The Collected Stories

by Earl

  “We know all that,” said Bill impatiently.

  “Yes,” echoed Dick. “What about Captain Moor—and the packet?”

  “This packet is to be delivered to him.”

  “That Osatar must have been insane,” said Bill. “Captain Moor is dead!”

  “That has never been confirmed. He vanished about twenty-five years ago. History tells us he was out Pluto-way on the trail of the illusive spacateer who marauded the space lanes with his mystery ship, the Silver Dart. Nothing has been heard or seen of either one since that day. Whether it had been a fight to the finish, or whether Mad Moor chased the spacateer clear out of the Solar System, no one knows except perhaps this Martian who gave me the packet.”

  “Crazy, I tell you,” scoffed Bill.

  “We’re going to pay Captain Moor a visit tonight!” returned Bob. “If he’s really alive.”

  Dick’s “What!” and Bill’s “How!” were shouted together.

  “Here, look at this.” Bob, for the first time, exhibited the soiled and sealed packet. Neatly stenciled on its face was a position corresponding with a Wacon Chart[3]. They had merely to fly a stratosphere ship blind till the red and green lights of the highly efficient chart were identical. This would bring them to the exact point of the destination stenciled on the packet.

  “Well, are you with me, lads?” asked Bob.

  But the question was unnecessary. Dick and Bill were already tugging at his arm.

  IT WAS two hours later that the three officers of the Blue Star were in the snug cabin of a rocket-bus, blasting toward the stratosphere. Below them, the metropolis was a blur of light fading away minutely, until it vanished completely. Soon the rocket blasts on the stern plates drummed at forty miles altitude.

  According to swiftly taken calculations, they found that their ship was heading for the Rocky Mountains. So it was in the fastness of this desolate region that the almost-mythical Captain Moor was supposedly hidden—the Mad Moor whose disappearance a quarter-century before had been clothed in utter mystery.

  The swift descent of the rocket-bus was checked in the denser air as huge wings unfolded automatically.

  Without a sound, and with powerful landing lights playing on the sward below, Bob landed the ship.

  They found themselves about a quarter-mile from the only habitation in this wilderness. The lighted windows gleamed from the grove of trees that sheltered it. With trepidation, the three approached. It was an antiquated log cabin, the like of which they had seen only in their history books.

  Bob Andrews, a few paces in the lead, rapped upon the heavy oak door. From within rumbled a voice, in a crescendo of power, bidding them to come in. Bob turned the latch. The three of them stood hesitant on the threshhold. Their hearts, pounding, their eyes staring, they found themselves speechless. Thirty paces before them stood the Mad Moor!

  Eighty-odd years he was, when the three officers of the Blue Streak first saw this famous adventurer. Time and age it seemed had taken some toll of this giant of muscle and bone. The deeply etched lines of his face and the matted gray hair all bespoke old age. One of his ears was missing entirely. The parts of his body that were visible were all a mass of scars and welts of hundreds of healed wounds.

  COLD, piercing eyes surveyed them—eyes that seemed to burn to the core of their brains. And then, the hard, stern face, which seemed like carved marble, broke into a smile.

  “C-men[4], eh! What line?” The voice rumbled like thunder. In the massive neck played cords of sinew.

  Bob Andrews sprung to attention and saluted. “Blue Line, sir, Mars, Venus and Ganymede. Passenger.”

  “Good line. I sailed their first ship back in 2234. Mars-way it was. But come in; come in, lads! It gets cold here in the mountains at night. Come over here to the fire and sit down.”

  Captain Moor led the way to a great open fireplace in which logs were blazing. They seated themselves on a long leather couch before it.

  It seemed to the three C-men that they had suddenly been turned back in time. Such an atmosphere as they were in had only been read of in their ancient-history books. The thrilling ecstasy of it made their blood tingle.

  Captain Moor leaned against a side of the stone fireplace. He regarded them in silence for a moment. This intrusion had been as great a surprise to him as it had been to them. But his keen mind was working rapidly.

  “Then Ruk-Sara is dead.” His eyes bored into those of Bob Andrews. He had picked him out as the spokesman.

  “How . . . how did you know, sir?”

