by Don Wilcox
But instead they were steeped in argument, confusion, and deep ponderings. The big news couldn’t quite be comprehended. In spite of the “proofs” Voileen and he had brought, the people acted as if they preferred not to believe. A rumble of faraway thunder was warning enough to make them settle back into their old ways of thinking. Into their old beliefs. Into their old confidence that everything was known and recorded in their Laws.
Yes, the old ways were easier.
And so the whole question of whether or not a new world had been discovered had been twisted into other questions:
Had King Witfessal been insulted by this exploration for a new world?
Had King Witfessal declared himself by hurling lightning?
And finally, who had killed Bolt?
Mombal himself had jolted the public curiosity through this series of leaps. Perhaps he had done so intentionally and cleverly.
At any rate, the final question had been answered. And now the murderer of Bolt stood on the porch. His eyes, Hajjah noticed, were continually chasing from the flame gun to the porch pillars, to the lakes and mountains in the distant upturned landscape, down across the crowd with a swift sweep, over the porch floor, and back to the flame gun.
It was Ecker’s manner, more than any other one thing, that had changed during the runaway interlude.
For now Ecker stood as a proven murderer. And, as the meeting progressed, it was quickly proved that he had killed Nome as well as Bolt. Moreover, as the full story of his attack upon Nome was reviewed, it became obvious to all listeners that the murder had been meant for Mombal.
Again Mombal’s binoculars came into the picture. Though Mombal had not seen the actual murder of Nome, he had seen the murderer’s effort to hide the body. And this special knowledge Mombal had shared with a few trusted Agents, who had then gone at once to the marshes and found the ghastly proof of the deed.
The Agents had given Nome a respectful burial in private, and at Mombal’s request had kept the whole matter a secret until now.
Ecker couldn’t help listening while these events were reviewed. His eyes kept shifting.
The people watched him expectantly. They naturally expected him to break under the strain. All of this shame had descended upon him so swiftly. And he was the handsome young actor who was so near to becoming the High Servant of the King.
All at once he straightened. He took a strong confident step toward Mombal, His arm extended dramatically. He called out in his stern stage voice—the voice that had made all of these people tingle to their fingertips during his days of acting.
“It all comes to me now, Mombal. Hand me your instrument of vision, I demand the right to examine it again.”
LXII
Mombal handed over the binoculars.
Ecker put them to his eyes and began sweeping the landscape.
Hajjah kept his gun ready. There was trickery afoot, he was certain.
Voileen’s frightened whisper was courage to Hajjah’s ears. “Don’t let him get between you and the crowd, Haj . . . He knows you wouldn’t dare throw flames into the crowd.”
“I’m watching him,” Hajjah said, and he maneuvered accordingly. Even when Ecker was fully engrossed in studying the scenery he maintained a healthy respect for the flame gun.
“He’s working on the crowd again,” Voileen whispered. “They’re mystified. He’s going to make them believe the instrument is false.”
“But those men who tried it proved it true.”
“There were fifteen of them. There are thousands in this crowd. And that’s too many. They can’t see for themselves. They’ll have to take someone’s word.”
“Is there any reason they should take his?”
“It’s his voice and his acting,” Voileen whispered. “Watch him.”
Ecker took the binoculars from his eyes slowly. He turned them over in his hand. The crowd waited breathlessly for what he might say. He laughed.
“What a hoax. This instrument is nothing but two pieces of hollow dravoth painted black and filled with mud.”
Ecker’s mocking laughter brought a murmur of amusement from the audience. His old friend Grannz laughed louder than anyone.
Hajjah caught the quick meaningful glance that passed between Ecker and Grannz. Then Ecker was bellowing to the people again with the same old bravado, apparently unshaken.
“How silly we are, to allow trifling lies to shake our solid faith in our Laws. How stupid we are to allow faithless men to occupy this palace—men who enjoy fastening crimes upon the innocent. My dear people, I wish each of you could look—but all you could see would be the figments of your own imaginations.”
Mombal was shaking his head vigorously. “It’s too late, Ecker. Your game can’t be saved.”
But Ecker, paying no attention, called to Grannz.
“Step up here, Grannz, my good man. You are an honest fandruff herder. Look into this instrument and tell me what you see.”
Grannz marched up the porch steps and took the binoculars.
“If you see anything—anything at all,” Ecker urged, “tell us what it is.” For a long moment Grannz looked, frowning and shaking his head. But suddenly his elbows jerked tight against his sides and he stared as if he were frozen.
“I see something, all right. Never saw anything like it before.”
LXIII
“It’s all your imagination,” Ecker shouted. “Those sticks are full of mud . . . What do you think you see?”
“I know I see it!” Grannz yelled, jerking the binoculars down from his eyes. “I can even see it now”
“What is it?”
“It’s long and winding, and it’s made up of people,” Grannz was again looking through the binoculars, “and it’s coming this way.”
Hajjah heard Voileen gasp. He crossed in front of the digging machine so that he could look in the direction indicated without relaxing his guard upon Ecker.
Grannz was right, something was coming that was long and winding and made up of people. It was a caravan, rising out of the black ashes of what had once been Crassie’s house.
