The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  A heavy explosive sound resounded through the catacombs.

  “The last space ship—taking off,” Vivian breathed”. “Is—is there still time to get to Oil Plains?”

  A minute later they were rolling up out of the subway in Ray’s powerful car.

  “We’ll be among the last to leave,” he said grimly. “The professor and all the force have gone. It’s high time we got aboard.”

  As they came out into the open Vivian gave a shocked cry. She had caught first sight of the falling moon. Holding the car wide open on the empty highway, Ray turned for a quick glimpse. His foot went harder against the accelerator. The spectacle was unnerving. A vast section of yellow moon with deep black edges was coasting down out of the skies. Smaller fragments around it were also floating earthward. A second and a third glance gave proof that the flying bodies were enlarging visibly as they plummeted toward earth.

  Vivian was breathless. “Will the transmitter still be working?”

  “We’ll soon know,” Ray answered through set teeth. “The radio waves won’t be disturbed—but there’s no telling how soon earthquakes may be tearing up everything. This old globe will probably start ripping and thrashing over the surface before that chunk of moon ever strikes. When that happens, the giant transmitter will quit cold.” Ray took a curve at a dangerous speed, and Vivian saw a long loading platform stretching ahead of them. The endless row of open cars was moving gently.

  “Deserted,” said Ray. “Everybody’s gone.”

  “There’s another automobile following us. I see its lights,” said Vivian, looking through the rear window. Her heart beat wildly as she added, “Do you think it might be Sheebler?”

  Ray didn’t answer. Inwardly he cursed himself for letting a bullet go to waste. There would be difficulties enough on Mars without Sheebler. Better that the moon strike this instant—Ray slowed down almost to a stop, turned shortly, coasted a few feet, then cut off the engine. They were aboard a slowly rolling transit car. Their fate rested in the hands of time.

  The great fragment of moon seemed almost upon them now. The earth’s shadow spread blackness across the upper side of it. Then at once the hues began to turn. The outer edges changed from black shadows into a dull red glow—brighter and brighter. The whole magnificent body was inflamed with a brilliant red that glowed over the landscape.

  As it scorched through the earth’s atmosphere it grew more scintillating—a blinding white. The approaching car lights paled. Warmth was pouring down. There could be only a few seconds left now.

  The rolling floor bearing the motor car, within which the terrified couple huddled, accelerated into lightning speed and flew as if through space. Objects that Ray had helped to create swept past so swiftly that the kaleidoscopic scene meant nothing.

  Then there was a sudden retarding. “We’re stopping. Something’s gone wrong. We’re sunk!”

  Slower—slower—they were easing along through a great enclosure now. Nothing of this scene was familiar to Ray—nothing except the bystander who hailed them as they rolled by. It was Professor Buchanan.

  “You’ve made it!” he shouted. “You’ve just made it.”

  So this was Mars. Sometime in those flashing seconds just passed, they had come through. They breathed again.

  A moment later they were on the unloading platform listening to a blow by blow radio account of the Earth’s catastrophe as it was being witnessed by astronomers on Mars. A spectacle in the distant heavens.

  The procession of radio transit cars brought forth only two more objects that had jumped the sea of space before the Earth’s giant transmitter was struck dead. They were an unpleasant sight; nevertheless, both Vivian and Ray experienced a curious feeling of relief at their appearance. One was the top half of a fine motor car—sheared off clean. The other was the upper half of the body of Damon D. Sheebler—stone dead.

  Ray looked down into the face of the lovely girl in his arms. There was no fear in her eyes now—only joy and hope and pride.

  [*] Since the energy of sound and tight can be converted into electrical impulses, forced through space, and regenerated into the original form at the receiver, why not the energy of matter?

  WHIRLPOOL IN SPACE

  First published in Amazing Stories, November 1939

  “Ebbtide” Jones and Stan Kendrick decided on a career of peaceful beachcombers of space. But instead they became involved in a weird plot of intrigue against the exiled ruler of Zandonia.

