by Earl
So much for that. He needed to find help. But—what world was he on? In which direction had the comet flung him?
Jon was puzzled, as he stared around. The setting was weird. It seemed to be half like the hideous swamplands of Venus, for gnarled trees and hanging moss met his eye at every turn. A low bellow told of hidden monsters in the brush.
Jon tested the gravity, by jumping. He went up about two feet. That meant it was a world about the size of Earth. It could be Venus, or Mars, or a large moon of Jupiter, or even an unknown asteroid.
The sun! If he could see the sun, its size and brightness would tell him how far away it was. A dead giveaway.
But one look into the cloudy, fog-ridden sky and Jon gave up. Nor could he see how many moons, if any, were in the sky.
Still trying to figure out which world he was on, Jon examined the nearest tree closely. The Swampland Aspen of Venus! But the next second, he remembered that this tree had been transplanted on a dozen different worlds, including Earth. They grew and spread like weeds. This particular tree was no clue at all.
Jon bent to examine the soil when something happened that ended his train of thought. He had the sensation of eyes on him. The hair on the back of his neck pricked, and goosebumps rose on his arms.
Whirling, he gaped at the strange now standing behind him, with a tubular weapon in its hand. It was a tall, thin creature, eight feet high and with an enormous head. It had eyes and ears—but no mouth!
Jon searched his memory of other-world races and gasped—“The Silent People, of Ganymede, Jupiter’s moon! Then I’m on Ganymede!”
The alien shook its head. It had no vocal cords with which to speak, but its brow furrowed as it gave out mental vibrations. By concentrating, Jon could vaguely catch and interpret bare thoughts, which sounded like halting words in his mind.
“No . . . not . . . Ganymede! This . . .” The telepathic mumble was blurred and Jon was left in the dark. Then: “Saw . . . ship . . . land. Must . . . kill . . . you . . . Space Policeman!”
“Why?” Jon choked. “Are you a criminal?”
The Silent One shook his head and beckoned. Jon followed. They came to a rude shack in the swampland. Inside, Jon stared in astonishment. It was equipped like a laboratory. In the center stood a huge gleaming cylinder that somehow looked like a bomb.
“It . . . is . . . a . . . bomb!” came the mental vibrations of the alien. “To . . . destroy . . . this world!”
“Destroy this world?” Jon snapped. “But why? What’s all this crazy business about? You left your own world, Ganymede, and came here. For revenge, is that it?”
The alien nodded. “This . . . enemy . . . world. Will . . . blow . . . it . . . up. Bomb . . . make . . . chain . . . reaction.”
Jon was horrified. A chain-reaction bomb, long outlawed for any scientist to create, at pain of death. It had the power to make all nearby atoms explode, and then those further along, and so on, till a whole world would be blown to bits!
Jon snatched for the ray gun at his hip. But not fast enough. A shot came from the alien’s weapon and seared Jon’s wrist. Frantically, Jon upset a bench at the alien, before it could fire again, and then dove out of an open window.
Scrambling to his feet, he pelted into the swamplands. But after him came a gloating mental chuckle. “You . . . will . . . die . . . there! Swamp . . . beasts . . .”
Jon stumbled on. His foot caught in loose sand, and a frightful suction nearly dragged him in, but he flung himself backwards. Quicksand—he must avoid it. Jon trembled. But now he was lost. Where was the lake and his ship? Maybe he could get the radio to work . . .
He stumbled around for what seemed hours. He seemed to be going it circles. Hadn’t he seen those rocks before? And that custer of Venusian trees?
He had lost track of time, but suddenly, tiny faces peered from behind trees, all around him. And then a pack of yelling dark-skinned men swarmed about him, taking him prisoner. They were pygmy people!
A clue to the world he was on? Jon shook his head. Pygmy races had been discovered on a dozen different bodies. He gave up hope and sank to his knees as the tiny men came at him, yelling, brandishing spears. He might shoot a few, but the end would be inevitable.
But the biggest surprise of all came then. The pygmy men broke out in grins, and Jon realized they were welcoming him. The leader bowed before Jon, and spoke in a garbled pidgin that Jon readily understood.
