by Earl
“Wait!” screeched the other in desperation. “Don’t leave me. I’m lonely. I’m almost mad with loneliness.” His voice became oily. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll pay you to stay with me. I’m rich. I’ll pay you $1,000 a minute!”
At the same time, he swung open the doors of a bulging cabinet and money fell out. The cabinet was filled with millions of dollars. He picked up an armful of currency and held it toward Jon.
Jon could not keep an angry sneer from his face. “You pitiful fool!” he hissed. “Do you think anyone would touch your tainted money? You’re the richest man in the universe, but you haven’t got a single friend. Not a single person on all the worlds of the Solar System will ever have anything to do with you till the day you die, utterly alone!”
Van Darkel let the money drop from his hands, defeated. Jon almost pitied him at that moment. Almost.
But Van Darkel deserved his exile. Jon recalled his sordid story. Twenty years before, Joaquin Van Darkel had been a financial wizard and tycoon, building up a huge empire of commerce between the planets. Almost everybody had invested in his thriving enterprises until the Van Darkel Corporation had assets in not millions or billions, but in trillions.
But one day, Van Darkel had left Earth in his space-yacht, loaded with a trillion dollars, the vastest fortune of history. With the collapse of his company, millions of people were ruined on all the worlds. There followed a wave of bankruptcy and suicide among those wiped out. It was the worst financial disaster in the history of the interplanetary era. On some small worlds, governments collapsed and revolutions raged.
Worst of all, when the Earth Federation tried to pursue and arrest Van Darkel, it was found that he had cunningly manipulated legal matters in such a way that no court could convict him. There was no legal proof of embezzlement. Van Darkel went free, into space.
But his triumph was hollow. For soon after, the United Worlds met and unanimously passed a decree taking citizenship away from the master thief. From then on, he could never again be a citizen of Earth, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, nor any other world of Sol! He was pronounced an exile, a Man Without a World. He was free to roam space, but there were orders to shoot him on sight, if he dared land on any world.
And for 20 years now, Van Darkel had been wandering through space like a lonely ghost. He was not only the Man Without a World. He was also the Man Without a Friend.
These thoughts whirled through Jon’s mind as he turned toward the door. But he paused, curiously. “Twenty years,” he murmured. “But how have you been able to get food and fresh oxygen supplies without landing on any world?”
Van Darkel waved. “When I need supplies, I send a robot to some world in a small rocket, and he buys what I need. But I myself don’t dare set foot anywhere.” He shuddered. “People would claw me to bits at the first sight of me!”
“The richest man alive—and the most miserable!” Jon said. “I’m going now. I can’t waste my time with a human worm like you.”
“All right! Go!” the exile suddenly screamed. “I was really going to tell you about Earth being in danger from invasion, if you had treated me with the least bit of kindness. But now I won’t. Go!”
Jon whirled. “Earth in danger? Are you bluffing? Is this some trick of yours to keep me here?”
“No, it’s the truth!” Van Darkel yelled madly. “I’ve been roaming space constantly. I come upon things others never see. Just a week ago, I saw giant spaceships from another star land secretly on a certain world. They are setting up big ray cannon to blast Earth!”
Jon grabbed his arm. “Which world? Where are they? Speak, man. You can’t let your own people be conquered by an enemy.”
A hollow laugh came from the exile. “My own people? The people who shun and despise me? Bah! This is my revenge now. Let them be conquered. I hereby renounce the human race as they renounced me!”
And laughing madly, Van Darkel shoved Jon out the door. Jon tried to resist, but at barked orders, robots helped their master, and Jon was flung out into space.
In his own ship, Jon sat stunned. Invaders from another star! When would they strike? And where were they? Only one man knew—Joaquin Van Darkel, the Man Without a World. A man so bitter at his long exile that he would calmly stand aside and watch his own people die under the heel of ruthless conquerors! Strange twist of fate!
Jon had to get the answer from Van Darkel, somehow. But how? Pondering furiously, as he followed the space-yacht, Jon thought of a desperate ruse. Rummaging in the supply room, Jon found certain materials and rapidly hammered out a metal suit for himself. He would re-enter the space-yacht—disguised as a robot servant!
