The Arthur Leo Zagat Science Fiction Megapack

by Arthur Leo Zagat

  “Why did na ye call me, so that ain o’ us micht eenvestigate?”

  “Hell. Darl wasn’t born yesterday, he can take care of himself. Besides, your last shift was pretty strenuous, an’ I thought I’d let you sleep. No tellin’ what might happen next; this forsaken place has been givin’ me the jim-jams lately.”

  “Your conseederation is touching, but—” A scratching at the door, accompanied by a high squeak, interrupted him.

  To Jim’s shouted “Come in,” there entered a Venusian, whose red rosette fastened to the green scales of his skin marked him an overseer. In the thread-like fingers of his hand he held a time-sheet, but the nervous pulsing of his gill-membranes caused Holcomb to exclaim anxiously: “What’s wrong, Ran-los? No accident, I hope?”

  The shrill combination of squeaks and twitterings that came from the man-reptile’s toothless mouth meant nothing to the Scot, but Jim’s last service had been on Venus and he had gained a working knowledge of the language. Finally the interchange was ended, and Ran-los bowed himself out. Jim turned to his companion.

  “There’s some more queer stuff for you, Angie. Just before shift-change, Ran-los heard odd sounds from the other side of the barrier at the end of gallery M-39. Says they seemed like signals o’ some kind. He’s a wise old bird and if he’s worried about something it’s damn well worth lookin’ into. I don’t know whether to find out first what’s happened to Darl, or—”

  Again there was an interruption; this time from the usually silent radio-communication set in the far corner. Jim leaped to the instrument and snapped on the head-set. Angus leaned over him, watching his intent face.

  Faintly, as from an immense distance, came the thin whistle of space-radio. “S-W-A…S-W-A…S-W-A.…” The general attention signal for all Earth’s far-flung outposts from Jupiter to Mercury! The signal was coming from “M-I-T-A,” the Earth company’s home station on the Moon, outside the Heaviside layer. “S-W-A…S-W-A…M-I-T-A…M-I-T-A.” Again the signal rose and fell.

  Jim reached for the sending key and pounded out his acknowledgement: “K; M-E-R…K; M-E-R…K; M-E-R.” He listened again, heard Venus answer, and Jupiter. Across five hundred million miles of space ITA men were responding to the roll-call of Earth. A reminiscent smile crossed Jim’s face as he recognized the stuttering fist of Rade Perrin, on Eros. Rade always sent as if he were afraid the instrument would snap at his fingers.

  M-I-T-A was signalling again, and now came the message: “S-W-A. All trading posts, mines and colonies are warned to prepare for possible attack. The Earth Government has just announced the receipt of an ultimatum from—” A raucous howl cut across the message and drowned it out. The siren blast howled on and on, mocking Jim’s straining ears. “Well I’ll be—Interference! Deliberate blanketing! The rats! The—” He blazed into a torrent of profanity whose imaginativeness was matched only by its virulence.

  Mac was clutching his shoulder, stirred for once out of his vaunted “deegnity.”

  “What is it, mon, what is it?”

  “War, you bloody Scotchman, war! That’s what it is!”

  “War! Foosh, man, ’tis eempossible!”

  “The hell it’s impossible! Damn, and Darl not here! Take over, Mac; I’ve got to go up an’ get him!”

  In the meantime Thomas’ helpless journey had come to an end. After an interminable descent in what to him had been pitch darkness, the giant who was carrying him halted. Darl had heard the whistling inrush of air into some lock, then the clanging of a door. He felt himself hurled to the ground. Fumbling hands tugged at him, drew off his space suit.

  The dim light of the cavern, as the helmet was dragged from his head, hurt Darl’s eyes. Salt sweat stung them. It was hot, hotter than the Dome, hot as it was in the surta mine, where only the nerveless Venusians could work for any length of time.

  Darl struggled to focus his eyes on a blurred blue form that towered above him. He felt sharp claws scratch at him and realized that cords were being passed around his limp body. They cut tightly into his legs and his arms. Then he was staring at a tube in the hand of his captor. Its end glowed with a brilliant purple light, and he felt a flood of reawakened energy warm him. His head jerked up, he strained against the taut, strong fibers binding him. The paralysis was gone, but he was still helpless.

