Hunters Out of Space

by Joseph Everidge Kelleam

  CHAPTER 5

  As the boat sped over the water, leaving a churning wake behind it, JackOdin remembered that first sea-voyage he had made on the seas of Opal. Itwas June-time then, and Maya had been with him. Perhaps they had thoughtthat June would last forever. Perhaps they had thought that all of lifewould go by at five miles per hour. Remembering that slow, wonderfultrip--almost like a voyage in a dream--he sighed as he held on to theskipping boat. They were now going well over sixty.

  Gunnar seemed to sense his thoughts. "Wolden has ordered speed and morespeed, my friend," he called over the roar of the motor. "The governors areall gone from the old machines. The smiths are turning out newer and fasterones all the time. Sometimes I think even the hands of the clocks are goingfaster."

  Odin muttered a curse. What he had loved about this world was its leisure.What he had hated about his own world above was its constantly increasingspeed. Like a squirrel caught in a cage, his world had gone faster andfaster until reality had vanished into a mad blur of turning wheels andrunning feet. Oh, well, he thought, a man is like a pup. Contented enoughuntil life takes him by the scruff of the neck and shakes him up and provesto him that things change and a pup's world changes and he had betteraccustom himself to new standards or be shaken up again.

  So they sped on through the low waves while the Tower loomed nearer andtaller before them. Gunnar was guiding with one hand while he talked intoa little square box of gleaming metal.

  He turned his head, and the boat careened into a trough that set it toshaking. "I have contacted Wolden and Ato," he called cheerfully. "They aremeeting us at the dock. Not the old dock--it is still under water. The newone is farther up the street."

  * * * * *

  As they neared Orthe-Gard, Gunnar slowed the boat. Looking down into themurky water, Jack Odin could detect, now and then, the faintly-tracedshadow of a roof or tower. Once as he looked down at a finely-carvedweather-vane, a huge fang-fish rolled between him and his view. A whitebelly gleamed through the water, and a serrated mouth opened wide. Its jawsbent out of proportion by the refraction of the water, it reminded Odin ofthe old story of the Monster of Chaos rushing with gaping mouth to swallowthe works of men.

  Then they were at the dock, which was scarcely a dock at all but a placewhere the waters ended halfway up the sloping streets of the city.

  One thing had not changed. To the last the people of Opal refused to takepart in any governmental excitement. A car was there. A driver. Wolden wasthere looking much thinner and grayer. Beside him was his son, Ato, inchestaller and perhaps a bit thicker in the shoulders and a bit thinner at thewaist. These were all.

  He had nearly broken his neck half a dozen times to get there, but JackOdin was glad that the old idea had survived. Being reared so near toWashington, he had been puzzled for years over his country's mile-longprocessions and the spectacle of thousands rushing to watch a parade forsome visiting celebrity or some current politician who would be forgottenbefore the next snow.

  He and Wolden shook hands. Odin was surprised at the change in him. Whenlast seen, Wolden had been a man just leaving the prime of life. Toomuch of a brain, perhaps. A bit too curious and a bit too fearful of theaffairs of the world. But now the hand was weak--the face was thinnerand grayer, although even nobler than it had been, but the eyes were sadand pained as though they had seen too much and had dreamed dreamsbeyond the comprehension of his fellows. Somehow, Odin found himselfremembering a lecture about Addison, who probably knew as much as anyoneabout the hearts of men, but upon being made second-high man in hisgovernment could only stand tongue-struck in the presence of Parliament.

  Then there was Ato. The months had changed him too. He stood talland lean, and there was a deep line running from each cheekbone downhis face. He looked older, but his eyes were piercing now, while hisfather's were somber. Strife and hard work had sweated all the fat fromhis bones. He seemed much stronger than when Odin had first met him.But here was something more than strength. Ato had developed into afirst-class fighting man. Wolden could never have been a fighter.

