by Earl
Don Mason, hearing this prophetic recital, shuddered to the core of his being. Had the brain of Dr. Knurd, divorced from its true body, also renounced all claim to human feeling? The robot-master’s voice droned on. “Those cannon could defeat us, you know. And those stinging aircraft with their powerful guns, if we were so rash as to attack unprepared. All mankind will unite against us. They have great armies and tremendous combined forces. The paralysis-ray that Walsh and Hapgood developed is useless except at short range. Also their heat-beam. Without your metal-germ culture, we would not be able to defeat mankind, in the long run. On with your work, Professor.”
HARKMAN’S jointed arm clinked against his cylindrical head in a salute. Then he left, through a door that seemed like the opening of half the wall, to Don Mason. The robot of Dr. Knurd bent over charts on the table.
Mason tried to clarify his thoughts in the silence. It was starkly simple, though almost unbelievable. Dr. Knurd and his group were out to conquer humanity, in the shortest possible time. They had not only endurable metal bodies and two powerful weapons, but would soon have the Jovian offensive force of the metallic germ-culture.
The door opened again and another coppery-red robot stalked in, saluting Knurd. Following was a third robot, which came up with slow, almost faltering steps.
“Here is the new menial,” announced the first robot.
“Oh, yes,” grated Knurd’s microphonic voice. “You have worked fast, Yorsky. Good.”
The famous Russian surgeon, Dr. Yorsky—the third of Knurd’s clique of five great minds! Mason grew bitter at the thought of such sparkling intellects pooling their genius in this unworthy cause.
The gleaming lenses of Knurd’s robot-body turned to survey the third robot.
“Can you hear me, Dr. Montry?” Knurd asked.
“Yes, I hear you,” returned the other robot in a hoarse mutter, as though unused to its new organs of metal.
Blood ran down Don Mason’s lips as he bit them to keep from crying aloud. Dr. Montry! But he was no longer the human Dr. Montry. His brain had been transplanted into a robot body! This man who had so lately been a living, breathing being at his side, was now another of the inhuman monsters of metal. Mason felt as if all the universe had turned upside down.
Then he began to wonder how long he had been unconscious, if the operation had been performed in the meantime. For days? Or more likely the transplanting process had been shortened to a few hours by Yorsky’s technique. In Russia, he had performed brain operations in half the time any other surgeon could. Mason turned his attention back to the robots.
“You hear me,” continued Knurd, “and you will always obey me! I am the robot-master. You have been made a menial-robot, Dr. Montry, since I know you would never willingly serve me. I hated to have it done, since you have a wonderful mind. Your brain has been reduced, in capacity. It is a delicate operation that the skillful Dr. Yorsky performs so well. One little cerebral nerve twisted aside and the entire prefrontal cortex is short-circuited. You have no voluntary powers—only the ability to obey orders. The occupants of three other ships that foundered here—under the influence of our paralysis-ray—have been made menial-robots also. Only the original five of us are master-robots. We will rule the world, when the time comes!”
Knurd went on, tauntingly.
“You have had a great part in this venture, Dr. Montry, though unwittingly. Our first discovery—of a solution in which the naked brain could live and transmit nerve-impulses—was the start of it all. I thought of a robot-race right away. Why have ailing, mortal bodies when you could have immortal metal ones? I contacted my four famous colleagues and they finally agreed. We pooled resources, came to this island, and carried out our plans.
“We became robots. We had perfected the robot mechanism elaborately. Powerful batteries supply power. We have far more strength and powers at the disposal of our controlling brains than we had with our normal bodies. We found our mental processes working better, too, unhindered by biological vagaries. We developed the paralysis-ray, the heat-beam, the brain-reducing method for menials, and a metallic germ-culture which will defeat mankind’s armies. We will have complete control, for ages!”
DR. MONTRY made no denunciation. Don Mason realized he couldn’t. His brain had been reduced and lacked voluntary powers. Dr. Montry could hear and understand, but he couldn’t denounce or defy. He could only obey, as a virtual slave. It was a horrible fate that Mason realized might soon be his and Helen’s. Was this why they had first been reduced in size?