Jon was informed that any Space Policeman was their friend. They had witnessed his escape and followed him. If he needed their help, he had but to ask.
“Yes!” said Jon. “I do need your help to attack the Silent One! He is going to blow up this world. Lead me to his shack. Hurry!”
As they walked, the leader of the pygmy men told Jon that they hated and feared the alien intruder. He had landed some months before in his spaceship to set up his laboratory. Ever since then, he had ruthlessly shot at any snooping pygmies.
Nearing the shack, Jon gave instructions. Obediently, like ghosts, the pygmy men crept to the shack and waited outside the open windows.
Jon rushed the door and burst through. The alien whirled, aiming his tube-gun at Jon, but a pygmy spear thrown through the window knocked the weapon from his hand.
The alien leaped to his fearsome bomb and tried to snap the fuse, but Jon’s crushing fist knocked him half-way across the room.
He had returned just in time. The alien was ready to set the fuse and leave in his ship, to watch this enemy world blow to shreds behind him!
The pygmies swarmed into the hut, shouting in triumph and brandishing their spears. They would have killed the Silent One at once, but Jon restrained them.
“He needs to stand trial,” he said. “Tie him up. I will take him with me.”
As the pygmies bound the alien, he glared in silent rage. If looks could kill, they would all have died a thousand times over.
Jon took the fuse cap out of the bomb with infinite care. One false move and all was lost. Then, breathing easier, he used an oxy-torch and cut the bomb open, destroying its interior mechanism. Last of all, Jon took a capsule of fissionable metal out and flung it into the quicksand, where it could do no further harm.
Bidding the pygmies good-by, Jon powered up the alien’s rocketship and took off with the Silent One as prisoner.
“Your race has always been evil,” Jon said grimly. “A century ago, when Earthmen arrived at your world to set up trade in all friendliness, you murdered them all! As a result, we had to send armed forces and keep you under military rule. Well, I’ll take you to Earth now for fair trial.”
Jon somehow felt the alien was laughing at him.
When the ship reached open space and Jon looked back, he knew why. There, floating in the void, was a familiar world of green continents and sparkling blue oceans.
“Great Jupiter!” breathed Jon, stunned, turning the ship back. “We came up from the swamplands of Africa! The strange world I was on all the time, and which you wanted to destroy, was . . .”
“Earth!” came the mocking mental voice of the alien.
JAUNT ON JUPITER
Two ships spun through space at blinding speed, their rocket-motors thrumming out orange flame. The ship ahead was that of Bull Drago, notorious outlaw. The ship pursuing was that of Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol.
“I’m gaining on him,” Jon Jarl muttered grimly, but then he frowned. Ahead lay the huge bloated globe of the Planet Jupiter, the giant world of the solar system. Drago’s ship turned down toward it, zooming into the thick swirling atmosphere. It was his one chance to escape.
Jon dove down after him, but a dense purple cloud lay below. When Jon emerged from that, Drago’s ship was not in sight. Which way had he gone? Would he cruise through the foggy atmosphere of Jupiter and escape entirely? Jon shot his ship in a zig-zag course over the Jovian landscape, hoping to glimpse his quarry.
But before long, Jon knew the search was hopeless. He had to search a whole world, and what a
world! Jupiter’s surface area was 300 times that of tiny Earth! Jon passed over a lake, set in the widespread wilderness, a lake that was bigger than the Pacific Ocean!
All other measurements and dimensions on Jupiter were of this Brobdingnagian proportion. Jon crossed a continent and his instruments recorded it as 100,000 miles long, four times the whole trip around Earth. Then Jon came to the edge of a vast ocean that seemed never to end. It was so huge that if the Earth were dropped into its center, it would sink without a trace and only a ripple would reach shore.
Jon passed an island in this gigantic ocean. The “island” was twice as big as Asia on Earth. Jon had the feeling that he was just a tiny ant on this tremendous oversized planet.
And where was Bull Drago? Jon might search for half his life and still never find him—if he had hidden in some remote corner of this mighty world. Jon kept on doggedly, but without hope.
Jon passed mountains. Mountains was a pitiful name for them. The lowest peak was at least 50 miles high. One peak reached 100 miles into the hazy atmosphere and Jon had to dart upward sharply to avoid collision.