  A husky, rumbling voice broke the silence. “I wouldn’t struggle, Earthman, if I were you. Even should you get free I still have my ray-tube. And my little friends would ask nothing better than your body to play with.”

  Darl writhed to a sitting posture. Now he could see his mysterious abductor clearly. This eight-foot, blue-feathered individual, with curved beak and beady eyes glittering from his naked, repulsively wrinkled head, was a Martian! Despite the human shape of his body, despite his jointed limbs and thumbed hands, this denizen of the red planet resembled a vulture far more than he did any other Earth creature.

  The Earthman’s pride of race came to his rescue. “What’s the game?” he growled. “Looking for trouble?” There was nothing in Darl’s voice to show the fear that chilled him. Behind the Martian he could see vaguely a group of little yellow Mercurians.

  “I’ll ask all the questions here. And you’ll answer them, too, if you’re wise. Even your dull mind should comprehend that you are in my power.”

  Darl decided to proceed more cautiously. “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  “I want,” the Martian answered, “the recognition signal of Earth’s space-ships.”

  “What!” The ejaculation burst from Darl’s throat. This alien wanted the secret code, the watch-word that distinguished Earth’s space ships, that gained for them free admittance to ITA’s armed posts on the outer planets! This could mean only one thing, that the long rivalry, the ancient dispute between Earth and Mars was about to flare into open war. Any friendly visit from a foreign flier would be heralded by word from M-I-T-A. Thomas’ face became a stony mask, covering the tumult of his mind.

  “You understood. I want the Earth recognition signal at once—and after that, the surrender of the Dome.” The very calmness of the husky tones was a threat.

  “Never!”

  “I warn you, Darl Thomas. It would be the better part of wisdom for you to yield willingly what I ask. You will give in eventually, and the means of persuasion I shall use will not be exactly—pleasant.”

  “You’ll get nothing from me!”

  The outlander’s lidless eyes were filmed with a gray membrane. His head thrust forward, the feathered ruff beneath it bristled. Darl braced himself to withstand the swooping pounce that seemed imminent, the slash of the sharp beak. A burring rattle broke the momentary hush. The Martian relaxed, turned to the Mercurian from whom the sound had come and replied with staccato vibrance.

  As the cave filled with a whirring tumult Darl had a chance to examine the Mercurian natives crowding around his prostrate body. They were little yellow midgets, ranging from eighteen inches to two feet in height. Half of their small stature was taken up by snouted heads, with saucer-like, crimson eyes, and long white tusks jutting from foam-flecked mouths. The trunks were globular. The spindling legs and thin arms ended in sharp claws. There was an impression of animal ferocity about these tiny beings that stamped them as utter savages.

  His captor was speaking to the Earthman again, his horny beak parted in what might have been a grim smile. “My friends remind me that I promised you to them. They have not forgotten how you and your fellows drove them from their burrows.”

  Darl was suddenly cold, though the sweat still streamed from his bound body. An uncontrollable shudder took him as he saw what the diminutive claws of the midgets held. While the Dome was still an unfinished framework one of the Terrestrian artisans had somehow been isolated from his fellows. Thomas had been of the party that found what was left of him, and the memory was still a throbbing nightmare.

  “Once more! Will you give me the recognition signal?”

  Darl shook his head, and prayed for sudden dea
th. The Martian spoke to the dwarfs. They started forward, saliva drooling from their tusks. Darl gritted his teeth. He would hold out as long as was humanly possible.

  A shrill rhythmic whistle came from somewhere outside. The blue giant started and snapped something to the Mercurians. Then he turned to Darl. “I must leave you for a little while,” he said. “You have till I return to change your mind.” With a parting admonition to the savages he was gone through a side door that Thomas had not noticed before.

  Grateful for the postponement, however short, of the inescapable ordeal, Darl took stock of his situation. He lay, firmly bound, on the gritty rock floor of a low-ceiled cave about twelve feet square. In one wall was a door of red metal. The portal through which the Martian had vanished was next to it. Darl repressed an exclamation when he saw the opposite wall. It was of solid metal, bluishly iridescent. That was beryllium steel, the alloy from which the barriers at the terminals of the surta mine were fashioned. He forced his head higher. There were the marks of the jointures, the weldings that he himself had made.