  CHAPTER I

  Lost: A Space Flivver

  The space liner zoomed off on schedule. Rocket blasts echoed over the reefs, sent a shiver to the dome of the lighthouse, shook Stan Kendrick out of his deep study. He sprang to a window to see a line of white smoke disappear into the morning sky.

  “There she goes!” yelled “Ebbtide” Jones from his rocky perch near the water’s edge.

  Stan glanced down at his beachcomber friend with scorn. “Who cares?”

  “I ain’t talkin’ about the gal,” the lackadaisical Ebbtide whined, still gazing at the sky. “I know you don’t give a hang about her, specially since she told you you was mossed over. I’m speakin’ about the ship.”

  “She was a fool to sign up for that space hostess job,” Stan muttered.

  “I still say she’s darned good lookin’, Ebbtide shouted. “She’d make an awful perty wreck.” A dubious look from Stan made him quickly add, “I’m talkin’ about the ship. All I know about the gal’s what you’ve told me. I’ve never saw her.”

  “You probably never will,” Stan retorted. “Space navigation’s too perilous. Needlessly so!” He heard Ebbtide cackle, barked at him, “What’s funny down there?”

  “You.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause you know enough about rocketin’ to outfly the best of ’em, and yet you stay anchored to your ivory tower with your books and telescopes and weather maps.” Ebb cackled again.

  “What’s funny about that?” Stan demanded.

  “Maybe the gal’s right, you’re mossed over. If you ever once got bit by a spunk fish, you’d tear out and show the space friends how it’s done. I’ll bet you’d make whipped cream out of the Milky Way.”

  “Spunk fish!” Stan grunted. “Listen who’s talking! Ebb Jones, who never did a thing in his life but sit on a rock and wait for wreckage to blow in. It’d take more than spunk to ever get you on a space ship. It’d take twenty stevedores and a hoist!”

  Surprisingly, two weeks later Stan Kendrick and Ebbtide Jones took off in a space flivver. No one knew where they went or why. Everyone who knew either of them was amazed. Telecasts and newspapers broadcast the story and the world talked about it. In time the story took a tragic turn.

  “NO WORD FROM MYSTERY FLIERS.”

  Days, weeks passed. Not a hint of them from incoming space liners. Radiograms from Venus, Mars, and more distant spheres brought no word.

  The native fishermen and beach combers shook their bewildered heads. “ ‘Tain’t natural,” they said. “Watchin’ the sea was in Ebb’s blood. Wherever he’s gone, he’ll starve for lack of it. Though most likely he’s dead by now.” The excited talk at space ports and in scientific circles gradually waned. Stan’s former astronomy professor concluded the young scientist must have gone on a fatal wild goose chase. “He doubtless set out to find proof for one of his original theories, which he concocted by dozens while working at his father’s lighthouse, but I fear he was too cocksure for his own good. I predict he’ll never return.”

  At length observers came to the tragic verdict, “Lost in Space,” and that was that. Most of the world forgot the incident at once.

  But there was a girl who remembered, Susette Udell, a hostess on a space liner. Also a pilot named Kiger. However, neither of these ever shared their private suspicions with anyone.

  In the meantime the world turned its attention to the most exciting news of the moment, the overthrow of the African king, Ajo Baustobub, Ruler of Zandonia. The European Powers slice
d his kingdom over a conference table, and invited him to flee. He packed his treasure and flew to the United States.

  Shortly after his arrival he rebuked the European Powers with a startling decision. Telecasts flashed, newspapers blazed with bold headlines.

  “ZANDONIAN MONARCH MAY QUIT EARTH.”

  “KING AJO BOOKS PASSGE TO VENUS.”

  It was the first time in history that an ousted monarch broke off relations with the earth.

  “ZANDONIAN GEMS TO GO WITH AJO.”

  The king’s treasure was a matter of much comment, for it included the well known Zandonian Gems, one of the rarest collections of precious stones in the world. Protests sounded throughout Europe against A jo’s taking these valuables off the planet; but the United States insisted it was his right, and even offered to send official protection, which the king politely refused. He had his own cortege of Zandonian guardsmen which would be quite enough.