Cruising aimlessly over endless plains, Jon was suddenly startled to see a small spaceship parked below. Did it belong to Bull Drago? Jon zoomed down for a landing. But then he noticed it was a different ship. And that a shack was beside it.
Jon gasped. Did some Earthman live there on Jupiter?
Jon landed and stepped out with a breathing-helmet over his head. The air of Jupiter contained poisons which no Earthman could breathe. That was why it was so strange to think of any Earthman choosing to live here.
The moment Jon stepped from his ship, another phenomenon of Jupiter took hold of him—the great gravity. It was almost three times that of Earth. Jon weighed about 500 pounds here. In fact, he sagged to his knees, taken unawares, and it was only with a powerful effort that he could straighten up to his feet, feeling as if he carried a mountain on his shoulders.
That was reason number two why Earthmen avoided colonizing Jupiter!
Jon groaned with every step toward the shack. His legs felt like lumps of cement and just to lift them up and down was sheer work. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead by the time he reached the door and stepped in.
A man lay on a matted couch. He barely lifted his head in greeting. “Well, well, a fellow Earthman!” he grunted. “Come in, come in! Excuse me if I don’t rise, but it’s too much effort. Lie down. That’s the only way to keep comfortable here.”
Jon noticed another couch nearby and thankfully sank down on it, easing back his aching body. He lay there panting for a minute. It had only been 100 feet from his ship to the shack, but Jon felt as if he had hiked all day and half the night.
“Guess you’re curious about me,” went on the host. “I’m Matt Benton, prospector. The reason I’m here on Jupiter is because I struck it rich. I’ve been here three years.”
“Three years?” Jon was amazed. “You mean you’ve put up with this horrible gravity for three long years? How could you stand it?”
“By taking it easy,” Benton returned simply. “I spend most of my time just relaxing on this couch. I only move when I have to. It isn’t so bad that way.”
Jon was puzzled. “But you said you struck it rich. So how do you get your work done, lying on a couch?”
“The natives do all the work,” Benton explained. “They bring in lumps of virgin osmium to me. Osmium is a rare and valuable metal on Earth.”
“But why do the natives work for you?” Jon asked. “What do you pay them with?”
“Salt,” returned Benton. “Plain old salt. Salt is rare on Jupiter, and to the natives it seems to taste like candy or something. Anyway, they eagerly bring in osmium for salt. Once a month I fly to Ganymede and return with a load of salt for them.”
He waved to a corner of the shack and Jon saw the piled up sacks of common salt. Next to them lay several sturdy chests of steel. The lid of one was open and Jon saw the lumps of dull white metal in them. Osmium.
“Quite a nice set-up,” smiled Benton. “I’ve got enough osmium collected now to retire rich for life. I’m going to leave here soon for good. That osmium is worth at least a million dollars and . . .”
“You don’t say?” came a new voice from the door. It was Bull Drago himself, his dark face sinister as he pointed a ray gun at them.
Jon jerked up, his hand moving.
“Don’t try it, copper!” warned the outlaw. “Don’t reach for your gun. You may have the fastest draw on other worlds, but not here on Jupiter!”
Jon realized he was right. The dragging gravity would make his draw so clumsy and slow that Drago could shoot him ten times over. Drago walked over, took Jon’s gun, and stuffed it in his belt.
Benton seemed undismayed by the grim event. “I suppose you’ve come to rob me of my osmium?”
Drago nodded, leering. “I heard about your buying salt and bringing it to Jupiter, and I guessed the rest. After escaping from the space cop there, I decided to rob you before leaving Jupiter. And if you try to stop me, Benton, I’ll . . .”
Benton waved a lax hand. “Take it away,” he said. “In this gravity, I should try to jump and stop you? Too much work.”
Jon was puzzled. Benton seemed almost gay about it. He had spent three grueling years on this world to collect his treasure, and then seemed not in the least concerned when a bandit took it all.
Drago worked fast as a dozen natives arrived with more osmium. At the point of a gun, using space patois, he ordered them to take away the chests of osmium. No Earthman could lift even a corner. But the powerful natives, with thick legs and mighty arms, easily hoisted the boxes.
