Captain Future 12 - Planets in Peril (Fall 1942)

by Edmond Hamilton

  That cry of doubt momentarily checked the excited uproar. Curt saw the first signs of doubt appear on the faces of Council members. He realized that he must assert himself if the impersonation was not to fall through.

  "I am Kaffr," Curt said solemnly. "And I did not die, ages ago. I went into a trance of suspended animation from which I have now awakened."

  His voice rang out.

  "Millions of years ago, I led the Tarast people in their first space-conquests of other worlds. I guided them in laying the foundations of cosmic empire. But I foresaw that a time would come when this universe would wane and die, and that then I would be sorely needed.

  "So I entered that trance of suspended animation, arranging to wake when the remote time had come that would see dire need of my leadership."

  Curt gestured toward the silent Brain and robot and android behind him.

  "My ancient comrades entered that trance with me, and have awakened with me. They, and I, have come to give our services once more to the Tarast people for whom we fought long ago."

  A sigh of deep emotion came from his listeners. And Curt Newton rushed on, seeking to override all doubts in these critical first moments.

  "Tell me — are we not needed now?" throbbed his clear voice, his gray eyes sweeping their faces. "Has the time come that I foresaw?"

  The aged chairman answered, in a voice that was hoarse with feeling.

  "Kaffr, if you are indeed our ancient hero, you come back to us at a truly fateful hour. Our empire is shrunken and dying. This Council of Suns of which I, Igir, am chairman, rules now only over this last cluster of waning stars and worlds that hold the surviving millions of our race.

  "This last stronghold of ours is constantly attacked by the hordes of the Cold Ones, unhuman enemies whom the disastrous experiments of a Tarast scientist loosed upon our universe. Their attacks grow ever fiercer. And they say they will not cease these attacks unless we agree to stop having children, so that after this generation our race shall end."

  THE old chairman gestured with a trembling hand toward the stalwart figure of Vostol.

  "Vostol and many others sincerely believe it would be best to make such a treaty with the Cold Ones; for they say that our race must soon become extinct anyway, when our universe dies completely. But Gerdek and others who have sought to revive our once-great science, claim that our universe will be reborn in time and that we must fight on."

  Curt Newton had listened tensely. He saw that the moment had come for him to fulfill the purpose of his impersonation.

  "Make a treaty with the Cold Ones?" Curt cried in ringing tones. "Make a treaty with deadly enemies? Is it possible that you can dream of doing that? If so, the Tarast race has decayed indeed since the long-gone days when your remote ancestors and I first conquered space!"

  His voice flared.

  "It is not the Tarast tradition to parley with menacing enemies, but to fight! It was so that we won dominion over other worlds and stars in the days gone by. It is so that you will revive the ancient glory of our all-conquering race!”

  Curt's ringing words, the proud, martial appearance of his tall figure and of the grim Futuremen, seemed to act like a bugle-blast upon most of the men before him, reminding them of past glories of their race.

  "Kaffr speaks truth!" a young member of the Council yelled. "We are no frightened cowards to cringe before the Cold Ones!"

  "With Kaffr to lead us, we'll blast them from the sky!" cried another. "We'll never commit race suicide to buy a craven peace for ourselves."

  Gerdek's handsome face was flaming with eager excitement as he saw that Curt's words were winning the day. Shiri had appeared now beside her brother, and was leaning forward to drink in every word.

  "Furthermore," rang out Captain Future's clear voice, "I say that the man Gerdek is right. This dying universe will be reborn, in time. My comrades and I can give you scientific proof of it. You have only to hold on against all enemies, and the Tarast empire will rise again."

  Shouts of enthusiasm greeted this assertion. Yet Curt's keen eyes noticed that many among the Council looked silent and a little doubtful, now that their first bewildered excitement was passing.

  And Vostol was raising his voice above the uproar, demanding that he be heard.

  "Members of the Council, will you let yourselves be carried away by brave phrases?" he cried. "We have as yet no proof whatever that this man is really Kaffr."

