April 1930

by Various

  "Anita, we must get out of here!"

  I thought I was fully alert now. I recalled that the brigands had spoken of having partly assembled their Moon equipment. If only we could find suits and helmets!

  "We must get out," I repeated. "Get to Grantline's camp."

  "Their helmets are in the forward storage room, Gregg. I saw them there."

  She was staring at the fallen Miko and Moa. She shuddered and turned away and gripped me. "In the forward storage room, by the port of the emergency lock-exit."

  If only the exit locks would operate! We must get out of here, but find Snap first. Good old Snap! Would we find him lying dead?

  We climbed from the slanting, fallen turret, over the wreckage of the littered deck. It was not difficult, a lightness was upon us. The Planetara's gravity-magnetizers were dead: this was only the light Moon-gravity pulling us.

  "Careful, Anita. Don't jump too freely."

  We leaped along the deck. The hiss of the escaping pressure was like a clanging gong of warning to tell us to hurry. The hiss of death so close!

  "Snap--" I murmured.

  "Oh, Gregg. I pray we may find him alive--!"

  "And get out. We've got to rush it. Get out and find the Grantline camp."

  * * * * *

  But how far? Which way? I must remember to take food and water. If the helmets were equipped with admission ports. If we could find Snap. If the exit locks would work to let us out.

  With a fifteen foot leap we cleared a pile of broken deck chairs. A man lay groaning near them. I went back with a rush. Not Snap! A steward. He had been a brigand, but he was a steward to me now.

  "Get up! This is Haljan. Hurry, we must get out of here. The air is escaping!"

  But he sank back and lay still. No time to find if I could help him: there were Anita and Snap to save.

  We found a broken entrance to one of the descending passages. I flung the debris aside and cleared it. Like a giant of strength with only this Moon-gravity holding me, I raised a broken segment of the superstructure and heaved it back.

  Anita and I dropped ourselves down the sloping passage. The interior of the wrecked ship was silent and dim. An occasional passage light was still burning. The passage and all the rooms lay askew. Wreckage everywhere: but the double-dome and hull-shell had withstood the shock. Then I realized that the Erentz system was slowing down. Our heat, like our air, was escaping, radiating away, a deadly chill settling upon everything. And our walls were bulging. The silence and the deadly chill of death would soon be here in these wrecked corridors. The end of the Planetara. I wondered vaguely if the walls would explode.

  We prowled like ghouls. We did not see Coniston. Snap had been by the shifter-pumps. We found him in the oval doorway. He lay sprawled. Dead? No, he moved. He sat up before we could get to him. He seemed confused, but his senses clarified with the movement of our figures over him.

  "Gregg! Why, Anita!"

  "Snap! You're all right? We struck--the air is escaping."

  * * * * *

  He pushed me away. He tried to stand. "I'm all right. I was up a minute ago. Gregg, it's getting cold. Where is she? I had her here--she wasn't killed. I spoke to her."

  Irrational!

  "Snap!" I held him, shook him. "Snap, old fellow!"

  He said, normally. "Easy, Gregg. I'm all right now."

  Anita gripped him. "Who, Snap?"

  "She! There she is."

  Another figure was here! On the grid-floor by the door oval. A figure partly shrouded in a broken invisible cloak and hood. An invisible cloak! I saw a white face with opened eyes regarding me. The face of a girl.

  Venza!

  I bent down. "You!"

  Anita cried, "Venza!"

  Venza here? Why--how--my thoughts swept away. Venza here, dying? Her eyes closed. But she murmured to Anita. "Where is he? I want him."

  Dying? I murmured impulsively, "Here I am, Venza dear." Gently, as one would speak with gentle sympathy to humor the dying. "Here I am, Venza."

  But it was only the confusion of the shock upon her. And it was upon us all. She pushed at Anita. "I want him." She saw me. This whimsical Venus girl! Even here as we gathered, all of us blurred by the shock, confused in the dim, wrecked ship with the chill of death coming--even here she could make a jest. Her pale lips smiled.

  "You, Gregg. I'm not hurt--I don't think I'm hurt." She managed to get herself up on one elbow. "Did you think I wanted you with my dying breath? Why, what conceit! Not you, Handsome Haljan! I was calling Snap."