  There was something both terrifying and sad in the comparison. Ato lookedlike a man who could calmly send a hundred-thousand to their deaths forone objective, while Wolden would have theorized and rationalized untilthe objective was lost. The old comparison between the impulsive executiveand the liberal arts man who has learned that there are only one or twopositive decisions available in all the world of thinking.

  But each in his own way was glad to see Odin, and welcomed him back to theruins of Opal.

  Then, just before the reunion was over, the clouds grew grayer and it beganto rain. As they got into the little car, Wolden told Odin that they wouldhave to circle the bay before going to the Tower on a ferry, since thelower stories were still under water. The city had once been beautiful withtrees. Now they stood like gaunt skeletons, drowned by the sea water. Hereand there a few limbs struggled to put out their leaves. The rain was cold,colder than Odin had ever felt in Opal before. He shivered, but there wassomething more than the cold dankness of the air to make him shiver.

  Then they came to the ferry, and the ferryman was so old and bent that Odinlooked twice at him to make sure that he wasn't one-eyed. He wasn't. So theferry creaked its way out to the Tower--to an improvised landing justbelow the sixth-story windows. They climbed through the windows into ahuge room that seemed to be carved of fairy-foam, and behind them the raingrew heavier and the thunder rolled in the distance and the lightningflashed like witch-fires across the jaded sky.

  * * * * *

  Three days had passed since Gunnar and Odin had returned to Opal.Doctor Jack Odin stretched out on a huge bed and felt the strength ofthe ultra-violet light upon the ceiling pour into his shoulders. Inthe next room, Gunnar was bathing and complaining about the sea water.Drinking-water in Opal was now at a premium.

  Odin had been in the dumps. Now he was feeling better, although memory ofthe sodden ruins that he had seen in the last three days would never leavehim.

  "And are you howling, my strong little man?" he called out cheerfully. "InKorea I once bathed in a mud puddle and enjoyed the bath."

  Gunnar's first few words were unprintable. "There was a river close to myhouse where the water ran silver over the stones of the ford. And thereGunnar used to bathe. This is slop, Nors-King. Nothing but slop."

  Odin laughed again. "You are getting old, Gunnar. Did anyone ever guaranteethat ford to you for always?"

  Gunnar, dripping water, and with a towel wrapped around his middle, camedashing into the room. He stood there, his arms and shoulders flexed. "Anddoes Gunnar look too old to fight?" he asked.

  Odin blinked. Gunnar's muscular development had always amazed him. Theshort man stood an inch less than five feet. His chest and shoulders musthave measured more than that, his muscles writhed like iron snakes as hemoved. His biceps and forearms were those of a smith--which indeed Gunnarhad been, for Gunnar had been many things. The huge torso slanted down tonarrow waist and hips. Then his short legs propped him up like carvedthings of oak. Gunnar had once killed a bull with one blow of his fist.He had once snapped a man's back across those bulging, stubby thighs.

  * * * * *

  Gunnar disappeared in search of fresh clothing. Odin lay there, thinkingof all the things he had seen since returning to Opal.

  Although the water level was still high up on the Tower, the lower floorshad been made water-tight and had been pumped dry. On his first trip to theTower, Odin had little chance to survey the rooms. Now he knew something ofwhat Opal had lost. Curtains, paintings, rugs, statues, the finestfurniture. All these had been ruined or damaged by the flood. Each room ofthe Tower had been a work of art. Both Brons and Neeblings had contributedto it, back in the days when they were working shoulder to shoulder.

  In spite of his thoughts for Maya, he could not help thinking that theBrons had brought this on themselves. When they tried to
put the Neeblingsin second place, that was when the bell had sounded. Even so, why had thissplendor been reduced to ruin? Oh, there were jewels that could besalvaged. And statues. But the Tower was a work of art from top to bottom.The finest lace. China as thin as paper. Paintings. These were gone. Onemight as well salvage Mona Lisa's eyes and swear that they were theoriginal. Higher up, where the water had not reached, the machines had beenstored along with other treasures. But Opal's best had been water-logged.