“You may go, Dr. Montry,” commanded Knurd. “Go to Harkman’s laboratory and help him for the present.”
The robot of Dr. Montry left without a word.
Knurd spoke to Yorsky. “Make the members of the yacht’s crew into menials. We can use them.”
“How about those two?” Yorsky pointed to Mason and Helen.
“No,” returned Knurd. “I’m going to use them in a test. I’ve been trying to make an organic germ-culture more virulent than any known human disease. In case our other methods fail to subdue mankind, I’ll loose this germ among them and bring them to terms.”
The robot-body of Yorsky left.
Knurd glanced at Mason and Helen and then at several culture jars on his work table. Mason realized there wasn’t much time. He had pretended unconsciousness up till now, but when Knurd’s back was turned, he reached over and shook the girl. She had been sighing and twisting and he knew she was close to awakening.
Helen’s eyes fluttered open. To be safe, Mason clapped his hand over her mouth and whispered rapidly in her ear, telling her to be quiet no matter how astonished she was at what she saw for the first time. The girl nodded, bravely checking her emotions as she looked around.
“We must get out of this room,” Mason finished, “before Dr. Knurd decides to try some new culture on us. We’ll try for the door.”
He had already noticed, with beating pulses, that Yorsky had failed to close the wooden door tight when he left. Knurd’s back was still turned. Mason quietly and quickly rose to his feet and helped the girl up. They both felt stiff and sore, and heavy-limbed. Mason figured that this must be because their normal weight was concentrated in their smaller bulk, at the expense of their muscular power.
Hugging the wall and tiptoeing, the two humans crept toward the door. The slight sounds they made were overshadowed by the low internal humming of the robot’s electrical machinery.
When they were within a dozen yards of the door, almost at the heels of the gigantic-seeming robot, Knurd turned around and took a few steps toward where they had lain. He stopped suddenly, seeing they were gone, and his odd cylindrical head twisted in search.
“Run for it!” shouted Mason, pushing the girl ahead. They reached the door. There was only a slight crack, too narrow for even their small bodies to squeeze through. Mason grabbed the edge with his hands and strained to pull the huge thick oaken door open. It failed to give and Mason redoubled his efforts, with Helen helping desperately.
Knurd had now discovered them. He gave a tinny shout and strode toward them. At the same time from the gaping eye-sockets of his head, a greenish glow stabbed and began to focus in their direction. Mason remembered the green glow at the ship—the paralysis-ray! The robot bodies were equipped with them and with God knew what other horrible forces supplied by their enigmatic internal apparatus.
WITH a desperate wrench, Mason swung the door open a few more inches and Helen stumbled through. Mason sprang after her and felt the tail-end of a numbing sensation. Just in time, or the paralysis-ray would have focused.
A long hall was revealed, as immense to them as a cathedral. Mason ran down the passageway, with an arm around the girl. Back of them the door they had quitted opened widely and Knurd’s robot came out. He broke into a ponderous run, after them.
Mason realized they would be caught unless they found a door open somewhere. The stone hall ended abruptly further ahead. The robot,! shouting, gained on them rapidly
, with its longer stride. Then twin beams of reddish iridescence shot from the robots strange eye-sockets.
Where they first focused, several feet ahead, Mason saw the stone smoke and chip. The heat-beam! Its touch would spell a horrible death!
“Here!” gasped Helen, jerking aside. “In here!”
A door was slightly ajar. They squeezed through. The large chamber seemed to be a storeroom. A half dozen robots were picking up crated objects and piling them neatly. They were menials and paid no attention to the two humans who stood in plain sight. There last command had been to stack the apparatus. No command had been given them about the humans.
But suddenly Knurd’s roaring voice sounded as he came down the hall.
“Grab those two human’s!” he was shouting. “Any menials who see them—catch them! If they try to escape, use the paralysis-ray or heat-beam.”
