed him; they did not awe him now. He had beaten the law before; he'dbeat it again--even in Vulcan's Workshop.
* * * * *
A key rattled in the lock and Luke Fenton leaped to his feet, facing thebarred door with feet spread wide and with his massive shoulders hunchedexpectantly. He could see now, with much blinking and watering of hisstill aching eyes, and he looked out with sneering disapproval at thethree guards in the corridor. They were afraid of him, singly, theseMartian cops, even though armed with the deadly dart guns and withshot-loaded billies. So afraid, Luke chuckled inwardly, that they hadkept him from the other prisoners throughout the trip, kept him insolitary confinement.
The door was opening and it came to Luke that the ethership wasstrangely and hollowly silent. The rocket tubes were stilled, that wasit, and even the motors that drove the great ventilating fans had beenstopped. They had arrived.
No time now to start anything. He would have to submit tamely towhatever they might mete out to him in the way of punishment--until hegot the lay of the land. It would require some time to study things outand to plan. But plan he would, and act; they'd never hold him hereuntil he died of whatever it was that killed men quickly in Vulcan'sWorkshop. Not Luke Fenton.
Sullenly docile, he was prodded forward to the air-lock. A draft of hotfetid air swept through the corridor, carrying with it the forewarningof unspeakable things to come. And a shriek of mortal terror wafted infrom outside by the stinking breeze, told of some poor devil alreadydemoralized. The thick muscles of Luke's biceps tightened to hard knotsunder his black prison jacket.
* * * * *
They were outside then and Luke essayed a deep breath, a breath that waschokingly acrid in his throat.
"Waugh!" he coughed, and spat. One of the guards laughed.
Any foul epithet that might have formed on Fenton's lips was forgottenin the sight that met his eyes. A barren and rugged terrain stretchedout from the landing stage, a land utterly desolate of vegetation andincapable of supporting life. Pockmarked with craters and seamed withyawning fissures from which dense vapors curled, it was seemingly devoidof habitation. And the scene was visible only in the lurid half light offlame-shot mists that hung low over all. In the all too near distance,awesomely vast and ruddy columns of fire rose and fell with monotonousregularity. For the first time, Luke experienced something of thesuperstitious fear exhibited by even the most hardened criminals whenfaced with a term at Vulcan's Workshop. That term, to them, meant horrorand misery, torture and swift death. And he, too, was ready to believeit now.
He was prodded down an incline that led from the landing stage to therocks below. The guards from the ethership, he saw, remained behind onthe platform and there were new guards awaiting him below. Huskyfellows, these were, in strange bulky clothing and armed with thehighest powered dart guns. The other prisoners from the vessel werealready down there, a huddled and frightened mass--a squashed pile,almost--silent now and watchful of their jailers.
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br /> * * * * *
"Come on, show some speed, tough guy!" a guard yelled from the foot ofthe runway. "Think this is a reception?"
Another of the guards guffawed hoarsely, and Luke choked back theblasting retort that rose in his throat. Plenty of time yet before he'dbe ready to make things hot for those birds.
The runway, he observed, was a strip of yielding metal that glowedfaintly with an unnatural greenish light. He was nearing its lower endwhen the siren of the ethership shrieked and he heard the clang of theouter door of its air-lock as it swung to its seat.
Then he stepped out to the smooth stone slab on which the nearest of theguards was standing. Immediately it was as if a tremendous weight wasflung upon him, bearing him down until his knees buckled beneath him. Hewas rooted to the spot by an enormous force which dragged at his vitalsand weighted his limbs to leaden uselessness. With a mighty effort heraised his head to look up into the grinning yellow face of the
