The Nyctalope instructed the guards to lie close to ground behind a hill in sight of Carter, while he positioned himself at the bottom of another hill, roughly a hundred meters from them.
As the sky slowly lost it light, the Nyctalope pitied the guards. He knew what fate held in store for them. Hunting big game operated under the same principles in any circumstances. Saint-Clair was well versed in the techniques of Quatermain and Roxton. One of the main concerns about hunting a lion or an elephant who was the leader of his group was the other animals under his protection. If you wanted the head beast, you had to make sure the other animals were either scared off—or dead.
This thought no sooner ran through the Nyctalope’s mind that three burst of blue light rained down on the guards, burning them to cinders. However, their unwitting sacrifice had allowed the Nyctalope to see where the shots were coming from. Even with his enhanced vision, he did not so much see a being as a distortion against the desert.
He drew his pistol and fired. His first shot hit the distortion, causing electrical sparks to run across it. The sparks faded as the distortion morphed into a humanoid being. The creature was large and powerfully built, with a yellow gray skin. It had some kind of armor around its shoulders and appeared to have a helmet protecting its face. Tightly woven hair protruded from its head, dangling down to its shoulders. In its hand was a massive spear, identical to the one embedded in Carter’s chamber door. The Nyctalope mused that whatever this Predator was, he was neither from Mars, nor Earth.
The Predator snarled and turned toward the Nyctalope. A small cylinder attached to its shoulder adjusted itself. Leo jumped as soon as he saw the cylinder snap into motion. The area where he had been standing exploded in a bright flash. As the ground burned, Carter flexed his legs and leapt the thirty meters between him and the alien. As he landed, the Warlord swung his sword at the rotating cannon and severed it from the creature’s shoulder armor. In a backhand swing, Carter brought his sword across the monster’s face, cutting his helmet in two. The Predator kicked Carter in the midsection, sending him tumbling head over heels.
The Nyctalope drew his pistol, only to have some kind of spinning blade slice the barrel off the weapon as he held it. He looked up to see the creature remove what was left of his mask. The beast threw the mask to the ground, revealing a terrifying face. A mandible-like maw opened as the Predator held his spear above his head and screamed. The Nyctalope drew his rapier and a large knife as he ran up the hill toward the monster. The creature swung his blade towards Leo’s head. The Nyctalope ducked the blow and drove his rapier into the Predator’s torso. The sword pierced through its rib cage and protruded from the alien’s back.
The Predator howled in pain. The Nyctalope heard what sounded like a sword being unsheathed, and his stomach was lacerated as the creature dealt him a backhand blow. The Nyctalope tumbled away to see two long blades extending from the monster’s gauntlet. He watched in awe as the Predator pulled the rapier from his rib cage, seemingly unfazed by the wound.
John Carter screamed in fury as he sprang back on the creature. The Predator turned around just in time to block an overhead strike from the Warlord’s sword. The two dueled for several seconds before Carter was able to dodge the monster’s spear and bring his sword up across the creature’s body. Glowing, blue-green blood showered Carter as he moved in for the kill. He raised his sword to strike when the monster drove his spear into the Warlord’s shoulder.
Carter fell back in pain as the Nyctalope sprang on the injured alien. Rolling under a thrust from the gauntlet’s blades, the Nyctalope sliced into the creature’s hip. Momentum carried Leo behind the monster and, quickly, he thrust his knife into the base of the alien’s spine.
The Predator fell to his knees. The Nyctalope grabbed him by the hair, placed his knife under the alien’s chin, and slit its throat. The creature gargled in its own blood as John Carter walked over to the Nyctalope.
Carter looked down. “A fitting end to a beast who has killed so many,” he said. The two men turned toward the creature as a beeping sound emanated from one of its gauntlets. The Predator laughed once before expiring.
The Nyctalope examined the gauntlet to see obscure red lines and symbols that seemed to be decreasing in number. Startled, he grabbed Carter.
“We have to get away from here now!” he exclaimed.
