The Space Opera Megapack: 20 Modern and Classic Science Fiction Tales

by John W. Campbell

  He called an order, quite calmly over his shoulder. I suppose, at that moment, the Earth war vessels were no more than five miles away. The whole sky was a kaleidoscope of darting lights. In answer to his order, from the peak of our tower a light bomb mounted—a vertical ray of green light. The bomb of surrender!

  Tarrano chuckled. “That should halt them. Come! We must start.”

  He held a brief colloquy with a Venus man who appeared beside him. The man nodded and hastened back into the instrument room. The green light of our bomb had died away. The lights in the sky began fading—the whole sky fading, turning to blackness! I became aware that Tarrano had thrown around our tower a temporary isolation barrage. For a few moments—while the current he had at his command could hold it—we could not be seen on the image finders of the advancing vessels.

  Tarrano repeated: “That should hold them—I have surrendered! They should be triumphant. And outside our barrage, our men will bargain with them. Ten minutes! We should be able to hold them off that long at least. Come, Lady Elza. We must start now.”

  With a scant ceremony in sharp contrast to his courteous words to Elza, he hurried us off. Three of us—Elza, Wolfgar and myself, with one attendant who still carried Elza’s personal belongings. Hurried us into the vertical car which had brought us up into the tower. It descended now, down the iron skeleton shaft. Outside the girders I could see only the blackness of the barrage, with faint snapping sparks.

  Silently we descended. It seemed very far down. And suddenly I realized that we were going lower than the ground level. The barrage sparks had vanished. The blackness now was a normal darkness; and in it I could see slipping upward the smooth black sides of the vertical shaft into which we were dropping. And the sulphuric smell of the barrage was gone. The air now smelt of earth—the heavy, close air of underground.

  I do not know how far down we went. A thousand feet perhaps. The thing surprised me. Yet in those moments my mind encompassed it; and many of Tarrano’s motives which I had not reasoned out before now seemed plain. He had come from Venus to the Earth, possibly several months ago. Had come directly here to Venia and set up his headquarters. His purpose on Earth—as he had just told me—did not lie with warfare. While he was here his forces had conquered the Great City of Venus, and just now, the Hill City of Mars. He controlled Venus and Mars—but he was still far from ready to attack the Earth.

  He had come to the Earth in person for several important purposes. For one—he desired the Brende model and Dr. Brende’s notes. He had them now; they were, in reality, at this present moment in the Great City of Venus. Also, with the Brende secret—to control it absolutely—he had to have Georg Brende. Well, as I was soon to realize, Georg was now his captive. And the Princess Maida? His purpose in holding her was two-fold. She had, now as always in the Venus Central State, a tremendous sentimental sway upon her people. Tarrano had abducted her, forcibly to remove her from the scene of action, so that during her unexplained absence his propaganda would have more influence. He had brought her here to Earth; and now his plan was to have Georg Brende and her fall in love with each other. He still hoped to win Georg to his cause, by giving him the Princess Maida, if for no other reason. And with Maida married to Georg—and Georg in Tarrano’s service—Maida herself would turn her influence in Venus to consolidate her people to Tarrano.

  These, in part, were Tarrano’s present plans and motives. They were working out well. And—as he had said—the Earth did not concern him now as a battle-ground. Later… But even with this sudden insight which seemed to come to me, I was inadequate to grasp what later he was to attempt.

  While thus occupied with my thoughts, we were steadily descending into the ground under Venia—dropping out of sight while above us, perhaps by now, the eager warcraft of Earth were overwhelming the city. Tarrano had not spoken; but when at last our little car bumped gently at the bottom, he said smilingly: “We are here, Lady Elza.”

  We left the car, and passed into a dim-lighted cavern. I saw a lateral black tunnel-mouth yawning nearby, with a shining rail at its top and bottom, one above the other. And between the rails was a metal vehicle. A long, narrow car; yet with its turtle-back and its propelling gas-tube at the rear, with a rudder on each side of the tube, I realized that it was designed also for sub-sea travel. A small affair. Ten feet at its greatest width, and fifty or sixty feet long.

