The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  It was a flea by the name of Lyon who sounded off with this keynote announcement.

  Lyon was no greener than his brothers; he was no taller. Perhaps he was half a girth rounder than the average. It is certain that he was considerably noisier than most.

  When the new instrument, with its finely ground lenses was to be hauled up in place, Lyon was the one who stood by the path, shouting in a stentorian voice: “Heave, boys! Don’t lag there! Keep it moving!”

  Eight hardworking fleas had put their shoulders to the wheels and were making good progress. But the hearty encouragement from Lyon added to their energies, it seemed. With renewed vigor they rolled their burden down the trail.

  One of their brothers, a slightly scrawny individual named Zeerat, who was considered by some to be a chronic complainer, muttered unhappily over this outburst of energy.

  “Why do we let Lyon tell us what to do? We know where we are going. If he wants more speed, why doesn’t he put his shoulder to the wheel?”

  “Lyon is too fat to work,” one of his companions rejoined, “but what he lacks in muscle he makes up in voice.”

  “Very generous of him,” Zeerat grunted.

  “I maintain that Lyon is an individual of great force,” said Ark-Lark, the companion. “He has encouragement for everyone.”

  And another flea added, “We need fellows like Lyons to make our speeches. There will be an occasion for a speech as soon as this telescope is mounted and ready for action.”

  Several thousand fleas were gathered at the appointed spot when the hour for the speech arrived. There was a shouting and a beating of hands to welcome the dignitaries of the occasion. Around the base of the telescope there was a semi-circular platform of concrete.

  The train of dignitaries mounted the steps.

  The most important figure was Prince Zaywoodie. He was tall and handsome. His eyes were very black, his horns very green. It was said that Prince Zaywoodie had won the jumping contest every season since he had grown to maturity.

  Now the Prince spoke.

  “We are living in an age of enlightenment. For many seasons past there has been a shadow over our race. But recent advancements are bringing us into the light.

  “We must no longer feel that we are inferior to the microbes. They may be ten thousand times as large as we, but that does not make them ten thousand times as important.”

  Mass cheering greeted this assertion. Lyon, sitting at the end of the platform, made himself the unofficial leader of the applause by urging the crowd to keep on.

  But Prince Zaywoodie waved for silence and continued, “Some great creatures higher up have conceived of the idea of investigating what they call the ‘atom’. They think that this is an original idea. We know that it is not.”

  This brought an outburst of laughter, and again Lyon led the cheering.

  “We are close enough to the atom that we can see into it,” Prince Zaywoodie went on. “When it comes to exploring a mystery, we are on the ground floor. But these vast creatures who think themselves our masters are handicapped by too much size. We know that they are so large that they have to use instruments even to see our master microbes!

  “We in turn are so much smaller that the microbes themselves used to consider us pests. The very name ‘flea’ which they gave us was once a term of scorn. But today we are proud of that name. It is a symbol of greatness. We are fleas!”

  The tumult with which this masterful bit of oratory was received excelled anything on record. It was not confined to shouting, but included a considerable amount of leaping. Even the dignitaries on the stage bounded up and down with joy. Lyon jumped clear over the telescope, and came down to the stage shouting, “We are fleas! We are fleas!”

  It took several moments for Prince Zaywoodie to calm the crowd so that he could continue.

  “At last we have perfected an instrument which will enable us to do what none of our superiors can do. We shall be able to examine the surfaces of those electrons which make up the atoms of that ‘pink dust’ which has been dumped into our universe. We are now making arrangements to capture one of these electrons.”

  There was more cheering and much gazing into the great atmosphere overhead. As most of these highly developed fleas realized, the atoms which had been brought into this universe were largely space—space that abounded with energy—space whose only form was that of the whirling electrons which it contained. It had been a source of never-ending amazement to these fleas to watch the spinning and whirling of these bodies.

  “The surprising thing that has come to us,” said Prince Zaywoodie, “is a rumor brought back by some of our slaves—the one-cells. Before attempting to capture one of the electrons from our laboratory universe of atoms, we took precautions to send a squad of one-cells into the midst of this pink universe to explore. A few of these have returned. By means of manipulating their six arms, they have transferred their knowledge to us through the established six-arm code. And what is this surprising fact they brought us?”

  The speaker paused, and the thousands of civilized fleas waited with bated breath.

  “We find that some of these electrons are actually inhabited. Yes, inhabited by living animals which roam over its surface, even as we roam over the surfaces of our larger universe.”

  A low murmur spread through the audience. Imaginations were challenged. How could one conceive of animals tiny enough to dwell upon the surface of these little electrons?

  “We have considered the electrons of our laboratory atoms to be too dangerous for handling. As you know, they vary in size. Some of them have diameters no greater than our height. Others would outweigh us thousands of times. All of them spin with such regularity that we have not dared to interfere with their courses.

  “But now that our one-cells have observed living creatures upon them, what could be more logical than our ambition to carry our research further? For this purpose we have built and we now dedicate this great telescope.”

  Prince Zaywoodie bowed time and time again in acknowledgment of the enthusiastic response from his audience.

