Captain Future 24 - Pardon My Iron Nerves (November 1950)

by Edmond Hamilton

  Night had come by now but the great shield of Pluto poured a flood of white light. In my temporary aberration, the whole drab scene now seemed raptly beautiful, the noisy lumbering giant Machs a crowd of boon companions. I regret to say that I too raised my voice loudly, and beat upon my breast.

  “I’m feeling better now!” I shouted. “I’m feeling lots better! Coming to this moon has helped my psychoses a lot!”

  “That’s the boy!” they bellowed. “You’re as good a Mach as any of us even if you are puny.”

  “Puny?” I cried. “I’m Grag the mighty! Who was it that led the Futuremen all the way to Andromeda? Who is it that tears meteors apart and pushes comets around with his bare hands?”

  “Tender!” yelled the big Digger. “Let’s have some more actinium!”

  They crowded around the Tenders. It was obvious that the Tenders had filled their own fuel-chambers with actinium for the movements of their fuel and lubricant lines were unsteady.

  I am sorry to confess that I too shouted, “More actinium!” and pressed toward the Tenders.

  But small as I was I couldn’t get through the crowd of towering Machs around the Tenders. A big Loader flung me back out of the crowd.

  Ordinarily I would have resented that bitterly. But I was too stimulated at the moment. I picked myself up and shouted again.

  “My psychoses are gone — I feel like dancing!” I cried.

  “Dancing? What’s that?” asked the Digger.

  “It’s what people do for fun — like this,” I told him.

  I had never danced before but I had often watched people doing it and had always been sure that I would be quite good at it.

  So now, in the silvery planet-light, I did a slow graceful waltz for them, circling around and humming a tune as I did so.

  “You do it like this, only in couples,” I explained.

  THE Machs were enchanted by my performance. “Say, that looks like fun! Let’s try it!” cried a Crusher. It extended its mighty pile-driver arm. I took it and despite the disparity in size between myself and the huge Mach we performed a waltz by no means without grace — the Crusher following my lead a little uncertainly on its rumbling caterpillar treads.

  They all started to do it. The big Digger hooked onto a Loader with its scoop and they circled unsteadily. Haulers, Tenders, Crushers — all of them were soon waltzing ponderously in the planet-light. The ground shook violently under their rumbling treads and they all bellowed out the waltz-song they had heard me humming.

  “Sweetheart mine,

  You are divine —”

  I lost my Crusher partner when I fell into a hole. But I got up and was claimed by a Tender, which gripped me with its lines and whirled me around in dizzying fashion.

  I vaguely glimpsed Gordon’s face inside the window of the shelter, peering out at us in horror.

  Then came catastrophe. The big Digger raised its voice in a reverberating thunder of anger as its Loader-partner was snatched away from it by the mighty pile-driver arm of the Crusher which had been my own partner.

  “That Loader’s dancing with me, Crusher!” roared the Digger.

  “Says who?” retorted the Crusher.

  For answer, the angry Digger with its huge scoop tore the Loader away from the other.

  Instantly the Crusher loosed a blow with its pile-driver that smashed in half the girders of the Digger’s side.

  A howl went up. “The Crushers are trying to destroy us Diggers!”

  All at once around me there raged a wild melee of battling machines, huge girder-arms and scoops and metal tusks, battering at each other.

  I, Grag, didn’t have a chance in that battle of titans. A Digger’s whirling scoop caught me and knocked me clear across the ore-barges.

  I got up, badly shaken but with no metal fractured. In the silver planet-light the combat of the actinium-drunken Machs was a nightmare of huge battering rending machines.

  My own aberration of overstimulation had left me. The shock and the fact that I hadn’t been able to get a second helping of actinium were sobering my mind rapidly.

  Instantly I realized that this was the chance to get away. I hurried to the shelter and through the airlock into it.

  Gordon, again, shrank from me in terror when I entered. “Come on — now’s our chance to find our ships and get out of here!” I told him.

  “I saw you out there!” he squeaked. “You’re as mad as those Machs — drunken — dancing —”

  “I was only doing that to play along with them,” I told him. “Get on that protective suit and hurry!”