  There was nothing startling in this evidence of underground and sub-sea transportation. But that it should be here in primitive Venia surprised me. Then I realized that Tarrano had been here perhaps many months. Quietly, secretly he had constructed this underground road. For his escape, I could not doubt it. Indeed, I did not doubt but that the man had anticipated practically every event which had occurred.

  We found in the car, or boat if you will, a variety of attendants and personal belongings. Tara was there; I saw her sitting alone on one of the distant rings of seats. And Argo was among us—and others whom I had learned to know by sight and name. It was the party and equipment which Tarrano had probably originally brought with him from Venus. We, the last arrivals in the car, took our places. The doors slid closed. The car vibrated slightly; purred with its forward motors. We were started.

  It was not a long trip. How far we went I have no means of knowing. But after a time, by the changed motion and sounds, I realized that we were traversing water. Then above us after another interval, they opened a hatchway. The pure fresh air of night streamed in upon us. Every light in the boat had been extinguished. At Tarrano’s command I followed him up the small spider incline and through the hatchway. We stood on a little circular space of the turtle-deck, well aft—an observation space enclosed by a low metal rail. A few feet below us dark glossy water was slipping past.

  At a lazy hasteless pace, we were passing along what I saw to be a broad river. The Riola Amazonia16 I afterward learned it to be. Heavy banks of luxurious foliage, dark and silent. Inundated in places. And after a few moments we slackened, turned sharply into one of the inundated coves and nosed slowly amid a tangle of the jungle bank.

  And then I saw, hidden here in the recesses of this pathless forest, a small interplanetary flyer, painted a hazy grey-blue. Around and over it the vegetation had been carefully, cunningly trained. A few cautious lights illumined it now; but without them, and even in daylight, I knew that from above it could never be seen.

  Our party entered it—a small but surprisingly luxurious vessel. The foliage from above it was cut away by ready workmen; and in half an hour more we were rising from the forest. Straight up, into that cloudless sky. The land dropped away beneath us; visually concave at first as the circular horizon seemed to rise with us. The sky overhead fortunately was empty—nothing in sight to bar our outward flight. And we carried no lights.

  In a moment or two, so swiftly did we gather velocity, the lights of Venia—a distant patch of them—were visible. Then, further away, I presently saw the grey expanse of open sea. And as we mounted, the simulated concavity of the Earth turned convex. I had never seen it thus—had never been so far above its surface before. A huge grey ball down there which was our Earth. Outlines of sea and land. Then continents and oceans, enveloped by patches of cloud area. A grey ball, changing to a glowing, vaguely dull red; then silver. Dwindling—gleaming brighter silver on one side where the sunlight struck it.

  We were in the realms of outer, interplanetary space!

  CHAPTER XVI

  Playground of Venus

  After a trip uneventful—save that to me, taking it for the first time, it was an experience never to be forgotten in a lifetime—we landed at the Great City of Venus. We had sent no messages during the trip, and with our grey-blue color, I think we escaped telescopic and even radio observation by the Earth. Into our vessel’s small instrument room, where Tarrano spent most of his time, reports of the news occasionally drifted in. But his connection—small and inadequate—was often broken. Nor did Tarrano this time seem interested in having Wolfgar,
Elza and me learn the news. Yet it was not unfavorable to him. I gathered that the Earth formally had accepted his declaration of war. Relations with Venus—and with Mars also, had been discontinued. The mails no longer left. The helios were stopped. But, so far as I could learn, the Earth was undertaking no offensive action. For the present, certainly.

  Soon we were beyond reach of all messages save helios, which were not in operation. And in another day news began reaching us from Venus. But from this Tarrano barred us.

  I saw Venus, as we dropped upon it, first as a tremendous lovely crescent of silver beneath us. A crescent first, and, as hours passed, the darkened area took shape. A ball hanging there in space. Growing almost momentarily larger. Soon we could distinguish cloud areas. Then the land—the water. A ball filling half our lower segment of sky. Then all of it.