They began to leap across the desert as the low gravity of Mars allowed the two to cover a greater distance than they would have running. Not too far away, the two warriors could see one of the incubation chambers the Tharks used to hatch their eggs. They reached it and crouched behind it as the horizon behind them cascaded with a bright blue light, followed by a massive shockwave. The shockwave raced across the planet…
As the energy burst reached its farthest point, it touched an ancient space capsule in a long-dead city…
A strange high-pitched whine awoke John Carter. Regaining his senses, he saw the Nyctalope unconscious on the ground. He awoke the adventurer and helped him to his feet as the high-pitched whine continued.
“What’s that sound?” he asked.
The two followed it to the demolished incubation chamber. In the dirt, amongst the bodies of its brethren, writhed a baby Thark. John Carter reached down and picked up the screaming infant.
The Nyctalope peered down at the pathetic creature. “Will he live?” he inquired.
Carter raised his eyes to the sky “I do not know, my friend, but he is responsible for saving our lives, and the fact that he still lives is a testament to his strength. I will take him to Sola; she is a skilled healer and a gifted caregiver. If he reaches adulthood with only a portion of the strength he now possesses, he will prove a proud addition to the Thark warriors of Barsoom. For his sake, we must make haste in our return to Helium”
The Nyctalope entered the throne room of Helium to see John Carter and Dejah Thoris waiting for him. Next to them stood the proud Tars Tarkas, his arm in a sling. As Leo approached, Carter stepped forward and extended his hand.
“All of Helium owes you a debt of gratitude, Leo-Saint-Clair. Without your efforts, many more would have perished. If ever you need assistance, John Carter and the warriors of Helium will be at your beck and call.”
“Thank you, John Carter. However, access to your radium weapons and fliers would be a far greater benefit to my allies, both on Earth and Barsoom, than anything else you could offer.”
“They are yours, my friend. You have proved yourself beyond any doubt. From this day forward, all on Barsoom shall revere and honor the name of the Nyctalope. Several of our flyers and warship are yours to take to your colony. An ample supply of radium and fire arms will be placed in these transports.”
Leo shook hands with Carter once more.
“You honor me, my friend. You cannot fathom how many lives your gesture of gratitude may save.”
Leo turned, bowed, and kissed the hand of the Princess. once more letting his imagination have his way with her. He then turned and bowed to Tars Tarkas, who nodded in return. Then, the Nyctalope strode away from the throne room.
Oxus and Leo’s children were waiting at the colony as he arrived on the warship.
“Papa, Papa!” The boys shouted as they ran to embrace their father.
Leo held them tight, thinking he would soon return well-armed to Earth and bring an end to the Great War. But, for the first time, a strange feeling came over him. He looked down at his boys, his artificial heart swelling with love for them, but in the back of his mind, he saw them as something different from him. That strange feeling persisted as Oxus shook his hand.
“Excellent work, Leo. Excellent work! The technology you have returned with will advance us here and propel the war effort back home,” said the old scientist, smiling.
“But that’s not all Leo. There was some amazingly powerful blast in the desert. We could only see a cloud from here, but it sent a strange pulse across the land. It reached us, Leo—us and the ancient capsule! Whatever that b
last was, it brought a spark of life to the craft. With the radium you’ve brought back, I’m sure we can restore it to full power. Who knows what secrets it possesses?”
Leo vigorously shook his head to clear his mind. His boys clung to his legs and his friend stood beside him. He knew these people meant more to him than any other people in existence, and yet, he felt that they were different from him. Leo felt that they were somehow other…
After Matthew Dennion’s previous story set the stage, Roman Leary’s tale details the tragic events that led to the demise of the Martian colony. It also chronicles the Nyctalope’s adventures after World War II, begun with The Heart of a Man reprinted in Enter the Nyctalope. The Nicholas Flynn character seen in this short story was introduced by Roman in The Evils Against Which We Strive published in Tales of the Shadowmen 4.