  “Because, lad, he was the only living person who knew this place. And while he was living no other mortal would know of it. I knew my men, lads, and Ruk I knew best of all. He was my first mate. But Pm forgetting my manners. I always was short on them, by the Tarps of Titan! A fighting man and manners don’t mix no-how. And I’ve always stuck to those principles. Here,” and he reached to a table behind him and handed them a large glass beaker.

  “Here is some old Yanson ale, and I’ll wager its like isn’t drunk on the spaceways today.” Each of the young men took a drink. The powerful liquid burned to the very tips of their toes.

  “We had to have strong drinks back in the days when I sailed. It meant a lot sometimes and more than once saved our lives. It’s made from Yanson, the black wheat of Venus. A quart of it is as good as a meal to a strong man. But I can see by your eyes that you lads are thirsting for other things . . .”

  Bob Andrews arose. From his tunic he drew the packet. “I almost forgot, sir,” he said as he handed it to Captain Moor.

  The man of a thousand space-voyages reached for it. His hand trembled a little. He tore it open and read. The only sound in the vast room was the crackling of the burning logs. As he finished, his fists clenched. His eyes gleamed strangely. On his lips was a grim smile of triumph.

  “It’s done!” He turned his face to the youths. “Lads, tonight Mad Moor’s soul has been freed. And this packet done it. Ask of me what you will and I’ll grant it. Wealth, anything at all. Speak up, lads.” The last was like a sharp command.

  “If it’s all the same to you, sir. . . .”

  “Damn the sir, call me Captain. I like it better.”

  “Captain, then,” Bob Andrews continued. “We would just like to have you tell us of your adventures out in space. . . .”

  Mad Moor laughed thunderously. “Lad, that would not take one night, but a thousand nights. If you’ll promise not to reveal my hiding place, or that I am still alive—to the universe I must remain dead!—visit me as often as you can, but in secrecy, and I’ll tell you tales no story-book contains. But by the homed Jooras, I haven’t learned your names.” He pointed from one to the other. “Bob, Dick, and Bill.” He repeated as each gave his name. “I get lonesome sitting by the fire. I’ll be looking forward to your visits. What is your run now, Bob?”

  “Mars-way, Osatasageez.”

  “Good. My first tale then will start with Osatasageez. It was, incidentally, my first port of call beyond the moon in that memorable year of 2226. I was pilot at the time on a freighter for Kensley Luna Mines, Inc., and tough sailing it was in those days. No Eco cradles, no Electro-repulsion screens, no Wacon charts, no Dulco steel hulls, and the pilot sat up forward. He blasted-off and landed blasting. No C-men or C-rooms in those days. But pilots they called us. And as hell-larking a bunch of rascals we were as ever left earth. A lot of them painted the craters of the moon red with their blood, and as many died en route. Meteors, engine trouble, mutiny and what not.”

  PART TWO

  MAD MOOR’S STORY

  I WAS just turning twenty-two then, full of life and bigger and stronger than most men at that age. My blood was on fire. I wanted to know what lay beyond the moon. The earth people had been sending ships to the moon for twenty odd years, mining its precious metals. It brought a new order of things, this tremendous wealth from Luna. Poverty became a thing of the past. Peace and amiability grew among the nations. It brought a new culture. Earth was con
quering space! She was the sovereign of the Solar System. Her peoples were proud of it and formed a glorious union of nations.

  There were others before me who likewise felt as I did. Pioneers, adventurers, call them what you will. Space swallowed them in its silent mystery and none ever returned. That, however, did not discourage me. I was young, impetuous and I had a mind of my own.

  So on a spring morning in the year 2226, I stormed into the private office of old man Kensley. I was mad as a bull. I was fed up with the monotonous grind of piloting a ship to the moon and back. I was determined to have my way or quit them flat. I had a reputation, too! And mind you, I was to blast-off that same night for the moon with a cargo of supplies.

  The old man seemed startled when I rushed in. I must have had a mean look on my face. He stopped puffing his big cigar and just stared at me. He expected fireworks, all light.

  “What’s . . . what’s the matter, Moor?” he finally asked in a whisper.