  "Proof?" cried an excited Tarast. "His appearance is proof! Not for ages has any man among us had flame-red hair like Kaffr's. And who but Kaffr would have such superhuman comrades as he has?"

  "I demand that this man's identity be established by thorough investigation," clamored Vostol.

  He was supported now by a number of voices. Other voices cried out angrily against the demand. The hall became a turmoil of excited shouts.

  Curt looked tensely at Gerdek. His impersonation would soon be unmasked, if he were forced to undergo searching questioning before Gerdek and Shiri had coached him further.

  "The devil!" Otho was hissing. "That Vostol is a born skeptic. They'd all accept you if it weren't for him."

  "Shall I shut that fellow up, Chief?" growled Grag.

  "No — hold it," Curt whispered. "I've got to carry this through somehow."

  At this tense moment, the tumultuous argument in the great room was interrupted. A wild-eyed Tarast guard, gripping in his hand a gunlike weapon, came bursting in with a shout.

  "The crowds outside the Hall of Suns have gone crazy!” yelled the officer. "They've heard that Kaffr has returned, and they're mad with excitement. The whole city is gathering!"

  NIGHT had fallen outside. But through the tall windows came a deep, roaring sound like the thunder of distant surf. Tens of thousands of voices were shouting out there.

  "Kaffr! Kaffr!" came the cry.

  "They'll be pouring in here in a moment if Kaffr doesn't appear!" warned the guard officer. "They're insane with joy."

  Igir, the old chairman, looked irresolutely at Curt.

  "Then you must show yourself to the people, Kaffr."

  "I protest!" flared Vostol. "It has not yet been proved that this man is the ancient hero."

  "Listen to that crowd!" cried Gerdek. "The Tarast people do not need proofs — they know that the prophecies of legend have been fulfilled and that Kaffr has come back to save them. The mere sight of him will give them new courage."

  Curt Newton felt an inner recoil from the necessity that faced him. It was one thing to impersonate the ancient hero before the Council. It was another thing to delude a whole people.

  But this was why he had come across dimensional abysses to this universe. His imposture had no profit for himself. Indeed, he was risking his life to inspire these people and preserve them from extinction. He must go through with the job.

  "I am Kaffr, and I will speak to my people!" Curt declared in high, vibrant tones. "Are there any doubters here who would dare try to prevent me?"

  He stepped forward as he spoke, with the Futuremen following him closely. He moved down off the great stage and up the aisle of the amphitheater in the direction from which the — guard officer had come.

  And the Council made way for him. Some there might be among them who doubted, yet superstitious awe made them step hastily back to clear a path for that proud, tall red-haired figure and his three grim friends.

  Gerdek and Shiri were close behind Curt. And the whole Council fell in instantly after them, sweeping along in a tumult of electric excitement that drowned the persistent protests of Vostol's party.

  "So far, you're carrying it off," said Gerdek under his breath, his breathing quick with tension. "But for the sake of the gods, don't make any slips! Vostol would seize on them at once."

  Lights were shining along the halls, and Tarast guards with awed reverence in their eyes saluted Curt Newton as he passed. He emerged at the head of the excited party onto a terrace outside the Hall of Suns.

  Night lay over B
ebemos. Lights were gleaming all across the ancient capital. And through the dim curve of transparent roof high overhead came the lurid light of two dull-red moons that were climbing into the sky.

  The great plaza in front of the mammoth building was packed with a surging throng of countless thousands. They swirled and eddied around the colossal statue and against the front of the building. The light falling upon them revealed a sea of white faces that were all turned as one toward Curt Newton as he appeared.

  The clamor of that tremendous throng died to a dead, absolute silence at his appearance. For a long moment that hush was uncanny. In it, the vast throng stared up at the tall, red-haired figure in the terrace. And then —

  "Kaffr!”

  That thunderous shout hit Curt in the face like a stunning wave of sound. It had in it a mad rejoicing almost beyond expression.

  It was the cry of a people who looked out of a deepening shadow of cosmic doom and saw a savior. It was the cry of men who saw their hero of ages of ancient tradition, face to face.

  "Kaffr has returned!"