Roman Leary: The Children of Heracles
California, 1949
The desert night was cold and quiet; the only sounds the traveler could hear were the steady click of his boot heels on the dusty pavement, and the insistent whisper of the Mojave wind.
The traveler was not dressed for cold weather. His jeans and leather jacket provided scant protection for his lean and muscular frame, but he felt no discomfort. The chill night air was far preferable to the infernal heat of the day, when the land was transformed into an open-air crucible. It was during those times that he took his rest, sleeping under a small tent that protected him from the burning rays of the Sun.
He carried the tent—along with toiletries, a generous supply of water, a few changes of clothes, and some meager portions of food—in a rucksack strapped to his back. Beneath his left arm, concealed in a holster he had designed himself, was a Browning automatic. Near the pistol, strapped securely to his side, was a passage wallet containing money and documentation for a variety of false identities.
He sometimes wondered why he bothered with the documents. Though an exile, he was not wanted for any crimes and he certainly had no fear of the authorities. In his former life—a life of wealth and privilege and high adventure—he had enjoyed fame and took great pleasure in being recognized. He would walk down a street and smile when he heard people whisper: “Is that Leo Saint-Clair? No, it can’t be him. Wait, I believe it is! The Nyctalope, himself!”
He would sometimes turn and smile or wink, inwardly laughing at their startled reactions.
“Bon Dieu! His ears must be as sharp as his eyes! The eyes, is it true what they say about them? That he can see even in pitch darkness?”
“I can,” the Nyctalope said aloud, speaking to no one but the shades of his imagination. “I can see through the darkness as if it were day.”
“And your heart? Is it really made of plastic and steel, and powered by magnets?”
The Nyctalope chuckled. It was a sound as dry and parched as the sands that surrounded him. “Oh, yes,” he said. “It’s practically indestructible.”
“Amazing! You are the most extraordinary man in France! If only we had more men like you!”
Leo smiled sadly up at the stars, their lights as cold and distant as the faded affections of his countrymen. The whispers would be very different if he were to appear on a Paris street today.
“Is that Leo Saint-Clair? No, it can’t be him. That traitor wouldn’t dare show his face around here! That collaborator! That Nazi lap-dog!”
Leo winced. There had been a time, not so very long ago, when he would have defended himself against these calumnies. But no matter how vigorous or logical his arguments were, the shades were never satisfied. They were uniform and intractable in their condemnation, and after a while, he simply gave up. To Hell with them. He could live with their hate. He had lived with worse.
He was shaking his head, as if physically casting off these ruminations, when he saw something that brought him up short. About a kilometer ahead of him, a man was staggering through the darkness. He weaved and stumbled along the road, his arms stretched stiff at 45 degree angles from his sides.
A drunkard, Leo thought. What the Devil is he doing out here? He remembered a sign he had seen earlier in the night: CARMELITA 10 MI. THE CITY BY THE “C”
Leo sighed. If that’s where the man was from, then the fellow had wandered at least four kilometers into the desert. If Leo didn’t help him, he might die of exposure before he could find his way back. Even as he considered this, he heard the sound of an approaching engine. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a pair of headlights racing toward him in the distance.
Perhaps I can flag this person down, he thought. Get them to give the man a ride back to the town. I’ll even offer to pay them for their trouble.
He nodded to himself. It was a good solution, neat and simple. His mind made up, he slipped off his rucksack and began to jog toward the drunkard. If nothing else, he could prevent the poor sod from stepping into the path of the car.
Twenty-six hours before the Nyctalope saw him barreling through the Mojave in a rented Plymouth sedan, the Professor had been enjoying a rare evening of unfettered luxury. He was wrapped in satin sheets, reclining on feather pillows, and savoring a fine claret while perusing a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets that had been with him since his college days. As he paused in his reading to take a sip of the dark red Bordeaux, he smiled at the thought of what his colleagues in London would say if they could see him in such a state.