  * * * * *

  He was down to her. "We're all right, Venza. It's over. We must get out of the ship--the air is escaping."

  We gathered in the oval doorway. We fought the confusion of panic.

  "The exit port is this way."

  Or was it? I answered Snap, "Yes, I think so."

  The ship suddenly seemed a stranger to me. So cold. So vibrationless. Broken lights. These slanting, wrecked corridors. With the ventilating fans stilled, the air was turning fetid. Chilling. And thinning, with escaping pressure, rarifying so that I could feel the grasp of it in my lungs and the pin-pricks of my burning cheeks.

  We started off. Four of us, still alive in this silent ship of death. My blurred thoughts tried to cope with it all. Venza here. I recalled how she had bade me create a diversion when the women passengers were landing on the asteroid. She had carried out her purpose! In the confusion she had not gone ashore. A stowaway here. She had secured the cloak. Prowling, to try and help us, she had come upon Hahn. Had seized his ray-cylinder and struck him down, and been herself knocked unconscious by his dying lunge, which also had broken the tubes and wrecked the Planetara. And Venza, unconscious, had been lying here with the mechanism of her cloak still operating, so that we did not see her when we came and found why Hahn did not answer my signals.

  "It's here, Gregg."

  Snap and I lifted the pile of Moon equipment. We located four suits and helmets and the mechanisms to operate them.

  "More are in the chart-room," Anita said.

  But we needed no others. I robed Anita, and showed her the mechanisms.

  "Yes. I understand."

  * * * * *

  Snap was helping Venza. We were all stiff from the cold; but within the suits and their pulsing currents, the blessed warmth came again.

  The helmets had admission ports through which food and drink could be taken. I stood with my helmet ready. Anita, Venza and Snap were bloated and grotesque beside me. We had found food and water here, assembled in portable cases which the brigands had prepared. Snap lifted them, and signed to me he was ready.

  My helmet shut out all sounds save my own breathing, my pounding heart, and the murmur of the mechanism. The blessed warmth and pure air were good.

  We reached the hull port-locks. They operated! We went through in the light of the head-lamps over our foreheads.

  I closed the locks after us. An instinct to keep the air in the ship for the other trapped humans lying there.

  We slid down the sloping side of the Planetara. We were unweighted, irrationally agile with the slight gravity. I fell a dozen feet and landed with barely a jar.

  We were out on the Lunar surface. A great sloping ramp of crags stretched down before us. Gray-black rock tinged with Earth-light. The Earth hung amid the stars in the blackness overhead like a huge section of glowing yellow ball.

  * * * * *

  This grim, desolate, silent landscape! Beyond the ramp, fifty feet below us, a tumbled naked plain stretched away into blurred distance. But I could see mountains off there. Behind us the towering, frowning rampart-wall of Archimedes loomed against the sky.

  I had turned to look back at the Planetara. She lay broken, wedged between spires of upstanding rock. A few of her lights still gleamed. The end of the Planetara!

  The three grotesque figures of Anita, Venza and Snap had started off. Hunchback figures with the tanks mounted on their shoulders. I bounded and caught them. I touched Snap. We m
ade audiphone contact.

  "Which way do you think?" I demanded.

  "I think this way, down the ramp. Away from Archimedes, toward the mountains. It shouldn't be too far."

  "You run with Venza. I'll hold Anita."

  He nodded. "But we must keep together, Gregg."

  We could soon run freely. Down the ramp, out over the tumbled plain. Bounding, grotesque leaping strides. The girls were more agile, more skilful. They were soon leading us. The Earth-shadows of their figures leaped beside them. The Planetara faded into the distance behind us. Archimedes stood back there. Ahead, the mountains came closer.

  An hour perhaps. I lost count of time. Occasionally we stopped to rest. Were we going toward the Grantline camp? Would they see our tiny waving headlights?

  Another interval. Then far ahead of us on the ragged plain, lights showed! Moving tiny spots of light! Headlights on helmeted figures!

  We ran, monstrously leaping. A group of figures were off there. Grantline's party? Snap gripped me.

  "Grantline! We're safe, Gregg! Safe!"