  Still fearful he scrambled into the suit. Then we went out.

  The battle-royal was at full height. The air was filled with raging howls and flying girders and rivets as the Machs hammered each other.

  We skirted wide around the melee and I led the way over the planet-lit plain in the direction I had seen my space-sled carried away.

  “They’ll have put it with your own flier,” I told Gordon by our suit-communics.

  My brain was aching badly from the over-stimulation of actinium energy. My limbs were shaky. All I wanted to do was never to see this moon again.

  We found the space-sled and the flier. The Machs had tucked them into a cleft near the ore-beds. I was vastly relieved to find Eek still cringing in a corner of the space-sled.

  The little fellow greeted me with frantic joy.

  I told Gordon, “Now get out of here and see that you keep quiet about all this if you don’t want to be arrested for your unauthorized experiments.”

  “If I get safely back to Earth I never want to hear cybernetics mentioned again!” he said hoarsely.

  “Especially,” I told him emphatically, “don’t mention anything I did here. If you were to tell tales about me I wouldn’t like it!” And I flexed my hands meaningly, glaring at him.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t give you away — I mean, I won’t tell of your brilliant stratagem,” he assured me hastily.

  I saw him off in his flier, then took off in my own space-sled. I flew low over the work-base and looked down.

  The battle was over. The Machs had succeeded in battering each other to pieces and there was only a great scrap-heap of twisted girders, plates, treads and wheels.

  I zoomed out away from Dis, pointed the space-sled toward Earth and opened the power wide. Then I sat, with Eek nestled beside me, and waited for my brain to stop aching.

  When I finally walked into the Moon-laboratory, Curt and Otho and Simon stared at me in wonder. I hadn’t been able to smooth out the many dents and scars in my body and I knew how battered I looked.

  “What in the name of the moon-imps happened to you!” Otho demanded.

  I answered with dignity, “I have just gone alone through a terrible danger. Of course that wouldn’t worry you.”

  Curt asked, “Whatever happened, did it help your complexes any?”

  “Yes, it did,” I answered. “I am glad to say that my dangerous psychosis is all gone.”

  I added, “You see, those Machs had run completely wild. I was obliged to use physical force upon them and I’m sorry to say that I practically demolished them all. New Machs will have to be built but the old ones were thoroughly unreliable anyway.”

  “You demolished a crowd of Machs?” Otho cried. “Oh, no!”

  “If you don’t believe me go out to Dis and see for yourself,” I retorted.

  Captain Future nodded. “Of course — and the necessity of dominating those simple Machs would rid you of your inferiority complex.”

  I avoided his eye. “Yes,” I said. “That’s about it.”

  But later, when we were alone, Curt demanded, “Now tell me what really happened, Grag!”

  I said, worriedly, “I would but if Otho should overhear —”

  “I understand,” he nodded. “You write it up for our case-book. I’ll guarantee to keep Otho from ever seeing your report.”

  So I have written it. And I hope Curt’s promise holds good.
For if Otho ever reads this my life won’t be worth living!

  THE END

  Meet the Futuremen!

  In this department, which is a regular feature of CAPTAIN FUTURE, we acquaint you further with the companions of CAPTAIN FUTURE whom you have met in our complete book-length novels. Here you are told the off-the-record stories of their lives and anecdotes plucked from their careers. Follow this department closely, for it contains many interesting and fascinating facts to supplement those you read in our featured novels.

  Captain Future Trails the Chameleon

  From the Fall 1942 issue of Captain Future

  How the World’s Greatest Space-Farer Met Defeat in His Battle of Wits With a Wily Space Thief!

  WHENEVER men of the System talk of Captain Future’s brilliant exploits, someone sooner or later is sure to say: “Well, after all. Captain Future met his match once. The Chameleon beat him.”

  The whole System knows that as the one major defeat on the record of the Futuremen. But the System does not know all the story of that famous occasion when Captain Future was bested by the Chameleon.