  CURT NEWTON quailed inwardly under the impact of that tremendous greeting. It was not really for him, that frantic acclaim. It was for the hero of the dim past, the man whose statue loomed high in the dark.

  But the agony of entreaty on the faces of Shiri and Gerdek steadied Curt. He raised his hand commandingly for silence.

  "Yes, my people, Kaffr has awakened from long sleep to return to you in this hour of peril," rang his clear voice.

  It almost seemed to Curt Newton, as he spoke, that the spirit of the real Kaffr was somehow whispering the words to him from the dead.

  "I have returned to counsel you in this great crisis of our racial history," he went on. "And my first counsel is, not to despair or surrender to doom. The valor of our race won cosmic empires for us long ago, and it will save us now."

  A flaming shout of utter faith and loyalty answered him. Again he raised his hand for quiet. But as the roar of the vast crowd ebbed, it was suddenly succeeded by a new and nerve-chilling sound.

  A piercing, wailing note rose from somewhere atop the Hall of Suns, climbing in rapid crescendo to a screaming shriek that echoed across Bebemos like a chorus of demons. Within a moment, that eerie warning drowned out all other sounds.

  "The raid warning!" cried old Igir, his face wild with alarm. "It means another attack by the Cold Ones!”

  A Tarast officer came racing out of the building, saluting.

  "A strong force of Cold One ships reported off Tarasia, heading toward Bebemos!" he reported to the old chairman.

  Curt found Gerdek at his side in the wild confusion. The young Tarast was explaining feverishly.

  "The Cold Ones have attacked Bebemos several times recently — they seek to shatter the roof that alone makes life possible here. They'll be on us in a few moments. It is up to you to lead the defense."

  "But everything here is unfamiliar to me!” Captain Future exclaimed. "I don t know anything about your weapons or defenses —"

  "It's a fight, and that's all we need to know!" cried Otho, his slant-green eyes glittering with sudden excitement.

  "Just tell the people to take their defense posts — they all know what to do!" Gerdek whispered hastily to Curt.

  Captain Future quickly followed the suggestion. His raised hand brought silence except for the continual eerie shriek of the warning.

  "People of Bebemos, to your stations!" he shouted. "Let me see tonight whether you can fight as your ancestors fought ages ago!"

  The irresolution and startled panic of the throng instantly evaporated and there crashed out a yell of confidence and courage.

  "We obey, Kaffr! With you to lead us, we'll destroy them when they come!"

  The scene became one of uproar and confusion as the crowd broke up, men running in every direction to their stations of defense. Flyers roared low across the roofs of the city, and the screaming signal of warning never abated for a moment.

  Tarast soldiery, armed with the gunlike weapons, were racing toward the giant columns that supported the great dome. Curt found himself and the Futuremen led hastily along by Gerdek and Shiri toward one of those great pillars.

  "My station is in Turret Fourteen, and you had best stay with me," Gerdek was saying as they ran. "Hurry!"

  Curt Newton was more than a little bewildered by the rush of events in this totally unfamiliar place. He understood nothing of the plans of attack or defense utilized by the opposing forces.

  But he realized the desperate urgency of the moment. Without asking for further explanations, he accompanied Gerdek and Shiri. They reached the big pillar that was their destination. It was hollow, and inside it was an atomic-powered elevator. They shot rapidly upward.

  THE car stopped. They emerged from it into a big turret that jutted up like a large blister from the curve of the domed roof. There were other turrets here and there over the roof, and they had transparent walls like the dome itself. From each turret protruded long gun muzzles.

  Tarast soldiers were already at their posts at the guns here in Turret Fourteen. They wore space-suits, and Gerdek hastily snatched other suits from a rack and handed them to Curt and the Futuremen.

  "Suits on!” he warned. "If the Cold Ones shatter the walls of this turret, the bitter cold outside would paralyze you at once."

  "I don't need any suit," growled Grag, tossing aside the garment disdainfully. The Brain was watching with his usual imperturbability.

  Curt and Otho followed the example of Gerdek and his sister in donning the suits and transparent helmets. Inside each helmet was an all-wave interphone to make conversation possible at short ranges.