  The discovery seemed only to emphasize the helplessness of his predicament. His faithful Venusians, Ran-los, Ta-ira, and the rest were just on the other side of the three-inch plate of toughened steel. Three inches—yet it might have been as many hundred miles for all the help they could give him.

  The yellow pigmies were circling in a macabre dance, their crimson eyes turned always toward him, hate glowing from their crawling depths. The whistle beyond changed in character. Darl recognized it. It was a Martian space-radio, the code of which Earth scientists had never been able to decipher. The Mercurian circle tightened, the fetid smell of the dwarfs was overpowering. Low at first, then louder and louder came the rattling cacophony of their chant. It filled the confined space with an overpowering clamor.

  Darl writhed again, rolling over and over till he had reached the barrier. The pigmies gave way before him; evidently they had been warned to keep their claws off. With his insteps Thomas could reach the helmet of his space suit, where it had been dropped against the wall. He drove it against the metal and the clangor of its striking reverberated through the chamber. Darl managed to regulate the sound. He was now hammering out double knocks, long and short, spaced in the dots and dashes of the Morse code. “H-E-L-P D-A-R-L H-E-L-P D-A-R-L H-E-L-P.…”

  It was like some scene out of a madman’s dream, this dim-lit cavern with its circling, dancing pigmies, the human figure lying sidewise on the ground, the rattling, savage chant and the metallic tattoo of Darl’s hopeless message. A diabolic orgy of weird sound and crisscrossing shadows.

  It seemed hours that he pounded the helmet against the wall, hoping that the sound of it would be audible above the clamor of the midgets. His knees and hips were aching and numb, his leg ripped, almost to the bone by the sharp edges of the jagged floor. A sudden thought struck him. The fiber thongs that bound him were also rubbing against the rock. His flesh was terribly torn. Perhaps the thongs, too, had been frayed, weakened by the long continued friction.

  He stopped the pounding signals and began to force his knees apart with all the power of his burly calves. The cords cut into his bulging muscles, cut into and through his skin. The veins stood out on his forehead, his neck was a corded pillar, his teeth bit through his lip as he stifled a scream of pain. Then, startlingly, the fibers snapped. His legs at least were free! He could fight, die fighting, and take these others with him into oblivion!

  Darl leaped to his feet. Before the astounded natives realized what was up he was charging into their circle. A well aimed kick sent one crashing against the further wall. Another crunched against the rock. Then they were on him, a frothing wave of tiny furies. A score or more, they swarmed over him as a pack of African wild dogs swarms over a huge water-buffalo marked for the kill. Their claws scratched and tore, their sharp fangs stabbed into his flesh. His arms were still tightly bound to his sides, and he lashed out with his sandaled feet, swung his shoulders like battering rams, whirled in a dervish dance. Their brittle bones cracked under his hammer blows. They dropped from him like squashed flies. But, small as they were, he was terrifically outnumbered. By sheer weight of numbers they dragged him down, and piled on top of him as he lay, quivering and half-conscious, on the blood-soaked floor.

  Through the blackness that welled and burst in his brain, one thought held. He had fooled the Martian, for in another instant the enraged savages, would kill him and the password to Earth’s outposts would be safe. Already, he felt their fangs at his throat.

  A whirring rattle cut through the turmoil like a whip-lash, and the heap of pigmies swiftly scattered. The man-bird from Mars was in the room. To Darl he was a blurred blueness from which glittered those two jet beads of eyes. As from a distance he heard a rumble, its meaning beating dully to him. “Not so easy, Thomas, not so easy. I want that signal, and by Tana, I’m going to have it.”

  The Earthman felt a current of cooler air. Instinctively he drew it into his lungs. It swept him up from the blackness that was closing in about him, brought him back to consciousness and despair. The chattering Mercurians crowded round to commence their interrupted orgy. “For the last time, Earthman, will you talk?”

  Darl shook his head weakly and closed his eyes. In a moment—

  Suddenly there was a crash of metal on metal. Another! The clangor of falling steel. Now someone was shouting, “Darl, Darl, are you alive?” All about him were shrill twitterings, squeaking calls, squeals and scutterings. Darl’s nostrils stung with the odor of burned flesh. A door slammed.…

  He opened his eyes on a confused riot, saw Jim crouched, flashing ray-gun in hand. There was a hole in the barrier, and a mob of green-scaled Venusians were crowding through. Jim’s ray caught the last Mercurian and the dwarf vanished in a cloud of acrid, greasy smoke.