“Is that Bernard Quatermass? No, it can’t be him. Our Quatermass is a Spartan, not some decadent layabout!”
“Oh, it’s me, all right” Quatermass chuckled. “Just a part of me that’s seldom seen.” In fact, Quatermass did feel a bit guilty. The Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles was far removed from his usual accommodations, and certainly not something he would have selected on his own, but Karnes had made the arrangements and refused to listen to any of his objections: “For Heaven’s sake, Quatermass! Live a little before you die!”
“But the cost, Steve! Surely the California Science Institute can’t afford to…”
“Hang the cost! You’re the most respected rocket scientist in Britain! The Institute is honored that you’re willing to speak here and wants to make your trip as pleasant as possible.”
“Oh, well. I suppose it would be churlish to refuse.”
“It certainly would! I’ll drop all the information you’ll need in the post this afternoon. I’ll look forward to hearing your lectures.”
The talks had been remarkably well-received and Quatermass had been surprised to find himself (inadvertently, of course) enjoying his first real vacation in years. There was one more presentation scheduled for the following evening, followed by the long journey home on the next day. Goodbye room service and California sunshine. He wouldn’t really mind leaving it behind for the more familiar trappings of drizzling rain and London fog, but he couldn’t deny that a small part of himself had fallen in love with the congenial atmosphere of the American West Coast.
His wistful thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He sat up and answered it, and was startled by the familiar voice at the end of the line: “Professor, this is Jeff Stuart.”
“Jeff!” Quatermass exclaimed. “Good Heavens! How are you, lad? Are you here in Los Angeles? I suppose Karnes told you where I was staying.”
“I haven’t spoken to Steve in years,” Stuart replied. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m afraid I have to be very direct. I need your help with something, and I can’t really discuss it with you over the phone. Can we meet?”
“Well, I have a rather full schedule tomorrow but I suppose I can arrange for something around lunchtime if you know of a convenient place to…”
“I can’t do that, Professor. I’m about 150 miles northeast of you in a small town called Carmelita. It’s absolutely vital that you come here as quickly as possible.”
Quatermass scowled. “Now see here, Jeff. This all rather peremptory, don’t you think? I don’t see how you can expect me to…”
“Professor, it’s a Code Prometheus.�
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Quatermass fell silent, absorbing the implications. Keeping his voice calm and even, he asked: “How did you become involved?”
“I’m working with a recently formed agency, the Office of Scientific Investigation. Three days ago, we received a call from a doctor who had been referred to us by the people at Fort Ord. He was trying to get someone to check out an object that had been unearthed here in the local copper mine. I was sent to check it out and…well…”
“How large is it?” Quatermass asked.
“Two adults could fit inside of it with room to spare.”
“Inside? Have you…?
“Yes.”
“How did…?
“Please,” Stuart said firmly, “don’t ask me to say more. Will you come?”
“Yes. How do I get there?”
Quatermass spent the rest of the night and the following day striving to think of anything but Stuart and his impossible find. He did a fair job of it, delivering his final lecture with a relaxed aplomb that belied the tension he felt in every nerve. A Code Prometheus! Stuart would never have used the phrase unless he was absolutely certain, and the man was no fool. He had worked with Jeff during the War, and knew that he was earnest, meticulous, and devoid of imagination.
No doubt I can take him at his word, Quatermass thought as he raced through the desolate landscape. If he’s wrong, then he’s been gulled by the most elaborate hoax of the century. But if he’s right…
Quatermass cried out and slammed his foot hard on the brake. A man had fallen from the darkness into the glare of his headlights, rolling across the road directly in front of him. He twisted the wheel and the car slid sideways, tires screaming against the asphalt. Quatermass, teeth clenched and knuckles white, felt time expand into a small eternity as he slid past the man in the road, missing his head by inches. The car continued to skid until it had completed a full 180-degree circuit, the headlights now pointing back toward Los Angeles, the inert form of the man still bathed in their harsh glare.
The Nyctalope Steps In Page 14