  The space liner he chartered was manned by a crew with an exceptional reputation for avoiding interplanetary pirates. Commanded by a pilot named Kiger. King Ajo interviewed Kiger and his crew, inspected the ship, and expressed his confidence that the trip would be successful. After meeting the new space hostess, a beautiful girl named Susette Udell, he added that he anticipated a pleasant voyage.

  CHAPTER II

  Bonanza in the Sky

  When Stan and Ebbtide took off from the earth they knew exactly where they were going and had good reason for telling no one. Ebb was so excited—and so airsick—he couldn’t eat.

  “We’re ninety-eight hours out,” said the young scientist, watching the dials eagerly. Soon he would either prove or disprove his hunch. “We’re starting on our fifth day.”

  “Fifth day! Then why haven’t we had five sunrises?” Ebb had never been off the earth before. “We ain’t had but one, and that was when we took off.” Stan laughed. “We’re out in the open now, Ebb. The sun doesn’t have anything to rise over.”

  “Gosh, I forgot about that. But when’s it goin’ to be daylight? This velvety black is like midnight.”

  “It’s daylight now on the sunny side of our flivver. Want to crawl out and see?”

  “No, thanks!” the beach comber groaned. “Even if it was bright as day, I’d still be in the dark about everything. All this space looks just alike to me, and yet you claim we’re on our way to a beach comber’s paradise.”

  “Right!” said Stan. “And we’ll drop anchor before long if there’s anything to anchor to. There should at least be a month’s accumulation of meteorites and—”

  He broke off short, stared at a point of light in the velvety black.

  “What’s up?” The beach comber hugged the walls as Stan checked the speed. “That star’s gettin’ brighter, ain’t it?

  Stan adjusted the telescope. “That’s no star. That’s our whirlpool!”

  Ebb’s eyes bulged. “No kiddin’ !”

  “Take a look through the telescope. What do you see?”

  “Looks like a cluster of fruit under a spotlight—turnin’ a little.”

  The scientist’s eyes swept the dials, his hands flew over the controls. “What else, Ebb?”

  “A few grapes floatin’ around free from the main ball of fruit.”

  “That’s it, Ebb, that’s it!” He was so excited he could hardly speak. He retarded the ship as fast as he dared. “Take a good look, Ebb. There’s a sight no one has ever seen before. That’s a gravitational eddy a rare thing, especially this close to solar space routes. We’ll drift in as slow as we can.” The bright spot grew.

  “How do you know no one’s seen it before?”

  “Because it only formed last month. Three or four more months and it’ll go away, but in the meantime it’ll draw a lot of driftwood out of space, and if you don’t have some pickings I miss my guess.”

  Ebbtide blinked. In twenty years of beach combing he’d never struck a real bonanza. His mind swam with visions of the valuables so often lost in space. “You mean that everything that gets turned loose in space will wash into this whirlpool?”

  “Within a limited radius—yes. This gravitational pocket is due to a temporary arrangement of heavenly bodies. I stumbled onto it when I did an original problem for my astronomy class. Look how it’s turning! And see how easy those balls bump and jostle around. They’d be heavy on earth, but they ntfust weigh almost nothing out here.”

  The naked eye could now detect the clearly etched cluster of meteontes. Ebb’s angular body braced against the telescope. Suddenly he emitted a yell that did justice to his deepest instinct. “Hooray! A wreck!”

  Stan gasped. “Are you sure?”

  “As plain as day—a space ship— mangled as perty as you could ask for!” Stan glanced through the telescope. “By George, you’re right. Looks like a Venus-Mars mail boat—an old model —wedged in among a clump of meteorites. Good sign. That crate’s probably been drifting in space for two or three years.”

  As the space flivver eased up toward the whirlpool, Ebb jumped about like a hooked eel, for more promising wreckage appeared.

  “Talk about pickin’s! You’re a marvel, Stan, plowin’ through all those leagues of space straight for this spot. How in the name of flyin’ fish you knew this dizzy ball of rocks would be hangin’ out here in the empty sky is more’n I can— Look, Stan, boxes of cargo scattered around! Say, for once we’ve struck a vein. Let’s anchor down and nab the booty before—before someone comes along to nose us out.” Ebb chilled a little with the thought.