  “Thank God you’ve come!” Darl managed to gasp. Then cool blackness closed around him.

  Darl Thomas lay on a cot in the headquarters tent, swathed from head to foot in an inch-thick wrapping of bandages. Jim’s theory was that if one bandage was good, two were better, and he had cleaned out the post’s slender stock. The red-haired Earthman was seated at the cot’s side, watching the taciturn Scot operating the control board. He was telling Darl of the stirring message from M-I-T-A, and of the blanketing interference that marred the completion of the message.

  “I didn’t know what to do first,” he continued, “whether to go down below and find out what Ran-los was battin’ about, or shoot up to you in the connin’ tower with the message. Like the thick-head I am, I picked the wrong thing. I sure got the gimmicks when I found the look-out empty, an’ a space suit an’ ray-gun gone.” Jim grinned mirthlessly. “I was runnin’ around in circles. You were outside, God alone knows how long. Believe me, I had you crossed off the list! That left two of us. With a war on, somebody had to stand guard in the look-out, the control board here had to be watched, an’ somebody else had to get below.

  “I was just tryin’ to figure out a way o’ cuttin’ myself in half when I thought o’ Ran-los. For a Weenie he’s got a heck of a lot of sense. I zoomed down, hauled him out o’ his bunk, scooted back up, showed him how to work the peri-telescope an’ the big beam-thrower, an’ left him there on guard.”

  “Best thing you could have done.” Darl’s voice was muffled by the bandages in which his head, as well as the rest of his body, was swathed. “He’s got a head on his shoulders, that bird.”

  “Somethin’ told me to take a ray-gun down in the mine with me. I was just steppin’ out o’ the elevator when I caught your last signal; -L-P D-A-R-L was all I got, but it was enough. How you ever got the other side of the barrier had me wingin’, but you were there right enough, and yellin’ for help. Ran-los had been doin’ some repairs on a head support an’ his weldin’ machine was still there. Takin’ an awful chance on there bein’ air on the other side, I butted it up against the wall, shot the flame against the steel, and when she was soft enough had some of the Weenies sma
sh her in with sledge-hammers. First thing I see is you, stretched out in a pool o’ blood, with a couple of those yellow imps just gettin’ to work on you. I clipped them first—that gave the Martian a chance to get away. An’ then—well, you know the rest.”

  “I owe you one for that, Jim. Too bad, though, the big fellow escaped; we’ll hear from him again, or I don’t know the breed. Wonder how he got on the planet.”

  “The sucker must ’a’ stowed away on the last recruit ship from Venus, slipped in a case o’ tools or somethin’. Mars has labor agents there, too, you know, for their farms on Ganymede.”

  “Possibly. He knew my name, and that I was chief here. He’s rigged up an air-lock out there, though I can’t figure out how he gets the air.”

  “That’s easy. While I was repairin’ the barrier I found a pipe runnin’ through. He’s been stealin’ ours. Which, by the same token, is why he was punchin’ holes in the Dome rather than down below, where he would have been safer from discovery.”

  “So that’s it. Get anything more on the space-radio?”

  “Nope. Angus has kept the ear-flaps on, but the ether is still jammed. Hey, what’re you up to?”

  Darl was swinging his bandaged body up from the cot that had been set up in the headquarters tent at his insistence. “Can’t lie on my back,” he panted, “with that devil loose on the planet. Lord knows what he’s up to now. We’re short-handed enough as it is.”

  He rose to his feet, staggering with weakness and loss of blood. But his indomitable will drove him on. “I’ll take over the control board. Send Angus up to relieve Ran-los, and you get below and speed up production. Earth will need double quantities of surta for food, now that there’s a war on.”

  Jim turned to convey the order to the Scot, but he whirled to the tent-flap instead as a riot of sound exploded outside. He tore aside the canvas, and now there was a burst of shrill, frightened Venusian cries, and a deeper, rattling chorus. Out on the Dome floor, pouring from the shaft-head in a panic torrent, came the Venusians. And among them, leaping, slashing, dragging them down, were countless little yellow men, their fangs and tusks and curving claws crimson with the blood of their victims.