  “Plenty,” I shouted. “Look here, Kensley; I’m fed up on this racket and somebody else can take the old crate Moon-way tonight.”

  “You can’t do. . . .”

  “Who says I can’t? I’ll do anything I damn please,” I stormed back at him.

  “All right, all right. But listen, Moor; give me a break. Becker is sick, Lamson is getting married, and there isn’t a relief pilot in the whole country. The supplies have to be there by the eighteenth. You can’t let me down like that! Now tell me what all this is about and I’ll promise you a square deal. What’s eating you all of a sudden?”

  “I want to go Mars-way,” I growled.

  Old man Kensley leaped to his feet. He showed fire now. “You’re mad, Moor!” He thundered at me.

  I fired right back at him. “Give me a ship. Let me outfit it and pick my own crew, and by the Jeets of Luna, I’ll show you who is mad! I’ll go there and I’ll come back.” My determination had some effect on Kensley. He sat down at his desk and puffed his cigar. His eyes bored into mine.

  “All right, Moor. For once in my life, I spoke too soon. But I’ve always kept my word. I’ll give you a square deal. On one condition, though; the supplies must leave tonight.” His jaws clamped tight.

  “I’ll blast-off tonight.”

  “Good.” The old man grunted. “When you come back, I’ll have a ship ready for you—the new one just being completed. The Black Comet.”

  I must have leaped into the air like a madman the way old Kensley stared at me. I was wild with joy. Let them call me mad. I was determined to gamble my neck that it could be done.

  “It’s going to set me back a smart sum, Moor,” the old man said after a while. He stroked his chin. “On the other hand, you’ve earned a lot for me too. I guess I wont miss too much.”

  “Kensley, I’ll triple any sum you put into this venture. I’ll come back with something if I have to rob the Martians. The Earth has taken a fortune from Luna. There is no telling what wealth the major planets might possess. It is worth the gamble, isn’t it?”

  “Up to a certain point, Moor—because if you don’t come back I’ll lose the best spaceman and pilot that ever blasted-off.” Kensley held out his hand and I gripped it firmly. I couldn’t say a word. I hadn’t expected that. I turned and fled from the office. . . .

  Ninety-eight days, that first trip took us. We got off our course somewhere out in that infernal blackness. Twice my men were ready to mutiny, but Tex and I kept them in their places with threats and curses. Tex Roney was my first mate then—a raw-boned six-footer who would have gone to hell with me if I’d steer the ship there.

  With black despair in our hearts, we roared on into space. We constantly checked our course to see just where we had made a mistake. For days we fought on. For days we were lost in that limitless space beyond the moon. Lost! Lads, you’ll never know what a feeling it is to be lost out there until you’ve experienced it. The nearest thing to it is like a condemned man awaiting His hour of execution.

  I WAS at the charts one day when Tex let out a yell. I leaped into the pilot-room where he sat at the controls.

  “There she is, Captain, to the right of us and as pretty a sight as I’ll ever want to see.” He shouted at me. I looked. Sure enough it was Mars! Like a rusty ruby she hung in the blackness. But we were hitting at a sharp tangent. Without a word, I pulled Tex from the controls. This was a matter I alone could handle—and then for nearly three days, I sat constantly at the controls with only short snatches of sleep. I had to fight the Black Comet to bring it into its course.

  We landed at night I had all lights blazing and every man at his post. Believe me lads, I blasted a cradle that night in the red sands of Mars. We stove in a storage compartment but not another scratch. We had landed safely on Mars!

  The next morning found us all up early. Tex and I made atmospheric observations and found that we could live in the air of Mars. I detailed part of the crew to repair the stoved-in storage compartment. In its damaged state, I wouldn’t dare take the ship into space. Tex and four men were sent out to look around and size things up. It was fun to watch them when they started off.

  The men, in their eagerness to be away, started off in a brisk walk. The result was tragic. They bounded into the air, lost their balance, and came down sprawling in the sand. Tex gave us the biggest laugh. His long legs had an extra snap to them. Up he went, somersaulting, and came down head first. He sat up cursing and spitting sand.

  When the fun was over I shouted to them to follow my instructions. The method I had taught them en route. They arose with a sheepish grin on their faces and obeyed me. Using a sliding gait, similar to wading in water, they did quite well.

