Collected Tales (Jerry eBooks)

by Leslie F Stone

  Eyes blurred with the sweat of his gigantic effort, he felt rather than saw the bar. The lightest of taps started it oscillating and he almost screamed with joy when he found the pressure subsiding. Soon, he was feeling normal again.

  The others were rising to their feet; George climbed the adjoining strap to his side. “We’ve done it! We’ve done it!” came the cries from all sides, as they forgot the ordeal they had just experienced, staring with fascinated eyes at the copper ball rolling off to the right, its form becoming more evidently diminishing. They had left Mars behind—were in free space!

  For a while George eyed the oscillating bar. Then he spoke. “Now what?” he wanted to know. “How do we guide this thing?”

  Brett pointed to the bar. “Mister swung that right or left—but your guess is as good as mine. Where is Earth?”

  Together they looked into the great panorama of the firmament spread out before them like a great black velvet mantle dotted with multicolored jewels. The sun glowered at them like an evil enraged eye.

  “There’s the sun, directly ahead. Ugh what a furnace. Earth must show somewhere in its vicinity—with Mercury and Venus. We ought to know it because it will show its phases to Mars, like the moon does to Earth . . .”

  “Righto . . . There—see that pale green star there—see, about a degree beyond the silver crescent—in half-moon. That’s Earth, George, I know it is!”

  George studied thoughtfully, turning now and then to eye other glittering objects round about. After a while he was ready to conclude that the greenish half-moon was Earth, the silvery body below it, Venus. “If only we could see the moon alongside, we could be certain.”

  On the floor beneath them was Forrest listening to their conversation. Suddenly he cried out. “There it is! See that faint glow of light along the dark side? It’s the moon—LUNA!”

  They, too, found the light-glow he spoke of, showing faintly along the planet’s limb. It was sufficient to convince them that the pale green planet was Earth. But how to head their ship in that direction was their quandary. It seemed that the ship lay in a course diagonally across the heavens.

  Tentatively Brett touched the oscillating red bar fearing to halt it altogether, but it did not stop as it moved in its socket. They waited breathlessly. “It’s working . . .” cried George, “only we’re swinging more directly toward the sun . . .”

  Again Brett pushed the stick ever so slightly. Again they waited. The sky seemed to swing around them as the green half-moon moved slowly until it lay directly in their path. Those below who had listened quietly to the pair of engineers cheered, certain now that their pilots were to bring them home—safely.

  “Guess there’s nothing else to do here now, Brett. Might as well climb down and let the ship do the rest . . .”

  But Brett thought differently. “No, one of us must stay on duty at all times—to keep an eye on the ‘stick.’ We can know if the ship leaves her course by centering Earth just above the plaque. See that little finger-like piece sticking up? We’ll go by that. Right now it cuts Earth in half.”

  “All right. I’ll take the first trick.”

  Of those aboard, only McCarthy possessed a watch that ran, since it was encased in a water-proof jacket. Now he wound it up. George was to take a four-hour shift, then Brett would relieve him, trying to get some sleep in the meantime.

  As he slid down the strap Brett found Dell awaiting him. “You’ve been wonderful,” she averred. “If only we could have saved the children, everything would be top-hole.”

  Brett waved aside her congratulations. “We’re not there yet,” he pointed out. He was sorry as soon as he had said that, but he needed something to cover up his embarrassment. And Dell understood. She chuckled happily. “Do you know—when we do get home, I’m going to start a movement to release every pet in the land!”

  “Now I know what it means to a dumb brute thrown in with creatures whose language is not its language, who make their will its will.”

  “I guess there’s a lot in that—not being able to talk back. God knows it’s been a horrible enough experience for all of us.” He wanted to say more, but he seemed to be going to sleep on his feet. The girl noticed his discomfort, and suggested that he rest. He scarcely knew that he lay down, falling asleep almost as soon as he reached the bare floor. He hadn’t had any sleep to mention in the last three or four days. But it seemed almost immediately that they were waking him again. Someone was shaking his shoulder, crying in his ear. “Brett, Brett—wake up. The DECAPODS HAVE CAPTURED US!”