  AN INTERPLANETARY ROBBER

  The Chameleon was the most daring and notorious interplanetary robber in the System. He was not one of the space-pirates who infested the wild moons of the outer worlds. He preferred almost always to work alone, and his depredations were carried out with a smoothness and skill and lack of bloodshed far removed from the vicious raids of the brutal corsairs.

  He was not a killer — he was a thief of genius.

  It was the Chameleon who single-handed held up a space-liner, by gaining mastery of its control-room and then forcing the passengers to deposit their valuables in a life-rocket in which he later vanished.

  It was the Chameleon who stole the fire-emerald eyes of the Venusian swampmen’s god, though that idol was at the center of a cage of ferocious marsh-tigers.

  It was the Chameleon who impersonated an Earth official come to Mars to collect the Government revenues, and walked coolly off with the immense sum.

  THE CHAMELEON LAUGHS

  The Chameleon seemed to laugh at the attempts of the Planet Patrol to catch him. Always, when they were hottest on his trail, his little, swift black cruiser would vanish as though space had swallowed it up.

  It always vanished in a certain section — Sector 16 — of the asteroidal zone. The implication was clear that the Chameleon’s base was somewhere in that sector, but the Patrol searched for it in vain. So great became the Chameleon’s reputation, that merchant-ships plying through the zone made long detours to avoid that sector.

  It was this development which caused Halk Anders, commander of the Patrol, to swallow his pride and ask for Captain Future’s help in catching the arch-thief of the System.

  “He’s got us stumped!” swore the commander. “And ships are having to make that long detour around Sector 16, just because of one criminal. We’re becoming the laughing-stock of the System.”

  A SUBTLE TRAP

  Captain Future, who wanted to get back to his Moon home, was not interested in chasing slippery thieves and said so.

  “It’s your job, Halk,” he grinned. “You’ll have to search Sector 16 until you find out where the fellow has his hidden base.”

  “I tell you, we’ve been over every inch of that sector a hundred times!” exclaimed the frustrated commander. “There’s some dangerous meteor-swarms in it, and there’s Mazzatarra and Ferronia, a couple of small, airless asteroids. But there’s no place where a man could have a base. Yet the Chameleon has one there, somewhere.”

  Curt Newton became more interested. “The fellow must be clever. But why waste more time hunting for his base. Why not make him walk right into your arms?”

  “You mean, set a trap for him?” asked Halk Anders. “It wouldn’t work. We’ve tried it, and the Chameleon’s too smart for that.”

  “You haven’t set a subtle enough trap,” Captain Future told him. “The Chameleon would be clever enough to investigate before making his play. I’ll set a trap for him that he can back-trail without having his suspicions aroused — and he’ll come walking into it.”

  PROSPECTOR’S LUCK

  A short time later, the telenews headlined the sensational discovery of an Earth prospector on Mercury. The prospector, John Willison, had found a dozen sun-stones, the most valuable gem in the System, near the edge of the Hot Side.

  Captain Future was the lucky prospector, of course. He had gone to Mercury and, well-disguised, had actually unearthed the rare sun-stones from a deposit which the Futuremen had long known about.

  As Willison, the lucky, newly-rich prospector, Curt came to Earth. He was televised by the news-services, showing his jewels to the System, bragging of his good fortune, playing his part to the hilt.

  “Aren’t you worried over the safety of your jewels, Mr. Willison?” the interviewer asked him smilingly.

  “Not me!” Curt answered boastfully. “I’m an old hand on the interplanetary frontier, and I know how to look after what’s mine. I’ve sold one of the stones, and the rest are safe with me, from any thief.”

  Curt had really sold one of the jewels. With the money thus derived, he set up as a newly-rich millionaire in an elaborate mansion near New York. Otho, in appropriate disguise, was his butler. The trap was now ready, and they waited for the Chameleon to enter it.

  AT LAST — A VISITOR!

  Weeks passed, but nothing happened. Curt was not impatient. He had known the Chameleon was clever, and he guessed that the notorious thief was carefully checking the trail of those jewels before acting.

  Then one night, Otho came gravely into the library and told Curt, “A caller to see you, Mr. Willison. It is a Mr. Norman Thaine.”

