by Earl
He looked the recruits over with an appraising eyes and nodded approval. They were fine specimens of his race, young-, strong and intelligent. They gazed back at him with awe, for he was a combined Caesar, Columbus and Napoleon in their conception.
“Welcome!” greeted the Alien Superior, and they saluted him. His voice, to human ears, would have seemed like the hoarse bull-roar of an alligator, curiously muffled by the thin, cold air.
“You all know why you are here,” he said simply, but austerely. “You have been chosen for your courage and your skill with machines. Ahead of you lie hard work and a sacrifice of your normal lives. There is no return from here. Thousands have preceded you. Through the years, the drain of life has been large. The building of the Great Machine takes its toll almost hourly. Besides we are beneath the very feet of a powerful enemy who would hound US like rats, if they discovered our presence. It is not a pleasant shadow to live under.”
HE looked down the row of faces that reflected youth and eagerness, though to human eyes they would have seemed expressionless.
“Are you prepared for these things—day after day of toil, sacrifice, danger? Never to see your native planet again?”
A thunderous chorus of cheers rolled down the dim, frigid halls.
“We are ready, Superior!” cried the recruits.
“Good!”
Their leader dropped his aloof, stiff manner. The speech had been more or less of a formal ceremony, calculated to impress the newcomers with the gravity of their mission. A general exhorting to deathless loyalty.
He leaned forward in his throne.
“I will tell you more,” he confided tensely. “The hour will soon come when we will prove who has a mightier civilization, we or the Earthmen!”
His cold, reptilian eyes flashed momentary fire. He spoke the word “Earthmen” with the curl of his lips, but at the same time with an unconscious respect. Napoleon might have spoken that way of the British, whom he knew he must defeat before he could rule the world.
“This very morning,” he resumed, “we made a thorough test of the Great Machine, and had it in operation for a short time. Though we used the minimum of power, there was a displacement of one full inch on our measuring scale. You all know, from your training in data about the Great Machine, what that means.”
The recruits stared in stunned surprise. The Great Machine had powers even greater than they had been taught to expect. Then they burst out in wild cheers, at the thought of what this meant in the near future.
Up above, on the surface of Iapetus, Rodney Shelton and his party stared long at the dead creature of unmistakable intelligence at their feet, so like them in general and yet so utterly alien in detail. Scaled body, taloned hands and feet, hooded eyes and the crest of horny spines decorating the head.
“An alien race of intelligence on Iapetus!” murmured Shelton incredulously. “The first known in the Solar System!”
That was true. Man, in going out to the other planets, had found himself unopposed master. There were evidences of a past civilization on Mars, but it had passed into limbo tens of thousands of years before. The anthropoids of Venus gave promise of future evolution toward intelligence, but that would not be for ages to come. None of the other planets or satellites had any life above the ape stage. Man was supreme.
And now here, like a bolt out of nowhere, was alien intelligence!
“Of all things!” exploded Traft. “Here we came to Iapetus expecting pirates and we find alien beings!”
He looked dumbfoundedly at the long, sinuous body with the torn hole in its chest where his radi-bullet had exploded and struck out life. A thin, pale red fluid congealed in the cold air as it trickled out.
“He’s not—pretty,” the big pilot commented. “Scaly, reptilian, living in caves—I don’t like them, at first sight!”
“They’re monsters!” breathed Myra Benning, wide-eyed and trembling. “Horrible beasts!”
“But intelligent!” insisted Shelton, trying to absorb that fact.
“Maybe they’re just savages, or at the caveman level,” hazarded Traft. “They don’t wear clothes—at least this one didn’t.”
“They don’t need clothes, with that scaly hide,” Shelton pointed out. “And clothing is no criterion of intelligence. And what about their cold force? And perhaps that black ship? Does it mean—”
HE stopped, not wanting to jump to any conclusions. What did it all add up to? The cold force, the black gravity ship, the guarded cave mouth? Were they a troglodytic race, inhabiting the caverns of Iapetus, and never discovered before for that reason? How advanced were they, how did they live, what were their activities and plans? Shelton’s brain raced with a thousand questions, and his scientific instinct demanded the answers.