  CHAPTER X

  SLEEP was immediately banished. Rising to his feet he stared out of the ship’s transparent wall, to behold an awesome sight. For there—scarcely a thousand yards away, loomed the great drum-ship of the Decapods.

  “They’re dragging us back to Mars!”

  The men were grim-faced, the women in tears. Mattie was moaning and praying at the same time.

  A glance told him it was true. Far more swiftly than they had come, the drum-ship was dragging them back, away from the sun, away from the Earth, back toward Mars . . . There was no visible grapple, but such a bond existed now between the two ships nevertheless.

  In terse words George told what had happened. How, suddenly, the huge ship had come upon them, invisible until it was quite close; then the sun glinting on its golden sides appraised them of its proximity. But they hadn’t realized, at first, that it had them in its grip.

  Brett climbed to the controls to see that nothing had been touched, only now the oscillating bar was swinging aimlessly back and forth. For a moment he studied the bank of controls, a row of buttons whose purpose he did not know. He pointed these out to George. “Shall we try them? No telling what they’re intended for . . .”

  George agreed. “I thought of them, yet was afraid to try them out.”

  “It can’t hurt to try. Death awaits us on Mars. I’m going to try this first green button here. Hold on . . . And as he spoke he pressed the first of a row of six green buttons that studded the bottom of the control bank.

  Breathlessly they waited. Nothing happened!

  “Wrong,” muttered Brett, and he pressed the second.

  “THEY’RE FALLING BEHIND!” went up the cry in the ship.

  Looking around Brett saw this was true. It appeared that they were stationary, that the larger ship was rapidly dwindling in size. “Whatever you did,” cried George jubilantly, “you’ve counteracted their power . . .” Then—”Good Lord—here they come back!”

  As he cried out the enemy grew larger, racing down upon them.

  Brett gave his full attention to the controls, again twisting the three great knobs to the full extent of their thread, then he juggled the “stick,” until Earth once more lay directly in their path. Difficult though it was to judge their rate of acceleration, it seemed that their own ship gained on the other, the growth of the pursuer being less rapid than before. Still it was evident that the drum-ship possessed a greater speed, eating up the short advantage they had gained almost immediately.

  “Well,” he said somberly. “I guess there’s nothing else to do but try the rest of the buttons. Here goes.”

  As he spoke he depressed the third button! A cry of astonishment went up in the ship. They could no longer see outside; they were enveloped in a hazy aura that enclosed the entire machine. And the next instant the whole ship rocked, seemed to tilt—then righted itself.

  THEY waited, and again there came a rocking that ceased after a few moments. When the third rocking came and passed, Brett cried out: “They’re firing upon us from the big ship . . .”

  As if to prove his words their ship rocked again. After that, however, it did not come again, though five, ten minutes passed.

  “Think they’ve given up?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t like this fog around us. Wonder what the next button will do?”

  “Try it,” ordered George.

  This time the haze faded away; again they could see the Void where
in the drum-ship loomed like a great evil eye a thousand yards behind.

  “LOOK OUT! THEY’RE GOING TO FIRE AGAIN!”

  Brett had seen the pencil of light leave the ship’s side even as George yelled, and at the same time he punched the third button again. Immediately they were reenveloped in the haze that was like a shining white fog. The rocking was heavier than before, tossing the machine around like a cork.

  “I’ve got it! This haze is a power screen to protect us from their rays. Wonder if this ship’s got one of those rays?”

  “THE FIFTH BUTTON!” declared George.

  Brett nodded. “Yeah—but how do we use it?”

  “Their ray seems to come directly from the front of their ship—perhaps, if we turned around . . .?”