“The music boy!” Hajjah heard Voileen cry. “He’s come to see us already.”
She lifted the trumpet to her lips and blew five long notes, the fourth one a high one.
From the head of the caravan a brisk little figure stepped far out In front.
Perhaps no one but Ecker, who again held the binoculars, could see the little figure raise a gleaming trumpet to his lips.
But everyone heard the answering blast—five long notes, the next to last one a high one.
From that moment on the meeting was Voileen’s. She couldn’t hold back her enthusiasm. She began shouting at the people the very things they wanted to hear.
“They’re our friends—friends from the outside world! They’ve come to bring us food! . . . Wait . . . Wait . . . Don’t run toward them. You’ll scare them away!”
She blew the trumpet again, and with the aid of Mombal she succeeded in holding the hungry multitude in order.
“They have food in abundance. There’ll be plenty for everyone. You can see that. All those little wagons—and they’re still coming! Stay where you are. The Agents will form you in lines.”
Voileen punctuated her orders with trumpet blasts, and each time the little trumpeteer at the head of the long caravan made answer. By this time the astounding sight had grown into a dune-long caravan, moving slowly up the hill.
Voileen turned triumphantly to Mombal.
“Does anyone still doubt that we found another world?”
Mombal’s sly smile was a fair indication that his doubts had never existed.
“I used to be a friend of your grandfather Crassie,” he told her, out of hearing of anyone else. “He and I learned many things from that great man we speak of as Madman Hill.”
“Then you’ve known all along that this new world was waiting to be discovered.”
“Yes,” said Mombal. “And I’ve known it would b
e discovered. But such a revolutionary discovery is bound to be dangerous. That’s why I didn’t dare reveal my own convictions. Men like Ecker get their lives so deeply rooted in changeless dogmas that they would rather do murder than give ground.”
“I must go and greet the caravan,” Voileen said, seeing that the line of men and wagons was nearing the top of the hill. “But first, Mombal, what are you going to do with Ecker?”
“I don’t know. He’s too dangerous to go free. From the look of him at this moment I would say he is already planning more trouble.”
“Please do something.” Nervous tears filled the girl’s eyes. “I know he’ll strike Hajjah down the first time he gets a chance. He’ll kill him like he killed my father. He’s always been mad with jealousy. Now, after all that’s happened, he’ll take his revenge out on anyone.”
“You’re right” said Mombal gravely. “No one would be safe. He’ll hurl his whole treacherous strength against us. The wonder is that he still stands there—”
But Mombal didn’t finish his private conversation with Voileen, for Ecker chose that moment to go berserk.
LXIV
Ecker began by smashing the binoculars to the floor. There followed a rapid-fire series of destructive acts, in such swift succession that those who saw the event would talk about it to the end of their days.
They would remember that he had almost gone to pieces once or twice before. But in his previous outbursts he had snatched at certain symbols of respectability as if in a panic to retain the good graces of the thousands who were watching him.
But at last the thousands were no longer watching him. Only the few who were still waiting on or near the porch. His inevitable break had held back until now.
It had been planned in the back of his mind. The speed and precision of his violent acts proved as much.
He smashed the binoculars to the floor, at the same time leaping forward. His new position was toward the crowd, and Hajjah didn’t dare use the flame gun to force him back.
On the next instant Ecker knocked the trumpet from Voileen’s hands. It clanged to the porch floor. He jerked a dravoth bar from the porch railing and used it as a club on the trumpet and the binoculars.
He swung about swiftly. He was obviously bent on destroying every visible evidence of the new world that he could bring within reach.
He began clubbing the digging machine.
By this time Hajjah and a dozen others were shouting at him to stop his madness. But madness was what he wanted.
The power of Ecker’s swift blows upon the machine was something to marvel at. The dravoth club broke in his hands.
It broke and struck the starting lever. The digging machine leaped into action with a fearful zooommmm!
Hajjah dropped his gun and sprang to catch the lever.
But before the lever could be snapped off, the machine plowed squarely into Ecker and drilled him to pieces.
LXV
In time to come, there would be legends concerning Ecker’s frightful exit from life. Of those who actually saw it happen a few would remember that the machine showered sparks of lightning. For some, these sparks would become the lightning of King Witfessal, as the story was retold.
However, all Wanzuuran legends were due to take twists and turns under the impact of the newly found world.
In spite of all the talk and turmoil that the new traffic with the outside was destined to bring about, Mombal carried on with his fair and tolerant policies.
His people were encouraged to interpret the mysteries of life as they pleased. They could be dogmatic if the wished. He, himself, could not be quite so positive about anything as had been some ancient predecessor named Witfessal.
Nevertheless, for the benefit of the many persons who were deeply and sincerely disturbed over all this talk of an outside world, Mombal performed an unforgettable favor. He did all that any fair-minded High Servant could have done under the circumstances.
He made an official pronouncement.
He declared that shortly before the discovery he had received a vision from King Witfessal. In it the King had hinted that soon more food would be needed; that it would be an act both wise and good for someone to dig a passage in search of a new supply.
