The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  Suddenly Blug-O-Blug gave a snort of derision, and three other Mogos broke out in laughter. Several of the giants bounced up from the table and walked away roaring.

  CHAPTER III

  “Big Boy” Hurley, the two-hundred-and-forty-pound lieutenant who had served as number one pilot on the long voyage from the Earth, stood at the end of the line, gazing at the Mogo giants as they reassembled around the table, and admitted to himself that he was a pretty small speck, in comparison—in spite of all that Captain Keller had said in his curtain lectures.

  “Remember,” Keller had repeated just an hour before the landing, “we humans and the Mogo giants aren’t much different. There’s good and bad in all of us. As a race, they’re a little bigger—but not enough to give us an inferiority complex. Right, Lieutenant Hurley?”

  “Right, Captain,” George Hurley had echoed.

  “The fact is, they’re only eight hundred and fifty times as tall as we are. In the eyes of a microbe, if a microbe had eyes, we’d all be in the same class. Right, Hurley?”

  “Right, Captain.”

  “They stand just a mile higher than us. What’s a mile—to a space man!”

  “All right, Captain.”

  And so the talk had gone. George Hurley had backed everything Keller said, remembering his own past contact with the Mogo giants as vividly as if it had been yesterday.

  Now the reality came back with a jolt.

  Now, standing in the line of eight men, gazing up at the assemblage of mountainous figures, Hurley gulped hard, not quite sure whether he was a man or a microbe.

  But there was Gret-O-Gret—the nearest of the massive figures—sitting right before him—rising like a great statue of purple robes and peach-colored flesh—sitting calmly at the end of the table, talking. That big soft voice—so well remembered! He and Captain Keller were exchanging greetings. Keller, using the speaker system that had been provided, filled the whole vast glass desert, the table, with his careful Mogo words. The giants drew in closer, watching, listening.

  One of the great creatures held his magnifying glass down toward the table top, perilously close. The heat blazed through, and George expected the Captain would order a retreat to the ship. But a single thunderous word from Gret-O-Gret restrained his giant brother. “Bluggg!”

  Captain Keller introduced each of his seven men: each stepped forward and saluted. George was the last in line. As he stepped forward, he heard Gret-O-Gret echo his name. Yes, the kindly eyes of Gret-O-Gret were beaming down at him. So Gret remembered him!

  “You’re a big wheel on Mogo,” the fellow at Hurley’s elbow whispered. “Now you’ll really put on airs.”

  “I’m just one of the boys,” George returned. That’s what he had tried to tell this fellow Millrock before. But the thick flint-faced fellow had a personality that was slow poison. All the way from the Earth, George had felt Millrock’s jealousy. “Can you understand the Mogo’s speech?”

  Millrock didn’t answer. But George guessed that he was understanding it, all right. Millrock was supposed to be an expert on languages. He stood stiffly, listening to the sounds that rolled clown through the air as the Mogos talked.

  “What’s being said, Millrock?” George asked again.

  “S-s-s-sh!”

  Millrock was getting it all right. Hurley understood some but not all. The two-way jealousy was there, between him and Millrock; there was no use denying it. He felt the warmth creeping under his shock of blonde hair, causing his ears to tingle. He hated Millrock with an unreasoned hate.

  He distrusted Millrock. He couldn’t forget that there had been a mysterious murder, in the New Earth capital, shortly before the expedition jumped off. The young man who was to have come along on this trip as a linguist had been blotted out. Then Millrock, a stranger, had appeared the last minute, bearing papers signed by President Waterfield, and Captain Keller, lacking time to investigate the references, had taken Millrock on.

  All the way Millrock had over-exerted himself to become popular. Yes, George Hurley had envied him his free time, for George had been kept busy at the controls. Millrock had been free to help Captain Keller with his Mogo language lessons. In between times, he’d gambled lightly. He was always tossing half dollars around.