  “Don’t worry. No one ever thinks of space combing. Pilots consider that anything tossed off a ship is lost for good— and ordinarily it is. So this is your own little monopoly, Ebb, and it may prove a pretty good thing before the whirlpool dissolves.”

  The ship nosed through the floating balls of rock and ice that spiralled about the central cluster, and drew in close. The gravitational vortex was not strong enough to put the ship’s counter motors to a test. The flivver sputtered around the meteoric cluster, the whole of which was no bigger than a battleship rolled into a ball.

  A curious floating junkyard. Scraps of cast-off cargo, fuel containers, heaps of frozen waste jumbled together among rounded rocks of all sizes and tints. Two or three shapeless clumps that might have once been human bodies. Here and there unbroken packages that might contain gold or silver—or possibly soap. Ebbtide’s eyes glittered.

  “It’s all yours, pal,” said Stan as they scrapped along the dark side of their little planet, flashing a spotlight. “My only object, you remember, was to prove that this existed and make some astronomical studies of it. The salvaging is yours. We’ll hang on for ten weeks if all goes well, and then cart your treasure back to earth. Okey?”

  “Okey.”

  “Good. Shall we tie up and step out?”

  The ship came to rest on the bright face of the ball, rotated with it through the dark and back again by the time the men donned their space suits.

  “I’m dizzy already,” said Ebbtied. “Maybe you’d better go first.”

  They passed through the air locks and Ebbtide felt his clumsy oxygen suit puff out against the vacuum. His scared ejaculation reached Stan through earphones. So did every hard swallow. It was Ebbtide’s first taste of the void.

  “What are your teeth chattering about?” Stan asked as they descended the ladder.

  “Those rocks don’t look none too solid.”

  “Right.” Stan reached out to a boulder as big as a barrel. “Light as a soap bubble.” He gave it a push. It sailed out into space and floated back like a rubber balloon. Ebb was so surprised he let go the ladder and fell.

  He never knew whether he fell up or down, but he fell toward the nearest rock, kicking and squirming. One kick against the rock and off he bounded into space a good two hundred feet. He described a hyperbola and floated back, screeching through the radio like a fire siren.

  The two men spent an hour of rolling and creeping over their flimsy little sphere, returned to the ship
optimistic. There was frozen food among the wreckage. Locomotion was not so perilous as they at first thought. You couldn’t fall off without falling back. Best of all, there was plenty of combing to be done, and more expected; and plenty of astronomical data to gather.

  “We’ll be as snug here as Robinson Crusoe,” Stan mused. He wished Susette Udell could see him now.

  “It’s all too good to be true,” Ebb whined. “Someone’s sure to come along and horn in on it.”

  “We won’t let them,” the scientist declared. “This little baby planet is ours, and I give you the privilege to name it.”

  So Ebbtide Jones fixed up a sign and Stan helped him plant it. A proud moment it was for the beach comber as he christened the heavenly body “Jones.”

  The weeks that followed proved so idyllic for both astronomer and salvager that the latter’s instinctive trouble hunches came back. “It’s too good to last. Are you sure no one knows about this spot but us?”

  A tinge of worry showed in Stan Kendrick’s strong face. “No. Other astronomers may figure it out, just as I did.”

  “Don’t you say you figured it out for a class? What’s to prevent them from rocketin’ up here?”

  Stan got up from his calculating machine and paced the cabin floor. “Most of them didn’t follow through on my calculations. Even the professor got hung up. But I remember there were two persons who caught the point. One was a girl I’ve mentioned—”

  “The one who told you that you was—”

  “Yes. The other was a stranger who dropped in to visit the class. I didn’t like his looks or the way he took my stuff down in writing—so I stopped without actually mentioning the whirlpool—though he may have got it. Later I learned he was a space pilot named Kiger.”

  Ebbtide groaned. “We’ll have him on our necks sooner or later, I feel it in my bones. These pickin’s is too rich to go on undisturbed. Say—guess what floated in this mornin’ !”