Immediately, the menial-robots left their task and came for the two humans. The greenish glow of paralysis and the reddish of the heat-beam began to stab from all directions. Mason played a sudden hunch and ran straight for them, dragging the startled Helen along. All the beams focused over them safely. They darted between the clumsy legs of the slow-witted creatures and before they could turn around, had found temporary refuge behind the storeroom’s piled-up contents.
Knurd’s robot charged in, cursing at the menials for letting their prey escape. For a while it was a cat and mouse game, up and down the long aisles of the stacked merchandise. Because of their small size and the dim lighting, Mason and Helen were able to elude cornering by the clumsy menials, as they slipped around boxes and hugged shadows.
Mason had his automatic out, but realized it would be a puny weapon against the metal monsters. And now they were tiring rapidly. The robots could go on and on, tirelessly, but in this strenuous, game, Mason and Helen were reaching a limit of endurance.
They saw several doors, but all were tightly closed. Finally the inevitable happened and they were cornered. The menials and Dr. Knurd converged on them. The scientist’s eyes radiated the paralysis-ray, and it began to focus in their direction. They were lost!
Mason made one futile shot with his automatic, aiming for one of Knurd’s eyes. An instantaneous shutter clicked over the eye, and the bullet thudded harmlessly against metal. Knurd had developed the robot-bodies into remarkable engines of offense and defense.
Suddenly a door at their backs opened. A robot came out precipitately, shouting hoarsely. A large tube of something sailed over his head and smashed against the nearest wall. An oily solution splashed against the stone.
Mason did not stop to figure what it meant, but simply accepted fate’s little finger and shoved the girl into the room beyond the door. He had seen there was only one menial-robot in there. Perhaps there was a chance of escaping him.
The door closed behind them. The menial-robot instantly came at them. It was a laboratory, but the benches behind which they might hide were at the other side of the room. They were cornered. The robot loomed up monstrously, and extended its steely hands.
Cursing, Mason fired his automatic wildly. The bullets spanged harmessly against metal. Then the green paralysis-ray shot from the creature’s eyes and Mason felt his limbs go rubbery. Helen collapsed on the floor at his side.
Caught at last! Mason’s last thoughts were bitter as the paralysis bit into his brain.
SENSING that he had been out for many hours, Mason opened his eyes to find his vision obstructed by something shimmering. Puzzled, he looked out at a distorted view. Then he saw Helen a few feet away, standing upright in what was simply a bell-jar. Mason realized that he, too, was inclosed in one.
It suddenly struck Mason forcibly just how small they were. Here they were, two grown human beings, standing upright in ordinary laboratory bell-jars, and unable to reach the tops! But what did it mean? Was Knurd, perhaps, about to test his germ culture on them?
Blind fear of being thus inclosed like a guinea-pig struck Mason and he kicked at the prison wall of glasslike material. He could see Helen, just a few feet away, pounding with her little fists against her crystalline prison. Hysterical panic was in her face. Her mouth was open, as though she were screaming, but Mason couldn’t hear a sound.
Rage now ripped Mason’s tattered nerves. Rage that the girl he loved must suffer these cruelties at the hands of monsters of metal. He fired the last remaining shots of his automatic at the bell-jar wall. It was not glass. It did not break. The confined reverberations nearly threw him off his feet.
He looked up now to see the menial-robot who had captured them looming over the jars. The red heat-beam came in a twin stream from its cryptic eyes and focused on the glass. A line of flame traveled down the rounded surface and split the jar open like a pod. Metallic hands that did not know feeling grasped the molten material and shoved it aside.
Then Helen’s transparent prison was similarly treated. Soon Mason and Helen were free and leaped for one another’s arms. The menial robot seemed to stare down at them benignly. Then it sank to the floor, with a peculiarly soft thud, as though the metal had turned to putty.
“Helen . . . Don . . it called tinnily.
Mason and Helen stared down from the table-top at the fallen robot.
“Dr. Montry!” cried Mason in sudden realization.
“Yes, it’s I!” came the metallic tones of the robot.