  A bullet-headed, thick-chested coin slapper—that’s what he was to George Hurley’s wife, Anna, the only human survivor of the Earth’s bombing. The engraving was a good likeness of a good-looking gal (if George did say so)—and half dollars ought to be treated with respect . . . Such were George Hurley’s reflections, standing in the presence of mile-tall men. He wondered—did Mogos ever have petty thoughts?

  “Lieutenant Hurley, the canvas!”

  Captain Keller ordered.

  Hurley and Millrock carried out the order as planned. Marching precisely, they unfolded the sixty-foot canvas bearing an official invitation in black print—Mogo symbols and Earth words.

  “It’s a certificate of hospitality,” the captain said in Mogo. The faces of the giants lighted. Keller translated each word, his voice booming through the speakers.

  “We of the New Earth hereby invite Gret-O-Gret, our friend . . .”

  Interpreted in Mogo, it urged Gret-O-Gret to come back to the Earth for a visit, and to stay, if he cared to, as much as a year. Or, if Gret himself could not come, he could send some other Mogo giant as a substitute. The canvas “certificate” guaranteed that the visitor would be treated as an ambassador of good will.

  When Paul Keller finished, the giants murmured their applause.

  Then Gret-O-Gret responded with a speech, expressing his appreciation. At present the great Mogo leader could not say whether he would make the visit in person or send a substitute, but he was deeply touched by the invitation.

  His words were cut short by a rude interruption. A shaggy Mogo giant, passing within hearing of the ceremony, came closer, purring with curiosity. Someone at the conference table motioned him to go away. The shaggy Mogo shrugged his big shoulders, and a shower of dust sifted down from his ragged robes. He made a gesture of apology, and started to beat the dust from his sleeves. That only made matters worse.

  “Into the ship. Forward, march!” Captain Keller impulsively ordered, as the cloud of dust rained down over the top of the table. Big Boy Hurley winced. Did the captain realize that this might be interpreted as a breach of courtesy? On the instant, Keller countermanded his order.

  “Halt! Attention!”

  The Mogos were already doing their utmost to make amends, fanning the dusty air with their robes. Gret-O-Gret hastily cupped his big hand down over the Earth men so they wouldn’t be blown away. In a moment the air was clear again. Gret made an eloquent apology (though Hurley couldn’t understand the words) and the shaggy, dusty passerby, whom they called Faz-O-Faz ambled, on about his business, if any.

  CHAPTER IV

  Now it was growing dark. The three Mogo suns had sunk behind the distant mountains. The twilight sky was reflected, silver and green, in the wide gleaming tabletop on which the Earth space ship rested. Only Hurley and Millrock remained with the ship. The others had gone with Gret-O-Gret to attend the public showing of Gret’s movie, a documentary film of the Earth.

  Naturally, Hurley had wanted to attend, especially when he learned that he himself would appear in the picture. But the moment Keller had called for volunteers to stand guard at the ship, Hurley had stepped forward.

  Instantly, Millrock had followed suit.

  So the two walked about on the tabletop, watching darkness descend. Mogos could be seen passing at distances of two or three miles, for a thoroughfare ran past one end of the table.

  Several miles away, along a hilltop, the Mogos could be seen gathering in at the outdoor theater, their rows of heads showing above a long horizontal wall. Captain Keller and the other men were over there somewhere, occupying a special box seat which Gret-O-Gret had devised for the occasion—a balcony-like basket which he had fastened to his shoulder like an epaulette.

>   But Hurley and Millrock would be able to see the picture too, even though they didn’t occupy box seats: for the picture would be projected on a screen of smoky white seven miles wide and six miles high, to be seen for many miles around.

  Darkness came on. Hurley marched about the ship uneasily. Millrock was uncommunicative, preferring to keep his company to himself. He suggested that Hurley keep guard until the movie appeared against the sky, after which time he would gladly keep watch. He never cared for movies, he said.

  Dim amber lights outlined the ship. Gret-O-Gret had promised that the light wouldn’t attract any of the giant Mogo insects. But Hurley couldn’t help wondering whether passing Mogos might not be attracted, even though that part of the public grounds was supposed to be closed.