Eventually this sanction became embodied in the changeless Laws, which were, in reality, continually expanding to keep up with the new needs of the people. As their horizons expanded, so did their Laws.
Randolph Hill would have enjoyed watching these developments.
He would have been gratified to see the Wanzuurans open commerce with the outside world, exchanging their sparkling stones for food.
He would have appreciated Hajjah’s plan for enlarging the outer half of the tunnel (as he and Crassie had done with the inner).
These were things which everyone came to approve in time.
Above all, their fullest approvals and blessings were bestowed upon the marriage of Hajjah and Voileen.
Forgotten were the bygone days of cuffs and slaps, the struggle to be respected in spite of being courageous. Hajjah’s strength and bravery, he was surprised to learn, had made him the object of every Agent’s praise.
Voileen, too, was amazed at the new esteem in which the people held her. Not only had her deeds won her the highest of honors, her ancestors had won her a sort of reverence.
Was she not the great-granddaughter of that genius named Hill, who had been mysteriously drawn into this world by King Witfessal himself?
“To hear the folks talk, you’d think that you two had been heroes all along,” Mooburkle would say.
To which Voileen would retort, “And what would have happened if my Haj had listened to you and failed to join me in the tunnel?”
“We’d all have starved to death.” Moo grinned like a foolish fandruff. “Don’t ever listen to the advice of a starving friend . . . By the way, Haj, I hear that Mombal wants you to succeed him as High Servant. I advise you to start training for the job.”
“More bad advice. You must be hungry,” Hajjah laughed. “Voileen and I are explorers, not High Servants. The world’s are out there, waiting.”
LXVI
Hill’s notebook: I wish I could live to see it happen. It will happen, of course. Sooner or later these people are going to find their way out.
When they do, what a change there’ll be in their whole concept of life! What a lot of questions they’ll askl
They may even stop to wonder how they ever got into this hollow planet in the first place. Frankly, that one has me stumped.
EARTH STEALERS
First published in Amazing Stories, June 1943
Lester and June Allison found themselves facing a grave menace to Earth—and once more the famous “battering rams” went into action!
CHAPTER I
“Call for Lester Allison! Call for Lester Allison!”
The loud speakers blared through all the New York space port.
Kirk Riley dropped a grease rag and trudged over to the telephone.
“Hello! Headquarters! This is Kirk Riley. Lester Allison hasn’t been around. Anything I can do?”
“Some professor from Canada is trying to reach Allison. Will he be in today? This seems to be urgent.”
“I’ll call his wife.”
“Right. And give us a ring right away.”
Kirk Riley muttered to himself as he put in the call to Lester Allison’s Rocky Mountain resort home. “As if every call for Lester Allison wasn’t urgent. That’s what comes of having a famous name.” It was a cinch that there was no space man with such a remarkable record as Allison’s. In the realm of solar conquests he and his wife, formerly June O’Neill, were tops. “The Allison ranch? I want to speak to June Allison . . . Hello, June. Where’s the boss?”
June Allison’s voice came over the wire sleepily.
“Who is it? Kirk? You are always disturbing my afternoon nap.”
“Just as I thought. Sleeping your afternoons away. Go wake up the boss and tell h
im there’s an urgent call.”
“He’s not here. He’s in Mercury. Called in last night at four o’clock. That’s why I’m walking around in my sleep today. He’ll be back in a week—”
“There’s some perfessor in Canada that wants him. Can you get the word through? They say it’s an emergency.”
“If I get through I will call you before four o’clock this afternoon, and if I don’t—”
“I know, you will be sound asleep.”
Kirk Riley went back to work in a disturbed mood. He found himself absent-mindedly waving the grease rag over the control board of a huge Battering Ram, leaving a dingy smear on the dials.
“Now what could a perfessor in Canada want with Lester Allison?”
Two hours later the low siren at the space port sang out an announcement that a ship was coming in. Kirk watched the dot in the sky as it swelled into a blazing silver disc.
That was the Mercury Special. It nosed down at the west end of the field, and came skimming over like a gigantic bumble-bee. With a low, smooth buzzing it circled to a stop near the shed where Kirk waited.
The space locks flew open. Lester Allison stepped briskly down the ramp, pressed a button, and glanced back to make sure the entrance folded back into place. In his silver space suit he was as slender and streamlined as the ship itself, thought Kirk.
“Greetings, grease monkey!” Lester Allison grinned. “What’s new on earth?”
Kirk returned the merry greeting, jerking a little as the taller man slapped him on the shoulders. But he braced with importance as he conveyed the news.
“This way to the telephone, my friend. They’re hot on the wire to get you. Something has happened up in Canada. Perfessor somebody or other. Here’s the number.”
Kirk Riley waited as patiently as he could. He was burning up with curiosity.
“Is that so? . . .” Lester Allison’s brows knitted with interest. Then—“No, I never heard of such a thing . . . You say it weighed five tons? . . . Is there any way to preserve it? Pickle it in alcohol or something? . . . Oh, you have . . . Of course I want to see it . . . Yes, I will come up this afternoon.”
