by Eando Binder
“Holy smoke,” muttered Jon. “Now I know there’s something wrong. This robot has been tampered with! His governor has been turned off so that he can oppose humans! Now the question is, how do I get past him?”
Jon decided on a trick. “I’m going to knock you down, Tin Face!” he roared. The robot spread his arms and legs, blocking the hallway completely. Jon rushed straight at him—then ducked between his open legs!
By the time the slow-witted automaton turned, Jon was speeding down the hall. Jon yanked open the living room door and took in a grim scene.
James Van Asto, his wife, and their daughter were all tied up in chairs. Guarding them was another robot. A third robot was using his tremendous strength to rip open a wall safe.
Last of all, Jon’s eyes rested on the man directing all these proceedings. He was a tall, stocky man with a harsh, ruthless face. He swung around now.
“So!” he said with a grin. “A member of the honorable Space Patrol, eh?”
“Who are you?” demanded Jon.
The big man half bowed. “Professor Carl Dameon, at your service.”
“Professor Dameon?” gasped Jon. The mechanical genius had a workshop here on X-888. “But you’re supposed to be a scientist—not a robber!”
The professor smiled mirthlessly. “Bah! Science does not pay. Look at these fat pigs, living in luxury. I decided to rob them. I pretended to be their guest, and then secretly unhooked the governors of their robot servants. I have three powerful robots now serving me! And what are you going to do about it?”
Jon whipped out his ray gun. He shot, but Professor Dameon ducked behind a robot, and the ray charge hissed harmlessly against hard metal. Then, at a sharp command from the renegade scientist, the robot stalked toward Jon Jarl, steely arms outstretched.
Jon shot at the robot again and again, but it was useless. He couldn’t shoot down a being made of steel and alloy. Jon turned to escape—only to fall into the arms of the robot butler, who had now entered behind him. Jon struggled furiously in the grip of the metal man, but finally was forced to give up.
“Hold him tight,” the professor said, “till we finish our burglary.”
In the grip of the robot, Jon could only watch helplessly as the scientist took jewels and money from the ripped-open wall safe, stuffing them in a bag. Van Asto and his family, gagged as well as tied, stared in hopeless resignation. Not even a member of the Space Patrol could stop this high-handed thief and his robots!
“A small fortune!” crowed the scientist. “Now I’ll tell you a secret, Lieutenant, since soon you’re going to die. I’m not just a common criminal. I’m going to use this money to set up a secret plant and—produce more robots! Hundreds—thousands—millions of them! Then, with an army of metal men at my back, I’m going to conquer and rule the Solar System! That’s my real aim!”
Jon’s mind reeled. Robot armies against human forces! Hard metal against soft flesh! No matter how many robots would be mowed down by human cannons and bombs, more and more metal warriors could be turned out of secret factories in an endless stream. In such a battle, the robots must win! It was a stark picture that made Jon writhe in mental agony.
Professor Dameon, a traitor to his race, was a madman! But a madman who might well succeed in his frightful plot!
Jon’s mind spun frantically. What could he do, here and now, to nip this dread scheme in the bud? How could he win out against three powerful robots and their ruthless master?
“But you’ve heard enough!” the scientist snapped. “Now you die! Crush him in your hands, robots! Tear him to shreds!”
Obediently, the robots advanced on Jon, their steel hands ready to pull him apart as if he were a rag doll. Jon yanked one arm free and swung his fist at one robot’s expressionless face, only to groan as his knuckles cracked painfully against the metal.
But even as they began wrenching at his arms. Jon saw his salvation. “Stop, robots!” he yelled. “Stop and—FIGHT EACH OTHER!”
Jon held his breath. Would it work? It should, for the professor had unhooked their governors. This meant that any command given them would be obeyed, no matter how senseless.
And the next moment, a terrific noise filled the air crashingly. The three robots began battling with wild fury.
“Stop!” shrieked Professor Dameon.”
But it was no use. The din they raised drowned out the scientist’s voice, and the robots kept fighting.