“Men!” Shelton said suddenly, facing them. “We’ve stumbled onto something important—almost incredible! We’ll be making history when we report this! Who’s with me to go further in the cave and find out more about these strange beings? We can reconnoiter step by step, without taking unnecessary chances. And they obviously can’t outface our weapons.”
“I’m with you!” Traft cried quickly. “We should find out anyway why these scaled people are so anxious to keep us out.”
Fired by the spark of adventure, the other men glanced at their leaders.
“We shouldn’t rush into this,” Captain Harvey said, with characteristic caution. “We don’t know how many there are, or what we’d be running into.”
“We could inform the authorities first, sir, by radio,” Commander Gordy temporized. “However, we have plenty of ammunition.”
“Hugh!” Myra Benning choked suddenly. “My brother is in their hands! He’s a prisoner of those monsters! I feel it!”
Traft nodded. “Maybe she’s right, men. He was standing on the rock lip and fell inward. The aliens could have taken him away before I searched. My light beam, blinding them, probably saved me at the time. But they took Hugh Benning with them!”
Men became electrified. The thought of a human being, one of their own kind, a captive of the aliens, sent fire through their veins. If there was anything needed to swing the decision, that was it. Every man in the group whole-heartedly shouted to advance into the cave.
“Hugh Benning was a good man and we all liked him,” Captain Harvey said, himself stirred. “If we can rescue him, if he’s alive—”
“He is alive!” said Myra Benning firmly.
“I don’t suppose,” Shelton asked the girl, studying her set face behind the visor, “that there’s any use trying to convince you to stay here.”
“None at all!” assured the girl, and Shelton could understand.
Captain Harvey insisted on a careful check of their oxygen bottles. Each had a supply good for at least ten hours.
Shelton called the ships, via his helmet-radio, and informed them of the decision to investigate the cave and its alien denizens. Two of the Space Rangers were detailed as guards at the cave mouth, as an added precaution.
“Let’s go!” Shelton called. He clambered over the rock lip of the cave, leading the way.
CHAPTER IX
Alien Underworld
WITH the gun-mounted flashlights illuming their path, they trailed over the uneven cave floor, avoiding shuddery pits that perhaps were riven gashes from some ancient quake. Huge twisted stalagmites of unguessable age loomed in their way now and then, like great columns. Overheard the flinty roof of rock glinted with strange crystalline formations, in the glow of their beams. The click of Traft’s camera echoed loudly in that dank, dark cavern of mystery and shadow, leading to—the unknown!
Shelton almost wished he hadn’t been so impetuous in leading the men down here. The atmosphere of the place, brooding and rife with sinister promise, was weighing down his spirit. Who knew what lurked ahead, what possible danger? Then he remembered the warning of the Space Scientist!
But after all, he had fighting men at his back; armed, capable, courageous. They could not be
cut off at the rear. With that thought he began to feel the thrill of leading an armed force. He, a scientist! Only incongruous Fate could have brought this about.
Behind him, Myra Benning hurried along, almost stumbling in her eagerness. Traft’s ready grip steadied her at times. The girl had thought of her brother, alive in the hands of pirates, but humans. To think of him now, a prisoner of aliens—
The rest of the party swung along steadily, sending shafts of light on all sides lest there be an ambush.
The cavern narrowed down to a small corridor no more than ten feet high and wide. Winding slowly downward, it seemed to stretch into the bowels of Iapetus. Nervous tension held the group as they trudged deeper and deeper, with untold tons of rock hemming them in.
“What a place for a murder!” Traft said cheerfully. “Those beggars must like the dark!”
He peered sharply ahead, secretly hoping for a little excitement. But it was Myra who first noticed a scampering, shadowy figure ahead that darted out of a niche and raced fleetly away. Her sharp cry brought them all to a halt.
