Chapter 18: Tomorrow Can Come
SIX dazed Norsemen picked themselves off the floor as the paralysis left them. Mark looked jubilantly about to see what form Omega had taken this time. A brawny Swede stepped forth from the ranks of the reinforcements, grinning all over his homely face.
“Howdy, fella,” said the newcomer. “Congratulations. I couldn’t resist coming to watch the fun.”
“Fun!” Mark snorted but his eyes conveyed his gratitude. “Nice of you to show up. They about had me licked till you came along.”
“Nonsense! You didn’t need me at all. I didn’t pit my mind against theirs for an instant. You did it all yourself. But tell me how you figured you could lick them. I still don’t see it. By what line of reasoning were you so sure they would die, instead of living as pure thought patterns?”
Mark looked at him quizzically, wearily gave orders for the march back to the ship, and then tried to explain.
“The idea never occurred to you until I suggested it. And yet if your brain had been destroyed in your absence would you have died when you found it out? No. You would have realized instantly that you had been living without it and would therefore continue to. But if you had been attacked, by some material enemy while residing within it, and that enemy had smashed your brain you would have died without ever considering that the thing might not be essential to your existence.
“Working on these lines I realized that it was necessary to destroy the Russians while they were at home, so to speak. That was why I took the gang along. They would be sure to spot us and arrange a welcome. I had been giving the thing some thought on the trans-Atlantic trip, but the idea never came to me, full-blown, until we landed and I saw the suffering those monsters had caused. And realized that my own descendants would receive no better treatment.”
Omega, trudging along beside Mark, shook his head in amazed admiration.
“You’ve a much longer alimentary canal than I ever had,” he remarked.
“I don’t know just how that is to be interpreted, but if you mean ‘more guts,’ I won’t be offended.”
“It’s not so bad in Swedish. But how were you so sure they wouldn’t utterly destroy you along the way? An avalanche or some such thing.”
“Well I had to take a chance on that. But you will remember that the Russians had been having their own way for many a year, and wouldn’t be likely to think that ordinary humans could harm them. For that reason and also because I already knew that they loved to exercise their seemingly endless powers to cause human suffering. I figured that they would decide to play with us for a while before destroying us. Of course, it was a long chance, but it worked out all right.”
Omega chuckled. “It seems it did. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It proves my assertion that any race with such a strong will to live and such unselfish courage in its individuals, is worth giving a boost to. And I’m glad I let you fight the battle yourself. You didn’t need me, anyway.”
Mark grinned. “Hope you’re around the next time that I don’t need you,” he said.
“I will be,” Omega assured him, with a sly twinkle in his eye. “At the christening!”
The party was forced to camp with the approach of night. Mark looked at the sleeping reinforcements with satisfaction. They had existed for only a few hours but Omega had fitted them with brains equal to those of their natural born companions. They would be accepted into the community and no doubt some of the women would eventually forget their grief to mate with them. The dead could not be replaced, but these newcomers would help fill in the gap.
His thoughts turned to Nona, who was waiting anxiously for his return. Life would be something worth living now. He had earned the right to live it.
THE END
Let ‘Em Eat Space
from the pages of Argosy November 4, 1939
By William Grey Beyer
Introduction by Sam Moskowitz
LONG before there were science fiction magazines, the one consistent source for those “hooked” on such tales was the great weekly adventure pulp, ARGOSY. Not only was ARGOSY receptive to good science fiction, but its editors actively searched out and encouraged writers who could do a professional job in this specialized field. When we speak of ARGOSY we must also include its memorable companion ALL-STORY MAGAZINE, with which it combined in 1920.
A few of the popular authors they introduced to science fiction and fantasy were Edgar Rice Burroughs, A. Merritt, Ray Cummings, Murray Leinster, Erle Stanley Gardner and many others.
After the science fiction magazines were established, ARGOSY’S new additions were generally recruited from these sources and its own protégés became less frequent. An interesting exception was William Grey Beyer. Little information is known concerning him, the publisher of his only book “Minions of the Moon” (Gnome Press, 1950) is able to reveal only that he had been a Philadelphia policeman. ARGOSY serialized “Minions of the Moon” in three installments beginning in its April 22, 1939 number where it scored an instantaneous hit. Beyer had a light, breezy style that carried the reader easily along. His characterization of a disembodied intelligence, “Omega” in that story proved a tantalizing memorable one.
Later, reader and editorial demand produced a series of sequels, all of short novel length: “Minions of Mars”, “Minions of Mercury” and finally “Minions of the Shadow.” For a while it appeared that a new reader’s favorite had come into being. However, when ARGOSY was sold by Munsey to Popular, Beyer no longer appeared and except for a single short story and a brief revival when his first novel, “Minion of the Moon” was published in book form and later reprinted in TWO COMPLETE SCIENCE ADVENTURE NOVELS MAGAZINE in 1952, he disappeared from the fantasy scene.