Jon leaped at the professor. “It’s a man to man fight now!” he exulted. He rammed his fist into the professor’s face. And then Jon stared at the raw blood running down his knuckles.
The blow had no more effect than if Jon had hit a stone wall! Professor Dameon grinned in evil triumph.
Slowly, his face white, Jon raised his gun and shot. The professor made no move to escape. The ray charge burned away a patch of clothing on his chest—burned away flesh-colored plastic—revealing the gleaming metal that lay underneath.
Jon moaned. “You—are—a—robot—too!” he gasped.
“Yes.” hissed the disguised robot. “You see, the true Professor Dameon created me in his laboratory. He made me far superior to other dumb robots. Then, realizing I might be dangerous to the human race, he tried to destroy me. But I killed him first! He had covered me with skin-colored plastic, so that I would look human. That made it easy for me to disguise myself as a human and dupe Van Asto to let me enter his house and make allies out of my robot brothers.”
He waved at where the three robots lay in a broken, lifeless tangle, having battered each other to bits. “Clever.” he said, “making my robots destroy each other. But now you will die at the hands of another robot—me!”
Again steel-strong hands gripped Jon, ready to snuff out his life. In sheer desperation, Jon grasped the robot in his two hands and swung him over his head. In the light gravity of the tiny asteroid, Jon was able to heave the bulky robot against one hard stone wall.
There was a thundering crash—and the robot came apart at the seams. Wires and wheels burst forth, like an unsprung watch. It was the end of the diabolical metal monster who might have conquered and enslaved the entire living population of the Solar System.
Jon knew that never again would such a robot mastermind be created. But he also knew, as he continued his beat through the asteroids, that he would shudder a little when the next robot butler opened a door for him.
WORLD OF TITANS
A one-man rocketship sped toward a tiny world in space. On the side of the ship was emblazoned the white star of the Space Patrol, the interplanetary police of the 23rd Century. Within the ship sat Lieutenant Jon Jarl, wondering what his latest mission would lead to.
Headquarters had sent him to Jupiter’s eighth moon, so small and remote that it had no name. In the charts it was just Jupiter VIII. An exploring expedition had been sent by the Earth Federation two months ago. But no word had come from its members for weeks. It was Jon Jarl’s mission to find them—or discover what happened to them!
Jon landed in a desolate valley and stepped out in his spacesuit that supplied him with oxygen and warmth. Staring around, he saw a hazy range of mountains in one direction. Elsewhere there were only tall slim trees of a peculiar type.
How could he locate the missing explorers? Had they perhaps crashed in the mountains?
Jon turned toward the mountains again. A gasp tore from his lips. The mountains were gone!
At the same time, the ground began to tremble violently. Jon was pitched off his feet. An earthquake! One so great that even a range of mountains had sunk out of sight!
Staggering to his feet, Jon then got the biggest shock of all. Huge shapes were moving toward him, shaking the ground.
“Great Jupiter!” Jon whispered. “I thought the mountains were missing. But they’re coming toward me now—from another direction. That mountain range is moving!”
But the mountains were strange. As they neared, and loomed large in the mists, they took on rounded form. Appendages
became visible. There seemed to be gleaming searchlights at the top like huge eyes.
Then Jon knew.
“Giants!” he gasped, “Not mountains, but giants! The people of this world are beings a mile high!”
Worst of all they were after him. One titanic form now stood over him and bent down. A hand as big as a house reached for Jon, as if he were a mouse.
And Jon ran, like a mouse. Whatever they wanted with him, Jon didn’t like it. He gained his ship and threw the rocket motor into high speed. Barely in time, he zipped away, as mighty hands clutched for his ship—and missed. Like a tiny buzzing fly, Jon sent his ship high over their heads and looked down on the incredible sight.
Yes, they were giants, all right. Six of them, each a mile high. They were built more or less in human shape, but with barrel-like chests to suck in the thin air. And of course the light gravity of this tiny moon allowed such gigantic people to walk around. On Earth, they would collapse of their own weight and be helpless.