  * * * * *

  He took his bulb-light from his helmet: we stood in a group while he waved it. A semaphore signal.

  "Grantline?"

  And the answer came. "Yes. You, Dean?"

  Their personal code. No doubt of this--it was Grantline, who had seen the Planetara fall and had come to help us.

  I stood then with my hand holding Anita. And I whispered, "It's Grantline! We're safe, Anita, my darling!"

  Death had been so close! Those horrible last minutes on the Planetara had shocked us, marked us.

  We stood trembling. And Grantline and his men came bounding up.

  A helmeted figure touched me. I saw through the helmet-pane the visage of a stern-faced, square-jawed, youngish man.

  "Grantline? Johnny Grantline?"

  "Yes," said his voice at my ear-grid. "I'm Grantline. You're Haljan? Gregg Haljan?"

  They crowded around us. Gripped us to hear our explanations.

  Brigands! It was amazing to Johnny Grantline. But the menace was over now, over as soon as Grantline had realized its existence. As though the wreck of the Planetara were foreordained by an all-wise Providence, the brigands' adventure had come to tragedy.

  We stood for a time discussing it. Then I drew apart, leaving Snap with Grantline. And Anita joined me. I held her arm so that we had audiphone contact.

  "Anita, mine."

  "Gregg, dear one."

  Murmured nothings which mean so much to lovers!

  * * * * *

  As we stood in the fantastic gloom of the Lunar desolation, with the blessed Earth-light on us, I sent up a prayer of thankfulness. Not that a hundred millions of treasure were saved. Not that the attack upon Grantline had been averted. But only that Anita was given back to me. In moments of greatest emotion the human mind individualizes. To me, there was only Anita.

  Life is very strange! The gate to the shining garden of our love seemed swinging wide to let us in. Yet I recall that a vague fear still lay on me. A premonition?

  I felt a touch on my arm. A bloated helmet visor was thrust near my own. I saw Snap's face peering at me.

  "Grantline thinks we should return to the Planetara. Might find some of them alive."

  Grantline touched me. "It's only humanity."

  "Yes," I said.

  We went back. Some ten of us--a line of grotesque figures bounding with slow, easy strides over the jagged, rock-strewn plain. Our lights danced before us.

  The Planetara came at last into view. My ship. Again that pang swept me as I saw her. This, her last resting place. She lay here in her open tomb, shattered, broken, unbreathing. The lights on her were extinguished. The Erentz system had ceased to pulse--the heart of the dying ship, for a while beating faintly, but now at rest.

  We left the two girls with some of Grantline's men at the admission port. Snap, Grantline and I, with three others, went inside. There still seemed to be air, but not enough so that we dared remove our helmets.

  It was dark inside the wrecked ship. The corridors were black; the hull control-rooms were dimly illumined with Earth-light straggling through the windows.

  This littered tomb! Already cold and silent with death. We stumbled over a fallen figure. A member of the crew.

  * * * * *

  Grantline straightened from examining him.

  "Dead."

  Earth-light fell on the horrible face. Puffed flesh, bloated red from the blood which had oozed from its pores in the thinning air. I looked away.

  We prowled further. Hahn lay dead in the pump-room.

  The body of Coniston should have been near here. We did not see it.

  We climbed up to the slanting littered deck. The dome had not exploded, but the air up here had almost all hissed away.

  Again Grantline touched me. "That the turret?"

  "Yes."

  No wonder he asked! The wreckage was all so formless.

  We climbed after Snap into the broken turret room. We passed the body of that steward who just at the end had appealed to me and I had left dying. The legs of the forward look-out still poked grotesquely up from the wreckage of the observatory tower where it lay smashed down against the roof of the chart-room.

  We shoved ourselves into the turret. What was this? No bodies here! The giant Miko was gone! The pool of his blood lay congealed into a frozen dark splotch on the metal grid.

  And Moa was gone! They had not been dead. Had dragged themselves out of here, fighting desperately for life. We would find them somewhere around here.

  But we did not. Nor Coniston. I recalled what Anita had said: other suits and helmets had been here in the nearby chart-room. The brigands had taken them, and food and water doubtless, and escaped from the ship, following us through the lower admission ports only a few minutes after we had gone out.