“Let ‘Em Eat Space” was the one story he did for ARGOSY that was not in the “Minions” series. It was published in the Nov. 4, 1939 issue of that magazine and its reading provides highly entertaining and conclusive understanding of why the readers liked him. “Let ‘Em Eat Space” clearly derives its essence from Stanley G. Weinbaum’s “The Lotus Eaters.” The strange animals on another world who can philosophically accept the normally repugnant experience of being eaten alive by a predator remind one very much of “Oscar” the inverted bushel basket, featured by Weinbaum. The style has the same light touch but is not imitative in the sense of trying to duplicate Weinbaum’s method of phrasing. Considering the short span of his writing career, Beyer was stylistically the most successful of those influenced by Weinbaum but limited by the lack of scientific substance, possessed by his model, an element that might have given his work longer life.
Chapter 1
MR. MONTGOMERY, first vice-president of Interplanetary Insurance, Incorporated, was gazing in a severe and somewhat disapproving manner over the upper rim of his horn-rimmed spectacles. Across the polished desk fidgeted Mr. Ham Eggles, small and dapper, and Mr. Slim Winters, tall, thin and unkempt.
Ham, with a small portion of his mind, was wondering what would happen if Mr. Montgomery ever should happen to look through those specs. By far the greater part of his gray matter, however, was engaged in pleasant contemplation of the charms of a certain barmaid of his acquaintance.
Slim, on the other hand, was a man who invariably concentrated on the matter at hand. He was busy worrying why the boss had summoned them.
Mr. Montgomery cleared his throat. “I suppose,” he said, “that you gentlemen are familiar with the phenomenon of metabolism.”
Ham looked at Slim and Slim looked at Ham. “Why sure,” they chorused; then abruptly fell into an embarrassed silence.
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Montgomery dryly. “I knew also, after I had consulted a dictionary. But I’ll save you that trouble. Metabolism is the process of building up and breaking down of tissues and cells in living organisms. It constitutes the vital chemical processes of life itself.”
His audience revealed by facial expression that it had heard of some such thing back in its school days.
“Now that you thoroughly understand the subject,” continued the boss, “you will probably be interested to know that it has slowed up.”
“What has?” queried Ham, absently.
“Metabolism, you rum-soaked Casanova!” supplied Slim.
“This fact came to us as a result of diligent investigation on the part of our research department,” said Mr. Montgomery, ignoring the by-play.
“We have been deluged with industrial claims that have been pouring in from all over the solar system. This unexpected departure from normal began in the spring of 2074, over a year ago. We have traced the cause of most of the accidents to a lack of alertness and agility on the part of the victims. Workers are no longer able to keep up with their machines.
“All sorts of things have been happening. Men are getting their hands taken off in punch presses; airplanes are making poor landings; bus drivers are getting in accidents, trying to make their schedules. In short, wherever men are engaged in work with machines which are normally geared to keep pace with human ability, they are having trouble.”
Mr. Montgomery leveled an accusing finger.
“It has also come to light that men engaged in sound research, in connection with the cinema and radio industries, have found that women who formerly sang soprano are now baritones, and men who were baritones are now making sounds far below the audible range of normal hearing. And yet the ear has failed to detect any change.
“WITH these facts to work on, we soon discovered that the reason for the condition lies in the fact that metabolism has slowed up. Further investigation has proven that all life in the solar system has been similarly affected. To sum up the situation: life has been slowed down to a crawl. And we must do something about it!”
He emphasized his words with a resounding thump on the desk with a balled fist. Slim and Ham were looking slightly bewildered by this time, for metabolism, a purely biological business, was entirely out of their scope. Slim hesitantly advanced this information.
“I’m coming to that,” said the boss. “As I mentioned, we must do something about this deplorable situation. For although the company has weathered the storm of claims, and keeping in mind that mankind is becoming accustomed to the slower rate of metabolism, we have no assurance that the thing may not occur again. We could scarcely hope to retain our solvency if that happened.
“And then, too,” he added, as an afterthought of little consequence, “mankind might not survive another such drastic change.
“But to continue: our research workers have further discovered that concurrent with the deluge of accident claims, certain scientists reported a sharp decrease in the amount of cosmic rays which reach the solar system. The inference is obvious — that the rate of metabolism is directly dependent upon intensity of cosmic rays absorbed by the living being.
“And there,” the boss concluded, “is where you gentlemen enter the picture. It is your job to determine the cause of the decreased density of these rays.”
Ham remained in a state of bewilderment — at least that portion of his mind which was not lingering on the aforementioned barmaid. The problem of the cosmic rays seemed as remote from his field as had the matter of metabolism. For he and Slim were not engaged by the company as scientists or research workers, but rather as detectives, confining their activities to doubtful claims in various parts of the solar system.
But where Ham failed to see the connection, Slim apparently grasped the idea immediately.
“You mean... interstellar space?”
“Precisely. Cosmic rays originate far outside the solar system, and you’ll have to follow them if you intend to learn anything. Our experts will give you all the necessary information.
“Your ship is equipped with the most modern of gravity drives, capable of many times the speed of light. The latest space-warp principle will be incorporated into the design of the drive. That will take only a few days. You are to use it, of course, only after you are well out of the system.”