Their rumbling voices came to Jon, as they talked in their own tongue, and pointed up toward his circling ship, safely out of their reach. They seemed disappointed, as if they had hoped to capture him. But why? What would giant creatures want with a man so tiny he would be like a little flea to them?
Suddenly, it clicked in Jon’s mind. He thought of trained jumping fleas at a flea circus. The giants wanted him for amusement! It would amuse them to make a tiny man perform for them—like an animated toy.
Jon knew then what had happened to the previous exploring party. They had been captured by the giants!
So when the giants moved off, Jon followed them. He flew high, through a haze of clouds, so that they would not notice their tiny shadower.
The giants reached their habitation. Jon gasped as he saw a stone building that reared at least 25 miles into the sky! In fact, Jon had to swerve his ship aside frantically to keep from smashing directly into the lowering structure. This was indeed a world of giants, and Jon felt like an insignificant ant.
The giants entered the house. Jon followed after a time, zipping in through a window that was open only a crack. But the “crack” was twenty feet high! Jon found himself in a lofty room, with the ceiling two miles above him. The space within was so huge that the whole Space Patrol could have held their maneuvers there without once getting near any wall.
Now, how to find the captured explorers? Jon buzzed through the room, but found no sign of them. He decided to try the next room. But there was a huge solid door blocking him. Then Jon grinned and slipped his small ship under the door crack, a space fifteen feet high.
In the next room, Jon almost had heart failure as a huge flappy object loomed out of the air and came at him swiftly. Desperately, Jon spun his ship aside, scarcely in time. Then he looked back and saw a huge woman giant staring disappointedly, holding the flappy thing by a tremendous handle.
She had tried to swat Jon’s ship, evidently taking it for a fly!
Every moment he spent in the giant’s abode he would be in ghastly danger. But he had to find the explorers—if they were alive.
At last, in one room, Jon’s pulse leaped. He saw children of the giants. They were only a half-mile high. They sat before a cage—and in that cage were tiny figures.
The missing explorers!
They were the “toys” of these giant kids! Little playthings, to dance and amuse, like puppets!
How could Jon rescue them? It was suicide to dash down among the children. They would see him and capture him, too. Maybe he could land the ship quickly next to the cage, and…
No! For while he was trying to release his friends, one huge thumb could come down and flatten his spaceship like an eggshell. Too dangerous.
Jon’s mind spun, and then he shot his ship toward the face of one giant-child. He whisked by so close that his rocket discharges hit the tip of the child’s note. It would feel like a sting to the young giant.
The child, giving a booming squeal of pain, whirled angrily toward its playmates, obviously accusing one of them of the deed. Jon had hoped it would work that way. He ‘stung’ another child—and another.
One child slapped the next, who slapped back—and a fight was on. The children of the giants were soon screeching and bellowing and clawing at each other. The quarrel sounded like a war between worlds.
Now was Jon’s chance. He landed on the huge table top near the cage and ran to the bars. Three men were inside, looking haggard and half mad.
“The Space Patrol!” they screeched, seeing Jon. “For the love of heaven, get us out of this rat trap!”
That was exactly what Jon was doing. Using his ray gun at full power, he shot off the lock and led the staggering men to his ship. The ship almost failed to take off, with its overload, but at last it slid into the air, rockets belching.
But one giant-child now noticed the empty cage. He yelled, and the others stopped their battle. One of them spotted the tiny ship slowly rising from the table. Six vast hands clutched for Jon’s craft.
Jon was in agony. He had to rise a mile before he would be safe from the giant kids. With the overload, his rate of ascent was maddeningly slow. Would he make it?
Jon desperately weaved in and out, avoiding the clumsy hands. His ship was almost in the clear when two mighty fingers—a thumb and index finger—shot out and caught the ship!
Desperately, Jon aimed and shot his ray cannon. It struck flesh, ripping a huge gash. The fingers let go, and Jon shot into the safe upper reaches of the room.