  In the event of an intrusion, however, a safety device had been provided. It was an electric warning button which Gret-O-Gret had said would scare off any chance Mogo prowlers. It had been fastened to the surface of the table, near the ship.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not scared,” Hurley said to Millrock, coming across him in the dim amber light.

  “Name it,” Millrock said, slapping a half dollar on the back of his hand. But Big Boy ignored him.

  “It’s a long way back to the Earth.” Big Boy looked across the darkening sky. “But it’s certainly not too far to wonder what goes on back there.”

  “If a giant would walk up and put his arm down on this table, it wouldn’t matter. We’d be peanut butter.”

  “I keep wondering about the kid that got murdered. He was to have been our language expert.”

  “Forget the damned Earth, can’t you. We’ve got enough to worry about here.” And Millrock wandered on. He moved curiously around the big warning button that had been fastened to the table. George followed him, heard him muttering, “Warning button as big as a washtub. Probably knock us off the table.”

  “We’re talking into mikes,” Hurley observed. “Our voices may be carrying out. Have you noticed, Millrock, practically any direction you turn, you can see some of those big boys silhouetted against the stars. I thought I saw one up close, over by the gate. Don’t see him now.”

  “It’s an awfully still night,” Millrock said.

  “Those Mogos have got ears in their ankles as well as their heads. they can pick up sounds along the surface.”

  “I know. I’ve read all about them. Give me a rest, Hurley. Go on and watch your show. You can see better from the other side. I’ll stand guard over here. Go ahead, forget about me.”

  CHAPTER V

  The movie was Gret-O-Gret’s way of explaining to his fellow Mogos exactly what had happened on the Earth.

  It began with a wealth of scenes from the old planet, which Gret had later secured from the film libraries on the planet Venus. Here it was, the Earth before its destruction. Anyone could see it was a busy place, highly developed, populated with the interesting peoples of several races—tiny people only six feet tall, like today’s guests from the Solar System—people of wonderful intelligence and industry—people who, in spite of occasional wars, believed in working together for their common good.

  Next, the film shifted to the Mogo system and showed several shots of Mox-O-Mox, the criminal. As an act of spite against Gret-O-Gret (who had been given legal claim to the distant planet) Mox had maliciously blasted the Earth with Mogo bombs.

  Here, then, were views of the destroyed Earth following the blast. Gret-O-Gret himself had taken these pictures, Hurley remembered, while cruising around the ruined globe in his big thirteen-mile-long space ship.

  Now a picture of a white box flashed on the screen. How well George Hurley remembered it! It had been the gift of Mogo foods which Gret-O-Gret had intended to present to the Earth people. But, upon arriving, he had found no people, only cities in ashes!

  Then people had begun to stream back to the Earth—little groups of them—Earth people who had been living on Venus or Mars or Mercury. The pictures showed their memorable conferences at the Banrab camp in Africa, where they pledged that they would reclaim the ruined planet. It was here, at Banrab, that Hurley had first found Anna, the lone survivor—and from the hour of their meeting, the storm clouds had begun to dissolve, and the courage of the New Earth had been born.

  Now the film presented several of the notable personalities who had been born.

  Now the film presented several of the notable personalities who had fought to give the New Earth its social and political foundations. Here wert Captain Paul Keller and his beautiful wife Katherine, the famous space explorers. Here was Waterfield, the first president of the New Earth government. Next came the friendly winged people, natives of the Venus mountains—the brave Green Flash and his mate, Purple Wings. And more Earth people—that lovable circus couple. Mamma Mountain and Papa Mouse. And at last—

  Big Boy Hurley, gazing through the night’s darkness toward the flickering images on the distant screen of light, felt his blood tingle.

  Sure enough, there he was, blown up bigger than a Mogo giant. His smile had a good two-mile spread, he’d bet, on that best close-up.

  And now Anna came into the picture—the first bride of the New Earth, obviously caught in the act of getting off a wisecrack that took George by surprise.