  There were other brief speeches. There were warnings that these further experiments might involve dangers, but fears were overshadowed by hopes. And above all, the spirit of the occasion was a promise of new features of achievement, which were sure to make an everlasting impression upon the master microbes and their superiors.

  The occasion was climaxed by the appearance of one of the one-cells, who had made an excursion to the surface of an electron.

  Compared to the fleas, this one-cell was much too small to be visible to the audience. But the inventive fleas had provided for this emergency. By a series of reflectors they magnified the image of the one-cell so that it showed upon a screen.

  Through clumsy processes of waving its six arms, the one-cell communicated a few words to the audience. The more educated of the fleas read the symbols as they came forth: “One . . . of . . . the . . . electrons . . . is . . . inhabited . . . by . . . tiny . . . creatures . . . who . . . walk . . . on . . . two . . . legs . . . and . . . resemble . . . fleas.”

  CHAPTER XI

  Crystallized Yellow

  The Battering Ram rocketed along at full speed for several hours, and Lester Allison and Kirk Riley didn’t give the telescope a moment’s rest.

  “How much farther are we going?” Kirk asked. “Where’s our limits?”

  “Our limits are our fuel supply,” Allison replied, “but we may as well turn around. It is a wild goose chase now.”

  “That’s what I figured. This thing you’re chasing was just a dream.”

  “It was something from outside the solar system,” Allison declared.

  Kirk shook his head. “I know how it is. A fellow drops off to sleep for just half a second and he can see the stars jumping around, but they are back in place now and I’ll keep an eye on you to be sure you don’t doze off again.”

  Allison chuckled. “So you think I have been seeing things. Well, I hope
you are right.”

  They turned the Battering Ram back toward the Earth.

  Several hours later they were seeing that strange thing again—a sphere of yellow encompassing the planet. It was larger than before. It appeared to be a thin, transparent balloon, inflated to the breaking point.

  Through this amber-colored, diaphanous covering they could see the Earth itself, neatly centered within.

  Allison did not have much to say. This phenomenon was unbelievable. It could not be, and yet there it was. But Allison now thought of all of the alert astronomers on Earth who had seen this strange thing in the making. He only hoped that they would have some clue as to its origin.

  “My stars and comets!” Kirk kept saying. “Do you reckon we can bust through that thing and get back home?”

  Allison drew a deep breath. “We will soon find out.”

  The great surface of transparent substance rose and spread wider and wider until the space ship seemed about to land on an endless floor of glass.

  It was a tricky business. The instruments reacted as if this were the surface of the Earth. But the gravitation gauge was misbehaving, its arrows jumping erratically.

  A good share of the Sun’s light filtered through to the Earth so that there was a soft amber glow coming up through the transparent floor. On the upper surface, rays of the Sun blazed brightly, like a morning light off a wet pavement.

  “We will never get through there,” said Kirk.

  “If the Battering Ram can’t, nothing can.”

  For three hours they circled, searching for some flaw or break in the surface. They spun round the entire Earth at high flight speed. Everywhere it was the same. The search was futile. The Earth could not be reached without a forcible penetration of this shell.

  Allison slowed the ship down as if for a landing, and lowered it until the landing gear touched the surface. There was a sharp scream of friction and the ship shuddered. On the instant Allison cut for elevation and was again well above the surface.

  “Look back, Kirk. Did we cut a break?”

  “You didn’t even leave a dent.”

  “All right,” said Allison, “strap yourself into your seat and set the levers for a take-off shock.”

  “What you gonna do?”

  “Take a long chance. Are you all set?”

  Kirk felt himself getting pale around the gills. “If you’re figurin’ on smashin’ head-on, just let me out. I will gladly walk home.”

  “It’s a long, long way to Brooklyn,” said Allison. “Hold tight.”

  Several minutes were spent in checking the mechanisms to make sure that the ship could withstand a series of shocks. At last, when the landing gear had been drawn in, the airlocks checked, and the two oxygen-suited pilots fastened in their take-off seats, the Battering Ram accelerated.

  The angle was chosen with care—the shallowest shot that Allison could take that would still give the nose of the ship a chance to go into the surface.

  The Battering Ram charged down like a bullet.

  “Here we go! Hold tight!”

  Kirk did not have to be warned. He was holding on for dear life and his eyes were closed. Then—

  BRROOOMMM!!!

  At the instant of striking Allison’s hand jerked down on the stick.

  Kirk opened his eyes, a little surprised to find that he was still alive. He glanced out to see what had happened. The ship had bounded up like a bouncing ball—a grounder skimming along close to the surface.

  “Here we go again!” Allison shouted. The ship nosed down.

  BLAANNNGG!!!

  Kirk was afraid to open his eyes this time, but when he did he snapped them closed again. The ship was shooting down once more.

  This time when it struck, Kirk emitted a painful groan.

  “What’s the matter?” said Allison.

  The take-off seats glided back and forth and came to a dead stop before Kirk opened his eyes to answer.

  “If I live through this, I will go back to Coney and hire out as a human skyrocket.”

  “If you have any bright ideas about how to get back to Coney, tell them to me. We are up against it, Kirk. We are three thousand miles from the Earth’s surface and we are locked out.”