  Brett lost no time in acting on the suggestion, shoving the oscillating stick about. They could feel no movement, but when he had the stick pointing at right-angles to its former position he depressed the button that dissolved the power screen, keeping a finger close to the accompanying button in case the drum-ship had the march on them.

  It lay in the same position as before, its very presence a menace, but Brett found that their ship was somewhat off center. Again he moved the “stick,” bringing the control panel in direct line with the big ship.

  Then, his hand went to the fifth button on the panel before him. And at the same time the drum-ship struck.

  A cry went up from the watchers. Some covered their faces with their hands, others stared, grim-faced, waiting . . .

  The two rays had met. Almost in dead center between the ships. There was a terrific flash of lurid, evil light, though no sound came to them in that soundless void. Brett did not wait as he flashed on their power screen once again.

  He waited a reasonable time before lifting the screen. George was ready to depress the beam button, so that almost simultaneously, with the flashing out of the screen, the pencil ray cut the blackness.

  A shout went up in the little ship as the long light-beam impinged itself upon the shell of the decapods’ ship, but Brett did not wait to learn the result, hiding their ship immediately within their protective cloud. He let five minutes go before he dared look out.

  The big ship was still there, its distance greater, however, although it was unscathed, wrapped now in a dense brilliant cloud that sparkled like diamond facets in the sun’s rays that it had imprisoned.

  Disappointment filled the hearts of the Earthlings as Brett again re-enveloped them in their own screen. “There’s nothing to be done,” he admitted, “but to go on. As long as we have the screen we’re safe, and vice-versa. We’ll turn about and try to head for home . . .”

  As he spoke he pressed the “stick” back to its original position, releasing the screen long enough to center the focus of the ship on the green half-moon that was “home.” A glance backward showed that the enemy was still clothed in its fog.

  HE ordered George to get some rest, suggesting that it was time for the serving of some food. Jerry had pilfered half a dozen scoops, the only ones within reach when they raided the dining hall, and the Earthlings lined up for their rations. When they had all eaten sparingly, those who could bring themselves to compose their minds for sleep, did so, disposing themselves as best they could on the bare floor. The women gathered in the adjoining room for what little privacy it offered them with only a transparent wall between.

  Brett slid down his strap to the floor. Forrest came to his side. “Gee, Mr. Rand, you were great. You know this is just like the stories I read, only I wish you could have gotten that ole ship out there . . .”

  “I wish so too, but it looks like stale-mate for the present. No use risking ourselves. Later, perhaps, they’ll grow careless.”

  He looked around for Dell, and saw her in the other room bending over one of the women. Walking to the small machines in the center of the ship he studied them speculatively. From them came the soft throb that filled the air, yet he could see no moving parts. Then, for the first time he noticed a feature he had not seen before.

  In the floor was a circular disk, about four feet in diameter. In its center was a smaller disk set below the floor’s level. Hesitantly he reached out a hand to touch it. And at his touch the whole piece of the larger disk moved aside, revealing a circular chamber about a foot deep. On its floor was a second knob like the one on the plate above.

  “I wonder,” he said aloud, and looked for something detachable upon his person. A button on his sleeve filled his want, and he tugged until it came free. Laying it on the lower disk, he closed the upper one and waited, but nothing happened. Through the transparent metal he could see the button lying as he had placed it.

  “Must be some sort of control . . .” he muttered. “Ah—here it is . . .” He had discovered a tiny lever, scarcely an inch long imbedded in the knob, and he shoved it over with his thumb. Staring through the top disk he saw the floor beneath fall away, revealing the emptiness of Space. The button slid off the disk, and then the contraption closed automatically with a snap.

  “An air-lock!” he mused. “Gosh, had I found that before, I’d have known for certain this ship was air-tight. A nice little arrangement to throw away trash.

  Several hours later he climbed to the control panel. Releasing the fog screen a minute he verified their course, replacing the screen again. A single glance behind revealed the decapods’ ship still wrapped in its protective shroud of glistening light. Then his eye fell upon the sixth button of the series that had proven so providential. What, he wondered, would that button do?