“But you’re a menial, how could you—”
“I wasn’t a menial,” returned Dr. Montry. “The skillful Dr. Yorsky made the one mistake of his life. He was too hasty. He failed to short-circuit my cortex. I played dumb, waited my chance. You must escape—and quickly! Follow corridor past Knurd’s laboratory, turn right—leads to open air. The yacht wasn’t wrecked—beached there—hurry!”
“But you, Dr. Montry—” began Mason.
“I’m doomed,” pronounced the robot. “But so are all the other robots in this cavern of evil. When I opened the door to let you in, I threw out Harkman’s metallic germ-culture. They have spread through the caverns and attacked all metals, turning them into rotting oxides like a mold putrifies organic matter. I put you two under bell-jars as the germs attack human lungs too. But by now the air is fairly clear of them. Hurry and escape before the caverns collapse on your heads. All the steel beams and bracing rods have been attacked. They’ll buckle any minute!”
“But our size!” stammered Mason. “We’re little pygmies—”
“No, you aren’t!” snapped back Dr. Montry’s robot. “You’re normal size, always have been. Relatively, you’re small, yes, because everything in this place is over-sized. Dr. Knurd had to make his robots big in order to fit into them all the apparatus necessary. Therefore, all else, including the instruments, had to be in proportion.”
The robot-body squirmed and parts of it sloughed away as though it were diseased flesh.
“Good-by—hurry—” Said the scientist. Then the cylindrical head cracked away from the torso. A moment later the metal fell in on itself to reveal something nakedly pinkish in a glass-like container.
Mason smashed the object with his pistol-butt, with closed eyes, knowing he was doing a good thing, and leaped away. Helen was sobbing as he relentlessly dragged her into a run . . .
An hour later from the height of the cliff in the bowels of which Dr. Knurd had dug his incredible headquarters, they watched as the massive rock roof fell in, burying its secret forever.
FLIGHT OF THE STARSHELL
Fate intersects the Orbits of Five Destinies as a Mighty Space-Liner Rockets Through the Cosmic Gulf
CHAPTER I
Earthward Bound
THE Earth Express Starshell plunged speedily through the void, its mighty, rockets propelling it at the rate of a hundred miles a second. In the luxurious dining salon, the fifty passengers crowded two sides of a long, narrow table, chatting amiably in the complete fraternity of space travelers.
Financial tycoon and interplanetary salesmen sat rubbing elbows with no thought of social distinc
tion. In lonely space, and in the cramped confines of the ship, such human, trivialities dissolved. No matter what their business on the outer planets had been, or length of stay thereon, each passenger of the Starshell had one thing in common—they looked forward eagerly to the return to the world of their birth.
All perhaps, save one.
Gould one look forward to—death?
Armand Karne’s strong young face creased in bitter lines as he listened to the gay chatter about him. Earth was the favorite topic of conversation. “Dear Earth . . .”
“No world like Earth . . .”
“Trade you Venus and Mars any day for Earth. . . .”
But Armand Karne felt only a deep hatred for Earth and all it represented. Why not? It was dooming him, an innocent man, for a crime he had never committed!
The treadmill of his depressed thoughts revolved again around the events of three months before, on Earth. Vivid scenes—too vivid—flashed across his mind. The first one, that soul-stirring moment when he had stood stunned over the corpse of his laboratory chief, Professor Caldwell, the victim of an unleashed blast from their embryo atomic-power, generator.
Investigation soon showed the radium-valve wide open, with Karne’s fingerprints on it!
Then had come the nightmarish indictment. Grave accusations. Political enemies of Karne claimed that he had murdered Professor Caldwell so that he might succeed him as chief of atomic research for International Power. Partly groomed for the. position already, admittedly brilliant, Karne had simply tried to force fate along, they cried.
Circumstantial evidence swiftly twined its ghostly fingers about his throat. How could he hope to expose the truth? How could he prove that his unscrupulous rivals had taken this means of eliminating him? How could he show that a wrench had been used on the valve-stem, leaving Karne’s fingerprints intact? How could he—without money? Money was essential to battle the case, hire brilliant legal help, efficient detectives?