When ready, Jon shut off the lights of his ship and crept close to the yacht. His figure leaped across. Silently, swiftly, he picked the lock of the side hatch and crept within. Then, straightening up stiffly, like a robot, he boldly went to Van Darkel. Covered from head to foot in shining metal armor, with only holes to peer out of, Jon hoped he could pass for a robot.
Van Darkel did not even glance up. He was playing cards with three other robots, whiling away time. Suddenly, he slapped the cards down in a rage. “I’m tired of playing with you tin numbskulls!” he yelled.
He crossed over to a port window and trained a small mounted telescope on distant Earth. “The enemy invaders will strike soon,” he gloated aloud. “I’ll sit and watch Earth being blasted with long-range Atomic Rays!”
Jon thought fast. Should he attack Van Darkel and try to force the answer from him? No. Van Darkel was just madman enough to defy force. He had to be tricked . . .
Jon spoke, using a toneless rasping voice like a robot. “Perhaps, master, you could even join the invaders? Then, after they have won, they would make you overlord of conquered Earth!”
Instantly, cupidity gleamed in Van Darkel’s face and he barked orders for his robot crew to turn the ship. “Yes, why not?” he gloated. “Why not offer my services to the invaders and then lord it over Earth? Ah, sweet revenge! Head the ship for Tethys, moon of Saturn!”
Jon leaped into action now. He had his answer. With one blow he flattened Van Darkel, then raced to the radio and sent out the flash—“Top Emergency! Secret invaders camped on Tethys! Send all Patrol units to smash them!”
It was only twenty-four hours later that the danger was over, as the mighty fleets of the Space Patrol surrounded and crushed the invasion forces before they could launch their sneak attack.
Van Darkel was haggard and hopeless at this collapse of his revenge. Jon spoke harshly. “That was treason. Van Darkel. If I reported it that way, the Space Patrol would hound you down and blast you out of space.”
“Take me to Earth and have me executed,” the exile mumbled “I’m ready for it. I’d welcome death!”
Jon grinned mirthlessly “That’s too easy,” he said grimly. “You were ready to watch millions die. I think the best punishment for you is just to keep on being the Man Without a World.”
1950
ROBINSON CRUSOE OF SPACE
In 1949, before space travel, only telescopes could be used to discover the planets and satellites and asteroids in the Solar System. But in 2261 A.D., spaceships themselves could cruise through the vast void and find new worlds by direct visitation. Each year, new bodies were found in remote sectors of space.
One such new little world came to the attention of Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol. He was cruising far past Neptune when the tiny pin point first caught his eye. Puzzled, he looked at the star charts. No, it was not listed. It must be some new, wandering planetoid!
Jon became excited. It was thrilling to be the first man to land on some new world. Jon felt like Columbus as he sped for the planetoid and saw that it had craters like the moon, but also widespread vegetation. Did people live there?
But suddenly, Jon’s rocket motor began to miss. The main atomic tube had burned out! Frantically, realizing his danger, Jon tried to veer away, but it was too late. The planetoid’s gravitation had grippe
d him and was dragging his helpless ship down at ever increasing speed.
Jon had no chance even to radio out a distress call. There was a grinding smash and Jon’s mind went black. He had crash-landed on the new, unknown world.
Minutes later, Jon’s senses slowly swam back. He sat up, feeling his legs and arms gingerly. No bones broken, luckily. He staggered erect and then gasped as he saw his ship. It was a total wreck. It had smashed open like an eggshell. It would never fly again. A cold chill crept around Jon’s heart.
He was marooned on this undiscovered world . . . like a shipwrecked sailor on a desert island!
Jon shook himself. He was jumping to conclusions. First, he would see if he could repair and use the ship’s radio. But one look at the broken bits of the radio and Jon knew that was hopeless.
Second, what about food and water? Another shock swept over the Space Patrolman as he saw that a smashing bulkhead had ground most of the tins and containers of food to shreds. The water tank had split and the precious fluid had drained into the ground. Jon had only enough food and water for one day!