  We reached the Venus atmosphere, passed through cloud masses, and out again into the brilliant sunshine. Below us, glowing with the glory of mid-day, lay the Venus Central State. Rolling hills with distant mountain peaks, the highest of them faraway, glittering white with the sunlight on their snow-caps.

  A land of warmth and beauty. Dazzling green, with a luxuriant vegetation, tropical yet strange.

  As we dropped lower, I sat alone, gazing downward. We were passing over the land now, at an altitude of no more than twenty thousand feet. A vivid land. Vivid sunlight; inky shadows; a green to everything—a solid, brilliant green. Amid it, spots of other colors; splashes of yellow; patches of scarlet as though some huge field were massed with scarlet blossoms. And trailing silver threads—rivers and streams. Or again glittering silver lakes nestling in the hills.

  A fairyland of beauty. Yet as I gazed, it seemed not the fairyland of a child. Not childish, but mature; for I could not miss in its aspect, a warmth, a quality of sensuousness. A land of dalliance and pleasure of the senses. And I realized then why the Venus people derived all their advancement of science and industry from Earthly and Martian sources. A hand of luxury and physical ease. People, not primitive—but decadent.

  I became aware of Wolfgar at my elbow. “It is very beautiful, eh, Jac Hallen?”

  “Beautiful—yes. You’ve been here before, Wolfgar?”

  He nodded. “Oh yes. Soon we will reach the Great City. That too is strange and beautiful.”

  Elza saw us together and joined us. The Great City presently came into distant view. Wolfgar, with that gentle voice and smile characteristic of him began to describe to us what we should see. Abruptly Elza said:

  “I have never really thanked you, Wolfgar. You saved my life—there when Tara attacked me.”

  He gestured. “Your thanks are more than such a service deserves.”

  As though the subject had suggested Georg and Maida to him, he added, “I am wondering where Georg Brende and the Princess Maida may be.”

  I fancied then that I saw a quality of wistfulness in his eyes. A gentle little fellow, this Mars man. Queer and brooding, with strange thoughts not to be fathomed. He added as though to himself: “I have often wondered—” Then stopped.

  Elza and I had discussed it. We felt sure that Georg and Maida had been taken to Venus. They could have had only a few hours’ start of ourselves. Yet this vessel we were in was unusually slow. We felt convinced that they had already arrived on Venus—had been there perhaps already for a day.

  We discussed it now with Wolfgar as the Great City came under us; but soon we fell silent, gazing down into this beautiful capital of the Central State.

  It lay in a broad hollow, a large, irregular circular bowl surrounded by gently sloping hillsides. The bowl was entirely filled by water—a broad flat lake of silver which from this height showed us its pearly bottom. On the water—seen from above—the houses seemed floating—clusters of lily pads on a placid shining pool. They were, in reality, flat cubical buildings solidly built of rectangular blocks of stone, standing just above the water level on solid stone foundations. Always green and white—stones like blocks of smooth, polished marble, set in green and white patterns. Balconies and cornices of what might have been gleaming, beaten copper. Flat roofs, edged with scarlet flowers.

  Some of the buildings were low and small. Others of several stories, pretentious and ornate. One very large, like a palace, standing alone on its verdant island.

  The houses were mostly gathered in clusters of various shapes and sizes. Yet a semblance of order prevailed. Winding streets of open water lay between the groups. There were trellised walks and arching spider bridges, sometimes over the streets, sometimes joining one house to another.

  Here and there I saw lagoons of open water, dotted with small green islands like parks—islands on which the vegetation grew far higher and more luxuriant than any even in the tropics of our Earth. Vegetation always under careful training and control. Profuse with flowers, vivid and gigantic. The houses too, were roofed with gardens—sometimes with pergolas and trellises of the aerial scarlet blossoms. Occasionally—these latter details I observed as we descended close upon the city—I saw houses with a tiny swimming pool on the roof—a private pool hidden in masses of colored flowers.

  A playground—the playground of Venus. It seemed very backward—uncivilized. And then Wolfgar pointed out the surrounding hillsides. On them, cleared of their vegetation, our modern civilization stood gaunt and efficient. Towers, aerials, landing stages, aerial trams, factories, tall stacks over the dynamo houses belching thick black smoke, which artificial wind-generators carefully blew away from the city.