“Their advance scout, probably,” surmised Traft. “Gone to tell the rest of our little visit.”
“Shelton,” Captain Harvey said nervously, “we should turn back.
This is foolhardy!”
“That’s just your opinion!” Shelton snapped back. “When I start a thing, I go through with it.”
Commander Gordy and one of his men stepped forward. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he suggested, “we’ll precede you. We’re good shots!” Shelton acquiesced, smiling at the subtle way they offered their protection. The party moved forward, but more slowly than before. Shelton was determined to find out some little thing about the aliens before giving up.
He estimated they had gone perhaps a half-mile from the cave mouth when suddenly the corridor opened out into a tremendous hollow space. The slope at their feet led down gradually, and the farther walls, where the slope must go up again, were lost in darkness. It was a far larger cavern than Shelton had ever seen, or had ever thought possible. It gave one the same giddy feeling as being out in empty space.
“SHINE the lights down in the hollow,” Shelton commanded, wondering what lay on the floor of this monstrous rock chamber.
The beams stabbed along the slope, down and down. Their ends flared into haziness before meeting anything. But faintly beyond, by reflection, could be seen a confused mass.
Their eyes gradually adjusted to the dim lighting, revealing more detail. Something tremendous was spread there, over the rock floor; something vaguely broken up into cubes and cones and triangular spires. Dim red lights hung from some of these and shed an undependable crimson glow, barely enough to reveal architectural details. Avenues ran between the geometric structures, radiating from a hub, like a gigantic spider web.
Shelton blinked his eyes, certain that they were playing him tricks.
“It’s a—city!” Myra Benning cried excitedly. “The city of the aliens!” Standing at the brink of the slope, they took it in. A city within a world, unsuspected by the outside universe! A subterranean dwelling place whose horizons were shadows and whose sky was solid rock. And all this done by hands other than those of men, deep within the most desolate world known to the Earth mind. It was like finding a great and complete city in the middle of the Sahara, or Antarctica.
“No, it wouldn’t be savages who built that!” observed Traft soberly. “That’s civilization!”
Shelton stared down in a trance, his brain whirling with wild, unformed conjecture.
“Well,” he muttered, “at least we’re sure now that there’s another race in the Solar System—one approaching our level. That’s important for Earth to know.”
“Look!” Traft pointed, with a short laugh. “We seem to be creating a little excitement down there!”
Milling figures in the nearer avenues were running back, away from the lights, throwing up their arms as shields. Hoarse cries, both frightened and profane sounding, drifted up.
“They’re troglodytes, unused to bright light,” said Shelton. “Our flashlights must seem like blazing suns to them!” He glanced at Myra. “You believe your brother is down there?”
She nodded, a little hopelessly. “Yes, somewhere! I’m sure he’s alive, and it must be here.”
She stiffened suddenly, leaning forward with one audio-resonator of her vac-suit toward the city. Her eyes widened. “I seem to hear his voice!” she whispered hoarsely. “Listen carefully, everyone!”
They all heard it then, a faint hallooing that rose above the noises of the city and its excited inhabitants, and were instantly aware that only earthly lungs could produce those shouts. The cries of the aliens were distinctly different in timbre.
“It must be Hugh Benning, all right!” Traft was straining his eyes downward. He shouted suddenly. “There he is—I see him! Must have escaped. He’s running out of the city, up the slope—without a vac-suit!
And there’s a pack of the critters behind him!”
“Get ready to fire, men.!” Shelton yelled, gripping his own rifle. “The first volley over their heads, to warn them off. Fire!”
THE thunderous volley rumbled through the cavern like a tempest, but it failed to scare off the aliens chasing Benning. Evidently they had been given orders they could not disobey.
The flying figure of the Earthman raced up the slope, with a hundred aliens at his heels. In the light gravity, Benning made huge, bounding leaps with his Earth muscles. The pursuers came along with a rapid, four-footed lope, like hounds at the chase.