Third, was this world inhabited? For the answer to this, Jon silently waved at his wrecked ship and trudged away. He would have to seek the inhabitants—if any.
It was a tiny world. Jon could estimate by the short horizon that it was probably only 25 miles in diameter. That meant that Jon could walk completely around it—some 80 miles—in one day. The gravity was so light that Jon could take big long leaps and cover territory fast.
Jon had only one thing to be really thankful for—that this tiny world had an atmosphere. This was not too strange, in that many small worlds had “heavy” air which did not leak off into the vacuum of space. Earth’s type of light air would not remain in such a weak gravity field. But heavy air, composed of multiple oxygen and nitrogen molecules, did not drift away. So Jon was in no danger of suffocation on an airless world.
Also it was surprisingly warm, with the sun so far away. This, Jon knew, would be due to a high percentage of radioactive elements in the soil, which gave off steady heat. As a result of the almost tropical warmth, vegetation grew luxuriantly. Jon was soon wandering through a forest of giant fern-like trees. And suddenly, a fierce beast attacked. It looked more like a tiger than a bear, yet it was neither.
The biggest shock of all now came as he whipped out his ray gun from his hip-holster and heard only a click. Jon saw that the gun was bent and twisted from the crash-landing. Useless!
Jon flung the gun at the roaring creature, and dove under its raking claws as it pounced mightily. The following seconds were a nightmare, as Jon fought the killer-beast with his bare hands. Only his superb training in all emergencies at the Space Patrol Training School, allowed Jon to use animal jiu-jitsu and conquer the beast. Pressure on the key brain nerve—a sudden twist of the neck—a crack—and Jon leaped clear of the carcass.
Panting, Jon went on. He kept watch and avoided other roaming carnivores. People? Were there people? Cities? But 24 hours later, having circled the tiny worldlet, Jon knew the grim answer.
“Let’s face it,” he mumbled aloud. “I’m alone on this world. The only human being here. In other words—I’m now the Robinson Crusoe of Space!”
Jon shuddered. Robinson Crusoe had lived for most of his lifetime on his lonely island, utterly marooned. Jon, too, might be facing a lifetime here! Another spaceship might not come by for years—and years . . .
Jon shrugged off his despairing mood. “Well,” he said aloud, into the vast silence around him, “if I’m to be another Robinson Crusoe. I’d better get busy. I need food, water, and shelter, just as he did.”
The following days were busy ones for the marooned Space Patrolman. He fashioned a crude axe from the wreckage of his spaceship and chopped down trees for logs. He built a log cabin, and bunk, and crude furniture. His bedding at night was a, thick mat of fern leaves.
In the light gravity, Jon was able to leap like a mighty bullfrog and chase down small game for food. Also fruits were plentiful. But for three days Jon could find no water, until he came upon a tiny hidden pool among rocks.
Then he leaned back in relief. He had a place to sleep, food to eat and water. Come what might, he could continue to exist—for years. Now he had leisure time on his hands, and caught a few animals alive, taming them for pets. There was a screeching bird with gaudy plumage, much like a parrot. And a monkeylike animal with two tails that gave Jon hours of amusement as it swung and cavorted about merrily. Also Jon found a big lumbering beast that he could milk, adding to his food supply.
“Just like Robinson Crusoe,” Jon murmured aloud. “And how long will I be here? All my life? Headquarters must be searching for me, but they’ll never suspect this unknown little world unless they happen to stumble across it like I did. One chance in a thousand.”
Jon sighed. At that moment, he resigned himself to a lifetime as the Robinson Crusoe of Space! There was no escape, except by a miracle. Jon took a hike to settle his thoughts.
Suddenly, a cry tore from his lips. There, in the hard clay before him, was a—footprint! Not his own, for he wore boots. It was the print of a bare human foot!
Jon found himself yelling and dashing madly along, following the trail of prints. Another human being was alive on this tiny world! Jon must find him. Any sort of human companionship would be like finding a treasure.
The footprints led to a cave. Jon dashed in—then stopped short in dumb misery. A skeleton lay there. Jon remembered now that the footprints had all been in hard-packed clay, which had preserved imprints made years and years before.