  In the midst of their hillside ring of necessary modernity, the people of the Great City had kept their playground inviolate. Work, science, industry—all necessary. But the real business of life was pleasure. Art, music, beauty.… And I am not far from thinking that unless abused, their formula is better than ours.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Violet Beam of Death

  We landed on a stage at the summit of one of the nearer hillsides. Our coming—unheralded since we had carried no sending instruments—created a furor. The workers rested to watch us as we disembarked. It was not so different a scene, here on the hill, than might have occurred on Earth. We took a moving platform, down the hill, to the water’s edge. A barge was awaiting us—a broad flat vessel with gaudy trappings. A score of attendants lined its sides, each with a pole to thrust it through the shallow water. And on its high-raised stern, beneath a canopy was a couch upon which Tarrano reclined, with us of his party at his feet.

  A royal barge, queerly ancient, barbaric—reminding me of the flat, motionless pictures of Earth’s early history. Yet it was a symbol here on Venus, not of barbarism, but of decadence.

  We started off. I may have given a false idea of the size of the Great City. Its lake, indeed, was fully fifteen miles or more in diameter. Half a million people lived on or close around that placid stretch of water.

  The news of Tarrano’s arrival had instantly spread. Graceful boats, all propelled by hand, thronged our course. From them, and from every house-window, balcony and roof-top, a waving multitude cheered the coming of the Master. The new Master, to whom so recently they had given their allegiance—the Master who in return was to endow them with life everlasting.

  It was a gay, holiday throng—cheering us, tossing flower-petals down upon us as we passed majestically beneath the bridges. Yet among these gaudily dressed women and men with the luster of wealth and ease upon them, others mingled. Others of a lower class, poorly dressed, with the badge of servitude upon them, enthralled in a social peonage which I did not yet understand.

  “Slaans,” Wolfgar called them. A term half of derision, half contempt. And Wolfgar pointed one out to me. A huge grey, surly-looking fellow passing in a one-man shell or boat of tree-fibre. He gazed up at us as he went by—a furtive glance of cold, sullen fury. Unmistakable. And I saw it again on others of his kind—men, women, even children who gazed at us with big, round eyes. A dumb, sullen resentment, with a smouldering fury beneath it.

  During the trip, w
hich may have taken an hour, I remarked something also, which did not at the time seem significant but very soon I was to recall it and understand its import. Argo, of course, was still with us. As we embarked upon the barge, a man evidently an official of the Great City had paid his humble respects to Tarrano and then withdrawn to a further part of the vessel, drawing Argo with him. I saw the two in close conversation. The official evidently was telling Argo something of importance. I could see Argo growing indignant and then his eyes gleaming, a leer upon his cruel lips.

  During the trip Tarrano sat calm, half reclining on his couch—sat watching with his keen expressionless eyes the applause of the multitude. It was, I think, and I believe he felt it also, the height of his career up to that time—this triumphant entry into the greatest city of Venus. He did not speak, just sat watching and listening, with a half smile of triumph pulling at his mouth. Yet I know too, that those keen eyes of his did not miss the sullen glances of the slaans.

  The weather, as always in the Venus Central State, was warm—a luxurious tropic warmth. And now I felt—as I had seen from above—the languorous, sensuous quality of it all. Music, mingled with the ripple of girlish laughter and cheers, came from the houses as we passed. Soft, fragrant flower-petals deluged us. The very air was laden heavy with exotic perfumes from the flowers which were everywhere.

  We arrived at last at what appeared to be a palace—a broad, low building of polished stone, on an island of its own. It was the building I had noticed when first we saw the Great City from above. Gardens were about the building, and on its roof. Flowers lined its many balconies.

  We drew up to a stone landing-place.

  “The palace of the Princess Maida,” Wolfgar whispered.

  But I had no time to question him. Attendants appeared. A queer mixture. Incongruous men of science, armed with belts of instruments. They greeted Tarrano humbly; escorted him away.