  * * * * *

  We made careful search of the entire ship. Eight of the bodies which should have been here were missing: Miko, Moa, Coniston, and five of the steward-crew.

  We did not find them outside. They were hiding near here, no doubt, more willing to take their chances than to yield now to us. But how, in all this Lunar desolation, could we hope to locate them?

  "No use," said Grantline. "Let them go. If they want death--well, they deserve it."

  But we were saved. Then, as I stood there, realization leaped at me. Saved? Were we not indeed fatuous fools?

  In all these emotion-swept moments since we had encountered Grantline, memory of that brigand ship coming from Mars had never once occurred to Snap or me!

  I told Grantline now. His eyes through the visor stared at me blankly.

  "What!"

  I told him again. It would be here in eight days. Fully manned and armed.

  "But Haljan, we have almost no weapons! All my Comet's space was taken with mining equipment and the mechanisms for my camp. I can't signal Earth! I was depending on the Planetara!"

  It surged upon us. The brigand menace past? We were blindly congratulating ourselves on our safety! But it would be eight days or more before in distant Ferrok-Shahn the non-arrival of the Planetara would cause any real comment. No one was searching for us--no one was worried over us.

  No wonder the crafty Miko was willing to take his chances out here in the Lunar wilds! His ship, his reinforcements, his weapons were coming rapidly!

  And we were helpless. Almost unarmed. Marooned here on the Moon with our treasure!

  (To be continued.)

  The Soul-Snatcher

  By Tom Curry

  From twenty miles away stabbed the "atom-filtering" rays to Allen Baker in his cell in the death house.

  The shrill voice of a woman stabbed the steady hum of the many machines in the great, semi-darkened laboratory. It was the onslaught of weak femininity against the ebony shadow of Jared, the silent negro servant of Professor Ramsey Burr. Not many people were able to get to the famous man against his wishes; Jared obeyed orders implicitly and was g
enerally an efficient barrier.

  "I will see him, I will," screamed the middle-aged woman. "I'm Mrs. Mary Baker, and he--he--it's his fault my son is going to die. His fault. Professor! Professor Burr!"

  Jared was unable to keep her quiet.

  Coming in from the sunlight, her eyes were not yet accustomed to the strange, subdued haze of the laboratory, an immense chamber crammed full of equipment, the vista of which seemed like an apartment in hell. Bizarre shapes stood out from the mass of impedimenta, great stills which rose full two stories in height, dynamos, immense tubes of colored liquids, a hundred puzzles to the inexpert eye.

  The small, plump figure of Mrs. Baker was very out of place in this setting. Her voice was poignant, reedy. A look at her made it evident that she was a conventional, good woman. She had soft, cloudy golden eyes and a pathetic mouth, and she seemed on the point of tears.

  "Madam, madam, de doctor is busy," whispered Jared, endeavoring to shoo her out of the laboratory with his polite hands. He was respectful, but firm.

  She refused to obey. She stopped when she was within a few feet of the activity in the laboratory, and stared with fear and horror at the center of the room, and at its occupant, Professor Burr, whom she had addressed during her flurried entrance.

  The professor's face, as he peered at her, seemed like a disembodied stare, for she could see only eyes behind a mask of lavender gray glass eyeholes, with its flapping ends of dirty, gray-white cloth.

  She drew in a deep breath--and gasped, for the pungent fumes, acrid and penetrating, of sulphuric and nitric acids, stabbed her lungs. It was like the breath of hell, to fit the simile, and aptly Professor Burr seemed the devil himself, manipulating the infernal machines.

  * * * * *

  Acting swiftly, the tall figure stepped over and threw two switches in a single, sweeping movement. The vermillion light which had lived in a long row of tubes on a nearby bench abruptly ceased to writhe like so many tongues of flame, and the embers of hell died out.

  Then the professor flooded the room in harsh gray-green light, and stopped the high-pitched, humming whine of his dynamos. A shadow picture writhing on the wall, projected from a lead-glass barrel, disappeared suddenly, the great color filters and other machines lost their semblance of horrible life, and a regretful sigh seemed to come from the metal creatures as they gave up the ghost.