The only other man on this lost world was—dead!
How long Jon sat there in stunned disappointment, he did not know. But his eyes focused on writings scribbled all over the walls. It was the other man’s sad story—of how his exploring spaceship had also crashed here, 50 years before. He too was marooned. He too took up a Robinson Crusoe existence. But unlike Crusoe, he had never been rescued, finally—except by death.
Jon’s eyes went idly over a series of figures. To fill lonely hours and keep from going mad, the other man had worked out complete data about the new world—its exact size, mass, mean temperature, calendar, and force of gravitation.
Jon suddenly jerked up. Those figures on gravitation! The gravity was so weak that the “escape velocity”—or the amount of speed needed to leave the surface—was ridiculously low. In fact, it was only a hundred feet per second!
“A hundred feet per second!” screeched Jon in wild elation. “Why with a good start. I can run and jump that fast! Poor old fellow—the way to escape this world lay before his nose all the time—and he didn’t know it!”
Three days later Jon was ready. He had used every scrap of material from the wreckage and made himself a sealed spacesuit. Within its bulges, he had a pressure-bottle of air, salvaged unharmed. He could survive in space for 10 days.
Jon picked a wide flat field and began running. Faster and faster his legs churned. In the light gravity, he reached speeds far greater than any Earth athlete had ever achieved.
Finally he gave a stupendous leap—straight up. At the flashing speed of over a hundred feet per second, he stared up . . . up . . . up . . . and kept on going. According to the laws of motion in space, any body once moving kept moving in the same direction unless stopped.
It was ten days later, as Jon gasped his last supply of air into his lungs, that he drifted within the well-traveled Uranus-Neptune space lane. A passing ship zoomed past, as if not seeing the tiny figure—but then its rockets braked and it spun about to pick him up.
Safe, Jon looked out of the port-window at the invisible world he had left. “I was the Robinson Crusoe of Space for only a short time—thanks to the true Robinson Crusoe of Space!”
THE SPACE BEACHCOMBER
Far out in space, a duel took place between two weaving rocketships, each blasting away at the other with all its guns. The larger of the two ships was that of the Space Vulture, notorious pir
ate of the interplanetary era of 2261 A.D. The smaller ship was that of Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol.
Jon Jarl had been on the trail of the Space Vulture, and had at last caught up with him, engaging him in a grim duel. Unfortunately, Jon was outgunned. The larger ship and its trained crew could outshoot him. Jon maneuvered cleverly, staying in the battle, but finally a sizzling ray-bolt from the bandit ship sliced across his rocket tubes. Jon spun out of control. End over end, his ship tumbled off through space, powerless. And Jon himself, hurled against the hard wall, blacked out.
The Space Vulture grinned evilly, seeing the police ship twisting off through space. “Another notch on my ray gun!” he gloated. “Another space copper I bumped off!”
But Jon was not dead. Though his rocket-motor was dead, the hull was intact and no air leaked out. The ship tumbled aimlessly through space for long hours.
When Jon’s senses slowly swam back, his eyes opened to see a grizzled, bearded face over him. “How are ye, son?” said a gruff voice.
“All right, I guess,” Jon murmured weakly, staggering to his feet. He winced at sore muscles, but in a moment felt his strength returning. Then he turned to the old man.
Jon couldn’t help drawing back a little from him. The old man was unkempt and slovenly, with wild hair and untrimmed beard, and he wore misfit clothing. He looked like one of the lowest derelicts of humanity. “Who are you?” Jon asked. “How did you rescue me? And where am I?”
“Whoa, son,” grinned the old man. “One thing at a time. First of all, just call me the Beachcomber of Space. As to where we are, put on your breathing helmet and we’ll step outside. Then you’ll see.”
Wearing breathing helmets, they both stepped out. Jon gasped. He had thought he was on some world, naturally. But he saw now that they were in space. And stretching before him for miles in all directions was the most astounding sight he had ever seen. It was a jammed mass of wreckage of spaceships, countless thousands of them. It was a graveyard of derelicts!