  After a moment’s hesitation he decided to risk it, and pressed the key. To his surprise a small circular portion of the panel slid to one side revealing a smooth polished surface on which dots of light shone. A startled glance showed him a greenish half-moon held in dead-center of the disk. He almost shouted with joy! No longer need he switch off their power screen to determine their position, for this was no less than a vision-screen. They no longer were flying blind!

  CHAPTER XI

  HOURS slipped by. George awakened, and most of the others roused themselves. They dined again, and George took his place before the controls. Brett suggested now that they give the women more privacy than they had. He had noticed a number of hooks stuck in the partitioning wall, and decided that a screen could be provided if each man relinquished either his suit coat or outershirt. It was warm in the ship, and they would not need them. Mrs. White-Smythe contributed her suit coat, and Mrs. Burton had a silk jacket, so that a sizable curtain could be hung by means of one of the “dog-leashes” across the wall.

  “Now, if we had some water, we could make ourselves half-way presentable,” observed Dell looking at her unwashed hands.

  “We’ve got water,” declared Forrest. “One of those tubs is full. Shake it, and you can hear it gurgle . . .”

  A rush was made toward the cask he designated. The top was pried off (a small handle was provided on each tub for that purpose) and sure enough water was found within.

  Brett considered. Their food precluded the need of drinking water, yet the very sight of it made him thirsty. He saw several people running a tongue over their lips. They would all enjoy a cooling drink. But he shook his head. He feared that once they started on the water, they would want more and more, and one barrel would not last long. Yet, they’d all feel better if they could lave their dry skins. He explained all this, but there was only one dissenter. It was Congressman Howell.

  “Since when are you giving orders, Mr. Rand?” he wanted to know. “I don’t recall any election of officers for this cruise . . .”

  Brett looked up in surprise. There had been no selection of officers, and actually there seemed no need. He had simply taken the lead up to this point, because it seemed the only natural thing to do, especially since no one else had demanded the job.

  A deep silence followed Howell’s words. Brett started to answer. “You’re right, of course, I . . .”

  But he got no further. It was the Mili
tant Matron who spoke up. “I think Mr. Rand’s done an excellent job of it so far, Congressman, and if there’s any point in electing him—I, for one, cast my vote for him. Without him, we’d still be back there—on Mars.” (So she admitted the truth now.) “He’s been the only man here with guts—yes, I said guts—to rescue us, and I think he should be our captain. How ‘bout it, folks?”

  She turned to the others, and her response was a cheer from all sides. Disgruntled Howell slipped away.

  Taking turns with the five food scoops (the sixth was used as a ladle) each man and woman received their water ration. They could do no more than wet their faces and hands with it. However, one of the women had the brilliant idea of dumping all their water into the air-lock receptacle in their room (a second lock had since been found in that chamber) and using the combined water to wash out such clothing as they could manage.

  Brett in the meantime ran his hand through his straggly beard as he waited his water ration, wishing for a razor to remove it. But he knew, or thought there wasn’t one in the crowd; that is until Forrest sidled over to him.

  “Want a razor, Mr. Rand?”

  Brett looked up and grinned.

  “I got one,” admitted the boy in a whisper as he ran a hand over his virgin chin. “Some older fellows were kidding me ‘bout not shaving yet—back home, you know. So the day the decapods came—I had bought a razor. I—I thought I’d shave and make the hair grow.

  “I never said anything about it before, ‘cause I thought I’d get laughed at, but if you told ‘em I bought it for my dad . . .”

  The man could have hugged him. The razor, an ordinary safety affair was rusted, but he did not care. He almost shouted when Forrest brought out a tube of shaving cream that all this while had reposed in his pocket.

  The others crowded around, begging for next go. Forrest insisted his hero have the first shave, the others, he said with a negligent wave of his hand, could draw straws for it—or something.