Jon then zoomed his ship to the nearest open window and the freedom of outside air.
But there was one more danger. One of the kids came rushing out with a giant net. He flung it into the sky—and it settled over the ship!
“We’re lost,” moaned one of the explorers.
“Don’t be silly,” Jon chuckled. “Take a look. The holes in that net are twenty feet wide!”
The ship easily slipped through the net, soaring up and away. Leaning on the power button, Jon rocketed into space, letting out his breath in a long sigh of relief.
“Relax, men,” he told the explorers. I’ll have you at Jupiter Port in no time.”
MYSTERY WORLD
As his small one-man rocketship thrummed through space, Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Police worked feverishly at the broken scanner screen he used to spot meteors and space debris.
“Got to get it in working order quick,” he muttered to himself, “or some meteor is going to sneak up on me—at a thousand miles a minute!”
Suddenly, it happened. There was a blinding glare in the front port window. It wasn’t just a meteor, it was a blazing comet! Ordinarily, the scanner would have warned Jon in plenty of time to move out of its way. But now he could only dive at his controls and desperately try to veer.
The comet missed by inches. But it passed so close that its gravitational pull jerked the tiny ship completely around and sent it spinning off in a different direction. Also the comet’s tail, composed of electrified particles, burned out the sensitive coils of the rocket motor, and it died. But Jon knew nothing of all this, for he had been flung against the wall violently.
Jon Jarl was unconscious.
* * * *
Was it minutes later that he awoke? Hours? Maybe days? Jon had no way of knowing. The electric clock had burned out, too. All Jon knew, his eyes wide in horror, was that he was dropping like a stone toward some world. The surface rushed at him. Jon groaned as his dead motor failed to respond, and then strapped himself in. Nothing to do but hope for the best.
He closed his eyes and crossed his fingers. He was heading for a small lake below.
The ship struck water hard, wrenching him against the safety harness. Jon heard the loud splash outside. The ship went down—down. But finally it stopped and bobbed to the surface. Currents then carried it to shore.
Stiff and sore, Jon unbuckled and limped to the airlock. The dial said he could breathe the air outside, so he opened the door and jumped out. He
might be bruised and battered, but he was alive.
He groaned as he surveyed his vessel. The little one-man rocketship would never fly again. The viewports were smashed, the rockets were dented, and the hull had a two-inch crack running the length of the port side.
So much for that. He needed to find help. But—what world was he on? In which direction had the comet flung him?
Jon was puzzled, as he stared around. The setting was weird. It seemed to be half like the hideous swamplands of Venus, for gnarled trees and hanging moss met his eye at every turn. A low bellow told of hidden monsters in the brush.
Jon tested the gravity, by jumping. He went up about two feet. That meant it was a world about the size of Earth. It could be Venus, or Mars, or a large moon of Jupiter, or even an unknown asteroid.
The sun! If he could see the sun, its size and brightness would tell him how far away it was. A dead giveaway.
But one look into the cloudy, fog-ridden sky and Jon gave up. Nor could he see how many moons, if any, were in the sky.
Still trying to figure out which world he was on, Jon examined the nearest tree closely. The Swampland Aspen of Venus! But the next second, he remembered that this tree had been transplanted on a dozen different worlds, including Earth. They grew and spread like weeds. This particular tree was no clue at all.
Jon bent to examine the soil when something happened that ended his train of thought. He had the sensation of eyes on him. The hair on the back of his neck pricked, and goosebumps rose on his arms.
Whirling, he gaped at the strange now standing behind him, with a tubular weapon in its hand. It was a tall, thin creature, eight feet high and with an enormous head. It had eyes and ears—but no mouth!
Jon searched his memory of other-world races and gasped—“The Silent People, of Ganymede, Jupiter’s moon! Then I’m on Ganymede!”
The alien shook its head. It had no vocal cords with which to speak, but its brow furrowed as it gave out mental vibrations. By concentrating, Jon could vaguely catch and interpret bare thoughts, which sounded like halting words in his mind.