  "There they come!” yelled one of the Tarasts. He was pointing up toward the sky.

  Captain Future looked up tensely through the turret's transparent wall. The scene was weird, with the two moons dripping bloody light upon the vast, curved dome of Bebemos.

  Down through the lurid light, long, slim craft were swooping with unbelievable swiftness upon the city. Curt's heart hammered. The Cold Ones, the mysterious spawn of icy night who had overrun almost all this universe!

  Guns of turrets all across the roof spat streams of small shells toward the diving ships. The shells, Curt realized at once, were atom-shells containing a charge of unstable matter that was released into a flare of atomic force wherever they struck.

  The flares danced like lightning amid the diving attackers. Ships of the Cold Ones sagged and fell to crash on the roof. By the flares of their own destruction, Curt glimpsed their incredible nature.

  "Good God, those spaceships are open!" he cried. "They're just fast space-sleds. How can their crews survive in airless space?"

  "The Cold Ones do not need air to breathe," Gerdek said from the breech of the gun he was handling. "Ha — we got that one!"

  But the diving attackers were loosing a hot fire of similar atom-shells as they swooped. They seemed to concentrate their fire on the gun turrets. The flares bit holes in the tough substance of the dome.

  Captain Future glimpsed, through the battle's mad confusion, a half score of space-sleds that swooped headlong to a reckless landing on the roof near a neighboring turret. He saw a horde of white, weird-looking figures jump from the sleds to attack that turret.

  "They're trying to take Turret Thirteen!" yelled Gerdek in alarm. "If they take it, they'll use its own guns on the dome."

  He tore open a door in the wall of their own turret.

  "We've got to stop that!" Gerdek exclaimed. "Come on!"

  Captain Future needed no second invitation. He had been itching to get into this fight, and here was the chance.

  With Grag and Otho and Gerdek, and half the Tarast soldiers in their crew, they pitched out of their stronghold and ran across the surface of the vast dome toward the fight around Turret Thirteen.

  Curt's proton pistol spat thin, dazzling rays of destruction into the vague horde of white figures hammering at the threatened turret. Otho too was shooting
as he ran, and Gerdek and his soldiers were using their weapons to loose little, flaring atom-shells.

  The Cold Ones turned savagely to meet this new attack. In the mingled light of the two red moons and the battle's dancing flares, the appearance of the attackers became clear to Curt for the first time.

  "They're devils!" screeched Otho in horrified amazement. "Look at them!"

  The Cold Ones were indeed ghastly figures. Their bodies were of human size and shape but they were not of flesh. They were of bone, gleaming, hard white bodies with skull-like heads from which two uncanny eyes looked forth with fixed, unwinking glare. They looked, indeed, horribly like human men changed by some dreadful metamorphosis into ossified creatures.

  Chapter 7: On a Dead World

  GRAG was in the thick of the fight around Turret Thirteen before he realized the enemy's uncanny nature. The big robot had plunged into the melee with a will, disdaining the use of any weapons except his own mighty metal fists. Those fists smashed into the vague white figures of the Cold Ones with shattering effect.

  Then, by the mingled light of the red moons and the exploding atom-shells, Grag saw his antagonists more clearly. At the same time came the amazed cries of Captain Future and Otho. The robot felt an equal astonishment.

  "Jumping imps of Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "What are these things?"

  The bodies of white bone, the skull-like, fleshless heads and faces, the glaring, unwinking eyes seemed born of a nightmare.

  Captain Future's shout rallied Grag from his astonishment.

  "Drive them away from the turret!" Curt was shouting.

  The robot pitched into the fight. It had now become a swirling combat that seethed around the threatened Turret Thirteen. Cold Ones seeking to force their way into that turret had been taken by surprise by Gerdek's Tarasts and the Futuremen. The atom-guns of the defenders had already scythed down many of the weird, bony invaders.

  The Cold Ones turned, using their own hand atom-guns. Deadly flares of force exploded all through the melee. Space-suited men and alien invaders slipped and staggered on the smooth roof. The raiders from the sky were still hotly attacking all over domed Bebemos.