Chapter 2
SOMEWHAT less than a week later, a silvery torpedo may have been seen flashing past the outermost planet of the solar system.
But if it was seen at all, it couldn’t have been observed for any great length of time. For shortly after passing the orbit of the most distant rampart of old Sol, the ship surpassed the speed of light itself, immediately becoming invisible to any observer in the rear of its line of flight.
Ham was staring contentedly ahead into the void, through which they were rushing with such speed that the light of the stars ahead was of a decided bluish tinge, when a frown came to mar his usual serenity of countenance.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he complained to Slim, “but if it’s not too much to ask, just where the heck are we headed for?”
The elongated one lifted his eyes momentarily from a sheaf of astronomical charts and grunted, “Eta Geminorum, Propus!”
“Never heard of it,” remarked Ham, returning to his star-gazing.
“A Cepheid variable of the long-period variety,” informed Slim. “Has a period of 231.4 days during which it varies in magnitude from 3.2 to 4.2.”
Ham continued staring for several minutes before his placidly preoccupied mind digested this. Slim was always babbling miscellaneous bits of information, interesting to him at the moment; and Ham had developed the faculty of completely ignoring him, especially when he had something on his own mind.
But when the intelligence did finally sink in, he snapped to attention.
“That’s quite a ways out, isn’t it?” he asked. “Is that where the cosmic ray experts said we’d find the trouble?”
Slim slowly uncoiled himself, deserting the charts, and rose to creakily stretch his great length. He was about six feet six, and so thin that Ham always insisted that he had to stand still for at least five minutes to cast a visible shadow.
“That’s what they said, little one,” affirmed Slim. “I should think you’d take more interest in these minor details. You’ve been acting as if this little jaunt were in the nature of a pleasure trip.”
“It probably is. I don’t see what we can do about it, anyway. We didn’t even know we had slowed up until old specs-on-the-nose told us. And neither does anybody else. By the time we get back people will be completely adjusted to the slower rate of metabolism. Or the machines will be adjusted, which amounts to the same thing. I can’t see where the matter is of any great importance.”
“You can’t, eh? Suppose the thing happens again? Suppose the rays decrease until metabolism is slowed down to about one-third. Humanity would be very likely to suffer a fatal attack of indigestion.”
Patiently, Slim explained.
“In the normal operation of the human body, a series of complicated chemical processes are constantly in progress. And the whole works would be thrown out of kilter by such a drastic departure from the proper speed of anabolism and katabolism.”
“You certainly know a lot of words,” Ham commented, not greatly concerned by the dire prospect. “But what has all that to do with this variable star we’re heading for?”
Slim chuckled. Ham’s question took a lot more words to answer.
“LOOK,” he said, “It’s believed that the cause of the decreased cosmic ray intensity lies somewhere in the vicinity of that star. Science has long been aware that the rays are sent out by every one of the Cepheid variables. Just why, is not known. But the inference is that whatever force causes these peculiar stars to pulsate, also generates the rays in enormous quantities.
“It has been observed that the short-period Cepheids appear to emit the greater number of rays. Of these, Zeta Geminorum is about the most active. On the other hand, the long-period variables gives off very few of the rays. All but one, and that’s the one we’re going to investigate.
“Propus, unbelievably, has always furnished the solar system with as great an intensity of cosmic rays as all of the other variables put together. And now, practically overnight, Propus diminishe
s its output to a point comparable with other long-period variables of similar size.”
“Unbelievable!” mocked Ham.
“Don’t be so darned flippant,” exclaimed Slim, somewhat exasperated. “The fate of humanity is at stake if the thing should go any further.”
“Not according to what you told me,” said Ham. “The solar system is receiving its present diminished supply from the other Cepheids, and is managing to get along just the same. The mysterious decrease from Propus isn’t likely to be repeated over such a widely scattered area. My deduction is that the tremendous output from that star was an unstable phenomenon, and something happened to restore it to normal. Logical, what?”
Slim clasped and unclasped his hands several times, meanwhile looking very thoughtful. He then grunted eloquently and sat down to resume study of the star charts.
“While you’re looking at those road maps,” Ham suggested, “see if you can find if our shrinking violet has any planets, and if so, how big.”
Slim grunted again, riffled the charts and picked out the desired one. “The best telescope ever developed couldn’t see a planet small enough for us to stand up on, at that distance. The chart shows one planet, about the size of Jupiter, and notes that there are probably four more. Maybe one of them will be our size.”
The chart-maker turned out to be a fairly accurate guesser. The travelers were able to spot four satellites of the pulsating luminary, including the one shown on the map. It was altogether possible that there was one or two more, either extremely distant from their sun, or of very low albedo.
But they weren’t greatly interested in the possibility, for their attention was immediately attracted to the second world in the system.
Approximately nine thousand miles in diameter it gave off a bluish-green light, similar to that of the earth, when seen from a proximity of a few million miles. The resemblance decided them. They would land.
The Best of Argosy #2 - Minions on the Moon Page 13