  Under his breath, Otho hissed, “It’s him! The X-Ray alarm at the door showed that he’s carrying an atom-pistol.”

  “All right, show him in,” Curt said loudly to his “butler.”

  Mr. Norman Thaine was a well-dressed, studious looking young Earthman of quite ordinary appearance. He came to the point at once.

  “Mr. Willison, like everyone else I’ve heard of your sun-stones. I’m very much interested in them.”

  “What do you mean — interested?” barked the disguised Captain Future, pretending to scowl suspiciously.

  “Let me explain.” said Norman Thaine earnestly. “I am a jewel-collector. I can afford to pay a good price for your stones, since a space-ship invention of mine a few years ago made me fairly wealthy. You can check my references, if you wish. I’d like to see the jewels.”

  Curt looked over the documents Thaine handed him. They seemed authentic. Yet he was certain that this man was the Chameleon.

  A SURPRISE ATTACK

  He nevertheless went to a secret cupboard and took from it the little casket in which were the eleven blazing yellow sun-stones.

  “There they are, Mr. Thaine,” he drawled. “Beauties, aren’t they? You sure you can afford to buy one?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Thaine. As he stepped forward, his hand went into his jacket-pocket.

  “No you don’t, Chameleon!” exclaimed Curt, and plunged forward before the man could draw the gun in his pocket.

  Captain Future’s surprise attack caught the other before he could resist. Curt’s swift ju-jitsu onslaught had the man overpowered in a moment.

  Ten minutes later, Commander Halk Anders of the Patrol came in answer to Curt’s call.

  “There’s your Chameleon, Halk,” grinned Curt, pointing to the prisoner.

  “You must be crazy!” said Norman Thaine. “I’m not the Chameleon.”

  “Then why,” Curt asked him dryly, “were you reaching for the atom-pistol in your pocket?”

  “I wasn’t reaching for that — I was reaching to show you the money in my pocket, to convince you I could buy one of the jewels.” Thaine retorted. “I carried the gun, for protection of my money.”

  “He did have a big sum of money in that pocket,” Otho reported.

&
nbsp; “Sure stolen money,” grunted Halk Anders. “He’s the Chameleon all right.”

  “But I’m not!” Thaine insisted. “Those identity-papers —”

  “All forged, without doubt,” the Commander snorted. “Captain Future, you’ve done the Patrol a big service getting this fellow. I’m glad that I can tell those scared shipping companies now that it’s safe to go through Sector 16, since the Chameleon’s caught now.”

  THAINE PROVES HIS IDENTITY!

  The telenews blazoned the news to the whole System in the following hour. The Chameleon captured at last — by Captain Future!

  People remarked, “Well, he was slick enough to fool the Patrol a long while, but the Futuremen were a different matter.”

  But, up in headquarters of the Patrol in Government Tower, Commander Anders was not feeling as triumphant as he had felt at first.

  “I can’t understand this!” the commander told Captain Future. “We checked that fellow’s papers, just as a matter of routine — never doubting they were forged. But they’re not forged. Apparently, this man has a solidly-established identity as Norman Thaine, Earth inventor.”

  “Of course, I’m Norman Thaine!” insisted the prisoner. “This is all nonsense about me being the Chameleon.”

  Curt was unconvinced. “You’re the Chameleon, and we both know it,” he asserted. “And I’m going to prove it.”

  But, in the following days, Curt found that he could not shake the identity of Norman Thaine. Thaine was identified by several people, in particular, by the president of the space-ship factory to whom he had sold an invention a few years before.

  “Yet he is the Chameleon, beyond doubt!” Captain Future declared. “I see it all now. He’s been clever enough to establish two or three different identities, through the past years, in preparation for just such a situation as this.”

  RELEASE!

  “But we can’t prove he’s the Chameleon,” Halk Anders said helplessly. “None of the Chameleon’s former victims can positively identify him. Yet he’s not using make-up or disguise — apparently the only disguise he uses is cunning alterations of expression, and posture. We can’t prove he’s the Chameleon, or even that he intended to rob you of the sun-stones that night. And he can prove he’s Norman Thaine.”