“Come on, Benning!” Traft’s great voice boomed encouragingly.
But the aliens caught up with their quarry, pulling him down. Myra shrieked and darted forward wildly, but Shelton held her back.
“Stay here!” he ordered tensely, then swung to the men. “Fire!” he snapped. “Pick them off around Benning!”
A burst of withering gunfire poured down the slope. The aliens staggered and fell on all sides of Benning. Wilting, they began to retreat, but dragged the Earthman with them. Yet the devastating hail of bullets began to tell. Benning was struggling violently to free himself from the dozen aliens left.
And at that moment attack came from another quarter!
Shelton felt that now familiar, crushing numbness grip him. The aliens were projecting the cold force from somewhere! He whirled. A group of the enemy had stolen up from the side, along the slope’s rim, with a gigantic instrument whose redly glowing center was focused in their direction.
He yelled in warning and his men turned stiffly to blaze away at the new threat, fumbling to reload their guns. Shelton groaned as be realized their precarious situation. Their motions were rapidly becoming sluggish from the paralyzing effect of the cold force. Soon they would be unable to use their limp fingers and the battle would be over.
To make matters worse, he saw Myra Benning dash away toward her brother, who was being dragged down the slope. She was running right into the arms of the enemy! Shelton leaped up like a wound spring, bounding after her.
Traft, blazing away at the attackers, cursed and leaped after them. He had promised on Earth to stick at Shelton’s side at all times. Now was one of those times.
The three racing figures reached the aliens at almost the same time. Myra swung futile fists at them. An alien loomed over her with a snarl, raising his hand to strike. Shelton jammed his gun in the brute’s midsection and fired. Another alien wrenched the gun out of his hands. Shelton began swinging his gauntleted fists, with a surge of joy each time a scaly chin cracked under his hammering blows.
Traft had leaped into the fray with his rifle clubbed. Growling, swinging right and left, his powerful blows brought howls of pain from the enemy. Many fell to lie still with battered skulls. But more pressed up from the city, completely surrounding them.
FACED with certain defeat by sheer weight of numbers, Shelton kept fighting automatically. Perhaps the men above the slope could yet turn the tide. But his last
hope died when he glanced up and saw them tottering, falling stiffly. Their rifle fire died away to sporadic shots, then stopped altogether.
“Cold force—numb—” came Captain Harvey’s choked voice, by the helmet radio. “Can’t hold out—”
His swaying vac-suited figure, the last standing, toppled over to lie among those of the other men. Shelton knew that they lay still, unbreathing behind their visors, caught in the pseudo-death of suspended animation. The cold red eye of the cold force projector was turned off, having done its work.
Shouting triumphantly at this victory, the aliens surrounded Shelton and his patty and quickly bore them down. Even Trait’s great strength was unable to shake off a dozen dinging forms that twisted his arms behind him. Benning was already being carried off, unconscious from his exertions in a cold, thin atmosphere unfit for laboring Earth lungs.
Panting, exhausted, the three Earth people were prodded down the slope to the city—to what fate? Shelton didn’t know and was almost past caring. Bitterly he realized they had fallen into a trap. The empty cavern, the way open to the city—it added up to that.
Had the aliens known they would come for Benning, or had they banked on human curiosity? How much did they know of humans? Shelton’s brain was tortured with queries.
CHAPTER X
Lorg, Masker of Aliens
AS they approached, the unearthlike city was weird with its dim red glow. Windowless buildings of geometric harshness of design stared blackly. Metal was nowhere apparent. Even in his extremity Shelton noticed that.
The four prisoners were taken to a building standing alone on the fringe of the city. There was a hissing sound as a door swung open. Was it an airlock? Such it turned out to be and they were shoved into a lock-chamber, Benning’s senseless form with them. Traft quickly lifted Benning in his arms as an inner door opened and they stepped through.