Drago turned for a mocking farewell. “My ship is just over the hill,” he gloated. “I’ll be gone in a few minutes. Thanks for the loot, Benton.”
“Not at all,” Benton returned without getting up.
But when Drago left, Jon was on his feet angrily. “He’s not going to get away with this,” he yelled. “I’ll follow him to his ship, even if he has got my gun.”
“Relax,” said Benton. “Stop worrying . . .”
Jon shook off his hand. “You’re crazy, Benton,” he growled. “You let a crook take your fortune without a protest. But I’m going after him.”
Jon trailed the party over the hill. Jon tried to run, but it was impossible. He could only stagger along at slow speed.
Drago reached his ship in plenty of time, and the natives dumped in the chests of osmium. The rocket motor roared to life and the ship trembled. Jon was too far off to do anything at all. Drago would soar away with a million dollars of loot.
But Drago’s ship did not move. It trembled and vibrated and strained to go, but it stood still as if rooted to the spot. Drago roared his motor to top speed. At last the ship rose upward a few feet.
And then—the bottom of his spaceship dropped right out!
As Jon stood over Bull Drago, who had been thrown out heavily and lay stunned, the figure of Matt Benton leisurely strolled up grinning.
“I told you not to worry,” he said to Jon. “You see, osmium is the heaviest metal known. Drago didn’t realize that he could never take off from Jupiter with such an overloaded ship! That’s why the bottom dropped out.”
“The joke was on him,” grinned Jon.
Later, as Jon stepped into his own ship, with Bull Drago as his prisoner, Benton made a last request. “Send a ship to pick up me and my osmium, Lieutenant. But make sure it’s the most powerful ship available!”
1949
WORLD OF YOUTH
Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol idled through space on a routine cruise. He was passing over Oberon, one of the four moons of the planet Uranus. He recalled the mystery of the Lost Colonists. Fifty years before two shiploads of adults and children had gone to Oberon and were never heard of again. Search parties found no sign of them. After that, Oberon had been left strictly alone.
Jon craned his neck suddenly. Did he see something glinting bel
ow, like metal? Like a spaceship? It was shining in a verdant valley surrounded by impassable hills and cliffs.
Jon spun his ship down and excitement rose within him as he drew closer. Yes, it was a spaceship—but wrecked. This might be the answer to the Lost Colonists!
Jon landed near the wreck and jumped out. The wrecked ship had landed violently on its nose and cracked open. It was doubtful if anyone had survived the crash. The wreck was crusted with moss and lichens. This had all happened a half century ago.
Jon was about to go when abruptly there was a whoop and a holler and a band of small figures dashed out of the trees toward him. They were dressed in patched animal skins and carried strange weapons. Were they some aboriginal race of native pygmies?
“A big monster!” they yelled. “An enemy in strange clothes! Capture him!”
Jon drew his ray gun grimly. He would hate to use it, but if they threatened to kill or capture him, there would be no alternative. Jon tried to raise a hand in friendly greeting as they approached, but they yelled fiendishly and used their weapons.
Jon was startled. He saw a slingshot used and a stone whizzed past his ear. Then a blowgun sent a hard pellet at Jon. Also a mud pie smacked into Jon’s shoulder. Finally a water pistol deluged Jon’s face with a gurgling squirt.
What odd weapons were these? They were what boisterous boys would use!
The leader raised a hand and the firing stopped as he yelled “Surrender?”
Jon got the shock of his life now, staring at his attackers closely. They were boys!
Despite their odd clothes and uncut hair, they were just plain human boys of Earth! And they spoke in Earth language!
“Boys!” snapped Jon angrily. “You gave me a scare at first, acting like wild natives. Now quit this silly game and take me to your parents.”
The boys stared blankly at one another. The boy leader growled out, “I’m the boss around here. Rush him! Take him prisoner.”
They rushed in a body, and Jon was helpless. He couldn’t fight them. He couldn’t hit half-grown youths. And he couldn’t shoot. All he could do was let them grab him. Then they marched him through the trees to their “village,” which consisted of a group of shacks and shanties, patched together crazily, just like any boys would construct.