  We had landed in a sort of crater some two hundred feet in depth. It was almost circular, its diameter being approximately two earth miles. The sides of the crater were formed of a crystaline rock, the sharp, jagged peaks of which rose up straight from its base. At only one point was there an exit—a ragged fissure in the circumjacent wall of rock. The opening looked like a battered breach in the wall of a fortress. What lay beyond, none of us knew. It was towards this only exit I had sent Tex and his men.

  The damage done to the storage compartment was worse than I had anticipated. I soon realized that it would take several days of hard work before it would be completely repaired. I drove the men hard. I was eager to have it done. Days of exploration lay before us—besides, the thoughts of the return trip occupied my mind constantly. I was resolved to show the world it could be done!

  We had labored about two hours. Crocker, the engineer, who was standing aloft, stopped his riveting and shouted down at me.

  “Something is wrong, Captain—look!” I followed his pointing finger with my eyes. Across the level stretch of sand I saw Tex and his men coming towards us. By their tremendous leaps I could see that they were in a great hurry. Something was afoot! They were waving their arms and shouting.

  When they came within hearing distance, we heard shout after shout of, “They’re coming . . . they’re coming. . and they kept rushing towards us in that mad leaping. It appeared as if they were flying. To us standing beside the ship, it was a grotesque sight. As they continued that insane shouting I bellowed at Tex, “Who’s coming?”

  “Red-devils!” He yelled back at me. “Hundreds of them . . . thousands of them!” The crew shrank back from me at the curses that thundered from my throat. Momentarily I was beserk. Had the heat gotten the best of them? Were they seeing things because of the strain they had been under since we had left earth? Was I to have madmen on my hands?

  When Tex landed at my feet, breathless and sweating from every pore, I grasped him by the shoulder and half spun him around.

  “Take hold of yourself, lad,” I commanded sternly. “This is no time for hell-larking. We’ve things to face here.”

  “Captain, you’ll be facing more in an hour or so than you ever bargained for.” He came back at me and rattled on while I stared at him. “There are thousands of them just over the ridge. Th
ey must have seen us come down last night. There is a city about six miles to the south of us and that’s where they’re coming from. I put my glasses on them. If they’re not the nearest thing that ever spawned from hell, I’ll eat the blasted ship. Captain, we’re in for it and plenty!”

  “Flying or riding?” I barked.

  “Neither, captain, they’re walking.”

  That made me feel better. I figured then and there that nothing short of a savage would walk in heat like we faced—and savages I could take care of, by the Jeets of Luna! I barked orders then. In less than a half-hour every man and all of our equipment was inside the ship. It was none too soon. Through the distant fissure in the ramparts of rock poured a solid mass of Martians. It was like a wave of red water pouring through a broken dike. Every man in the ship stood at an open port with a Woolson gun.

  As they came nearer and I could distinguish them plainly, I realized that Tex had been right. I marveled that the planet Mars had spawned nothing better than these savages after its eons of evolution. Was I witnessing an inevitable doom that was to be the heritage of all mankind? Was evolution to reach a certain pinnacle of civilization and then revert back to the dawn? Or had something, somewhere gone amiss in the evolution of mankind on the planet Mars? I wondered as I gazed at the savages approaching.

  THEY came on in disordered ranks. I tried every method possible to show them that we desired no hostilities. They paid no attention to me. They jabbered on in a gutteral tongue, surrounded the ship, and sized us up. I soon realized that they desired nothing but to possess my ship. I became infuriated.

  Despite the fact that I had all the advantages, Woolson guns and a steel fortress against the Martians’ strange weapons that looked like pendulums from huge clocks, I was on the verge of giving the order to shoot.

  Tex put a hand on my shoulder when he saw how things were going with me. “Give me a chance, Captain. I might make them see things our way. After all, you can hardly blame them for taking the offensive. They might feel as if we have come to attack them. Even if they are savages, they have every right to defend their homes. Let me go out to them unarmed and with my hands above my head,” Tex pleaded. “You’re a fool,” I growled at him. “You were once called mad for going Mars-way,” he said quietly.