  And the trip that Odin had made with Wolden into the tunnel. That was themost heart-breaking of all. The Brons and the Neeblings had saved thetreasures from the warring civilizations of the world above. The statuescould be preserved. Some of the machines might possibly be restored. Butthe paintings, the art, and the books. All gone. Wolden especially mourneda Navajo sand-painting, which he compared to Goya. Not a trace was left ofit.

  Wolden had taken him into the tunnel, just as he had once before. It wasdripping now, and the sound of the pumps throbbed through the ruins likethe struggling heart of a wounded thing. Their little car moved slowlydown the old tracks. Occasionally it had to stop, where some disintegratingpile of treasures had spilled out. One sack of diamonds had broken. Woldenstopped and kicked the stones away. An ancient Ford, with its back seatpiled high with rotting and sprouting sacks of prize-winning oat seed, wasboth heart-breaking and ludicrous.

  The Brons and the Neeblings had been the true antiquarians of the world.And they had taken centuries to gather their collection. A dinosaurskeleton stared at them. The salvaged carved prow of a galleon leanedagainst a gaping whale's jaw. A model of the first atomic pile supported ascore of leaning spears, but the feathers and artwork on those spears werenow stains and shreds. An English flag, delicately embroidered, droopedbeside the dripping tatters of the Confederacy. A Roman eagle was liftedhigh beside the crudely beautiful banner of the Choctaws--on which Odincould barely make out the three arrows and the unstrung bow.

  * * * * *

  Chinese vases, thin as egg shells, most of them broken, lay in a tumbledpile beside ancient cradles and spinning wheels.

  A Neanderthal skull was staring hungrily at a twelve foot skeleton of agiant bird. And a restoration of a tiny little equus was looking up likean inquisitive mouse at a huge ruined painting by Rosa Bonheur.

  Thousands upon thousands of relics of the world above--some taken from thejetsam of the sea and others taken by exploring parties from Opal duringthose long glad years when the inner-world was as comfortable as Eden andalmost as happy. Gems by the millions, gold and silver coins, trappingsinlaid with diamonds, furs, silks, bone instruments and ivory carvings. AStradivarius was warping apart, and a Gutenberg was swollen to twice itssize, its moldy pages curling away from the parent-book. The books hadfared worse. Great stacks of leather-covered libraries were turning intomoldy, starchy mounds. Papyrus and lambskin scrolls were falling apart.Once, when they stopped for Wolden to thrust some moldy folds of Hinduthread-of-gold weaving from their path, Odin stopped and picked up thecover of a book. It was soggy and faded. But he could make out the title:"Poems by a Bostonian."

  So they had gone on, but slower now than on their first journey into thetunnel which led to the floor of the Gulf. An odor of dankness and decayhung over everything. The air was cold and damp. And everywhere were thefootprints and handprints of Death who had spared this galley for so long,but who had come back with his flashing scythe to claim his own. Thestinking carcass of a hammer head shark, washed in by the flood, laysprawled across the sodden sarcophagus of an Egyptian princess.

  And a gloomy sickness fell upon Jack Odin there in the tunnel as he thoughtof all the splendor that had died here, and the ages and ages of sweat andblood that had gone into these treasures. A thousand, thousand treasureswere trying to whisper their stories to him, but the dripping water wasdrowning them out. Thousands of men, some slaves and some kings, weretrying to tell him what the jewels and books, and swords and cradles hadmeant to them--but the drip-drip-drip of the water choked the echoes oftheir voices. The darkness that was ever crowding in seemed to be filledwith the shadows of beautiful women in fine laces, with flashing jewelsabout their throats, and pendants brushing their half-covered breasts. Theywere trying to smile out of the dark, but a cold fog was creeping from thewalls of the tunnel, settling about the shadows, and driving them back,farther and farther into all pervading nothingness.