  CHAPTER XII

  A Job for Mercury Metal

  “What are we gonna do?” asked Kirk. “Can we land and wait to see what happens?”

  “What do you think will happen? Do you figure some expedition will come to our rescue if we settle down and wait?”

  “Well, they ought to see a speck on the surface sooner or later and come up and investigate.”

  “I am afraid we would have a long wait, partner. I’ll admit this thing has me stumped. But in the first place, we have got to think of something besides our own necks, and as long as we are on the outside we have a chance to contact other planets for help. Now, Kirk, do you have any ideas?”

  It was a challenge to the younger man. He stopped to realize then that his hero worship had built up a dependence upon Allison. But this problem was new, and there was no reason to assume that Allison knew all the answers.

  “Well, if I had got into this jam by myself,” said Kirk, “and was drifting around up here alone, I’d try to figure out something, by Gollies!”

  Lester smiled. “Now you’re talking. Where do we go from here?”

  “Well, first of all,” said Kirk, “we better try to communicate with the space port on the earth. And second, if they can’t give us any answers, we had better get to another planet in a hurry, before we are out of fuel.”

  Allison nodded. “Very good, Kirk. We will do both at once. You take the controls. I’ll get on the radio.”

  “Shall I shoot for Venus?”

  “It happens to be on the other side of the Sun,” said Allison, “and besides, my shops are in Mercury. Can you get your bearings from the three-dimensional chart?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” said Kirk. “So long, Brooklyn! We’re Mercury-bound.”

  Several hours later the storm surfaces of the planet nearest the Sun were swelling and boiling like a ball of smoke. The planet was right in front of the Battering Ram’s nose, and as it grew to fill the whole sky, Kirk had the sensation of falling headlong. He was a little dizzy from his long siege at the controls, but he was willing to pick a spot for landing if Allison wanted to give him the chance.

  However, Allison had been disappointed in his efforts to get through to the Earth by radio. Perhaps he felt the need of working off some nervous energy. Without a word, he motioned Kirk to one side and he took over.

  The ship circled, after retarding, before it dipped down toward the mountainous region where heavy forests made landing seem impossible.

  “It’s too bad June isn’t along with us,” said Allison. “This is our old stamping-ground. If you will look carefully, you’ll see the landing chute that we are headed for. There is an underground world here. Once an American scientist named Kilhide made a good thing out of the natives who lived her.”

  “You mean the Dazzalox?” Kirk had heard the accounts.

  “Right,” said Allison. “We had some stormy times, June and I and Smitt and the others, when we were brought down here as slaves. But as things turned out, it was really a lucky break. We have yet to find any metals that can stand up against these Mercury products. In a few minutes you will get to see the Kilhide shops.”

  Kirk watched the ship thread its way slowly down through the long rock tunnel.

  There was a low roar of landing gears echoing through the walls. The headlights reflected gleaming steel tracks along the field. Soon a number of space flivvers and rudders and rocket motors and neat stacks of sheet metal came into view.

  “The finest metal in the world,” Kirk gasped. He was beginning to catch the spirit of this place—a space port and factory from which the Battering Rams themselves had come.

  “We call this the Red Suburb,” said Allison, as he brought the ship to a stop. “In time you will get to know t
his place as well as you know your own space port. And I think you’ll like it. It has an atmosphere of its own.”

  “The air locks opened, and Kirk followed Lester out. He took a deep breath.

  “It does have an atmosphere of its own,” Kirk gasped. “I think I’m gonna faint.”

  “You will be dizzy for a few minutes, but you will get over that. This is the longest space ride you ever had, isn’t it?”

  “It isn’t the ride,” Kirk whispered, “it’s this light air, and I’m wobbly on my pins.”

  “We are in light gravitation here. You will get used to it before long. There’s an exhilaration in it when you discover you can jump five times as far—say, you’re pale. You had better sit down.”

  Kirk went him one better and lay down. He closed his eyes. “Give me time. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  Allison went back into the ship to get a blanket. Kirk felt like a sissy as the veteran pilot rolled him over onto the makeshift bed.

  Voices could be heard echoing through the Red Suburb, calling their greetings to the newcomers.

  “You catch a nap, Kirk, and come on down to the shops when you feel like it. You will find me down there at work. I have got to get the crew busy, and there is no time to lose.”

  Kirk slept the hours away, but as he came to consciousness the problems of the Earth were very much on his mind.

  “Here I am on Mercury,” he mumbled to himself before his eyes opened. “We have come here to get more fuel, and we will go back and try to break through that strange shell that is around the Earth. The world’s toughest metals are here, but what good are they gonna do? The Battering Ram’s made of them already and it couldn’t get through . . . We are stymied . . . We are locked away from the Earth. And my gal friend in Brooklyn won’t know what became of me.”

  Then Kirk dozed off again, as if sleep would lift him out of his troubles. But the big worries mounted before him like grotesque nightmares, staring at him, frightening him. He saw a few flying starfish flying after him, and now they seemed to have great eyes that, leered and mocked. In vast formations they swept the skies, weaving the weird yellow fabrics that imprisoned the Earth in a gigantic, transparent shell.