  And finally the big thrill of the evening; there was the little be-diapered bundle that they had named George Junior. The first brand new little citizen to be born on the New Earth!

  “That’s my boy! Millrock, are you watching? That’s Junior. That’s my boy! . . . Millrock!”

  As soon as the shot faded, George dashed around the ship, trying to find Millrock.

  “Millrock, did you see—”

  Hurley stopped short. There in the deep darkness, Millrock seemed to be talking with a giant. Hurley blinked, trying to adjust to the blackness of the sky and the deeper blackness of the great opaque form that appeared to be bending down toward the table.

  “Millrock. what goes on?” Hurley shouted.

  Millrock might not have heard. But he was talking—talking into the mike—in Mogo words—and saying what?

  Was he trying to ward off danger? The poor sap, he’d been taken by surprise and hadn’t had presence of mini to sound the warning! Now he was stalling for time—but in another moment—what? He might be devoured. Or seized, carried off, never to be seen again.

  Were the hands of that lurking figure ready to descend upon the table to snatch—?

  “The signal!” Hurley shouted. “The signal!”

  “No! No!” Millrock hurled back. “Get away!”

  But Lieutenant Hurley leaped toward the big electric button that had been fastened to the surface of the table. He jumped and came down on it with two hundred and forty pounds of pressure, and the signal responded.

  From all directions a warbling, gurgling Mogo voice rolled out into the night’s stillness. It was like a big sky full of thunder articulated in syllables, and the sounds branded themselves into Hurley’s mind.

  The dark form of the giant shuffled about for just a split second. The arms reached toward the table, Hurley was sure. But suddenly the giant was retreating. The dark bulk against the sky faded back. Heavy footsteps like bouncing mountains thumped off into the blackness of the night.

  “It worked!” Hurley shouted. “It worked! Whatever that darn thing said, it scared him off in a hurry. What do you make of it, Millrock? Millrock, where are you? Millrock!”

  CHAPTER VI

  “Millrock!” Hurley ran around the space ship, shouting. “Millrock! Where are you?”

  The horror of no answer bore down on Hurley. Had those massive arms swept down through the darkness and snatched the guy up? Hurley had no love for Millrock, but he wouldn’t have wished a fate like that for any man—at least not for any member of Captain Keller’s party. His very dislike of Millrock, it seemed, flared up like guilt.

  “Millrock! Millrock!”

  He ventured out toward the edge of the table where the giant’s arm must have reac
hed. Then he caught the faintest hint of a moving shadow from behind him—the slender shadow of Millrock it must have been—slipping back toward the ship.

  “Millrock, where the devil are you? Why don’t you answer?”

  The shadow was gone. Against the dim amber lights Hurley could see nothing. He had the strange impression that Millrock was there, somewhere, running away from him—avoiding him.

  “What’s the game, Millrock? Where are you?”

  He started around the ship. Quick footsteps suddenly came from back of him. He whirled and collided with Millrock’s fist.

  The blow glanced off his jaw. A second blow sank hard into his mid-section. He stepped back, stalling off the fury of fists, trying to read some meaning into the sudden attack.

  “Millrock, are you out of your head?”

  “I told you to lay off that signal!” And Millrock tried to throw another punch. Hurley’s reluctant arms went to work, then, and shot out with a reckless intent. Smack, smack, smack, thwopp!

  That did it.

  Hurley gathered the fellow up and dragged him into the ship, and dashed some cold water over his face.

  “Leave me alone,” Millrock blustered.

  “You might be outa your head, sonny boy. Don’t you know better’n to pick a fight with me? I might get mad.”

  “You didn’t have to hit me with a sledge hammer.”

  Hurley glanced at his fist. “It’s all I got. Be careful how you start something. Why didn’t you signal me when that giant came up? That was our orders. Did you see how he dashed off when I jumped on the button? He was off, just like recess. . . Okay, stupid, close your eyes and sleep. Maybe Captain Keller can make sense out of you. It’s too much for me.” Then Big Boy discovered that he’d inflicted heavier damages than he’d at first realized, so he went to work administering first aid.