  * * * * *

  Seeing his misery, Gunnar had clutched Odin's arm. "These were things ofthe past, Nors-King, and the things of the past belong to the old dragon.Let us not complain if he has taken them at last. We have things to do andwe cannot do them if we are sick at heart. Did I tell you that four of mychildren died in the flood?" The voice of the broad-shouldered dwarfsounded husky and far away.

  "No, Gunnar. You never told me. Indeed, old friend, I am sorry. Verysorry. And ashamed that I sit here mourning the past and forgetting yourtroubles."

  "Yes. They died. My Freida and the other three are coming here. And we willeat at the same table again--and I will tell them that their grand-sire andtheir great-grand-sires were men among men. And that Gunnar himself hasoften sat high at the councils. Then we will go out to find Grim Hagen--andFreida and the three will go back to rebuild the farm. For that is the wayof things--and as long as there are strong ones left to rebuild, Lokicannot altogether destroy us."

  The car moved slowly forward. The dismal fog grew heavier. Until at lastthey came to the place where the Old Ship had stood.

  Now there was a new ship taking form within its huge cradles. Lights wereeverywhere. The red lights of the forge. The blue lights of the weldingtorches, the white light of the workbenches. The yellow lights thatsurrounded the high scaffolds went up and up to the top of the hour-glassfigure.

  "This is our second," Wolden explained. "Our first was much smaller.We had been working on a smaller model long before Grim Hagen gotambitious. Some of our scientists have already gone into space. We arein touch with them. They went quietly and noiselessly. There was no needfor all the destruction and havoc that Grim Hagen worked. But this modelis larger even than the Old Ship, and all the improvements that we oncedreamed of are here. You see, Odin," Wolden continued, "the Old Shipwas ours for centuries. We of Orthe-Gard have exploring minds. We wentover the ship thousands of times. We knew where every bolt and pin waslocated. We improved it. In the beginning, when it brought our ancestorshere, it must have been comparatively slow. But during the past fortyyears we learned much from your scientists about space. Einstein wasthe only thinker in a century gone mad from bickering. About ten yearsago we perfected what I call The Fourth Drive. It would take days toexplain it, but it can throw a ship into Trans-Einsteinian Space. We hadequipped the Old Ship with the new invention. Our experimental ship wasso equipped. And this newer, larger one will also have The Fourth Drive.But we have made a few improvements at the last."

  * * * * *

  It was all too deep for Odin. And there was so much to see that he did notask any questions.

  Workers and smiths were everywhere. They crawled over the scaffolding likeants. They hammered and pounded at the framework. They were bent over thefurnaces and the anvils. The presses and the shapers were pounding away.Never before had Jack Odin seen so much activity in Opal.

  "We are wrecking our buildings for this ship," Wolden mourned. "Given time,my experiments would have made worlds and space unnecessary. But it hasbeen voted that we go after Maya and punish Grim Hagen, even though wedrive to the edge of space. So be it. We are now building in weeks what itwould once have taken years to do. Those on our experimental ship who havealready gone out into space, they have helped us immensely. Daily theyreport the results of their tests to us. The good points--the bad ones--theimprovements. Oh, when this is finished it will be a greater ship than weever dreamed of. I did dream of such a ship when I was young. But now Ifind that I do not want it. Even so, I will go out among
the stars. Woldenwas never a coward, nor his fathers before him."

  "So be it," Odin answered and he leaned his head back and looked high up atthe scaffolding where the welders' torches flashed like stars. "So be it,Wolden. But I would have gone anyway."

  And Gunnar spoke: "I would have gone beside you. My sword is thirsty."

  High up on the hour-glass shape a bit of magnesium caught fire and burnedbrilliantly for a second, its sparks flashing out and down. A worker, whowas no more than a shadow, smothered the flame.

  The sparks drifted downward like lost suns seeking a course that they couldfind no more. They sparkled and burned. Then they winked out, and there wasnothing left upon the scaffolding but lancing flames and scurrying shadows.

  All about them now, the smiths were beating out old chanteys on the ancientanvils and the newer, clashing machines.