Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  Thona flashed a furious glance at him, looked down again at Kenworth. She said, choking back a sob: “They’ve killed Jene, Dal!”

  Kenworth managed to nod. Too late he saw his mistake. The Raider’s eyes narrowed, and he exchanged a quick glance with Arn.

  “How did you know that?” he asked quietly.

  Then, realizing that Kenworth could not answer, he spoke to the Martian, who knelt by Ken-worth and began to massage his body with his slender, powerful fingers. Life began to flow back into Kenworth’s veins, hastened by Vakko’s ministrations. After one or two attempts he found his voice.

  “It’s all right, Thona,” he told the girl, with an assurance he did not feel. “There’s no danger.”

  “And how does he know that?” the Raider asked, apparently of the bare wall.

  He snapped his fingers suddenly, sprang to the televisor. As he clicked it on, Kenworth’s face appeared on the screen, and his voice rang through the room.

  “——farm. He has a hostage on board.

  Send fighting-ships at once. I’ll try to hold him here.” There was a pause, in which the harsh breathing of Am was plainly audible. Then the voice from the transmitter resumed. “Emergency ether-call! This is Dal Kenworth, son of President Kenworth of the Americas——”

  The Raider waited for no more. He leaped for the control board, barking orders at Arn, who raced from the room. The ship quivered, lifted. The Raider Angered buttons, swung a lever. Abruptly the televisor screen went blank. Kenworth knew that the space pirate had rayed the house, destroying the televisor.

  THONA was staring at Ken worth.

  “You’re—President Kenworth’s son?”

  He nodded, flushing. “I—yes, Thona. I didn’t tell you—I thought it might—make a difference.”

  “But—why? The son of President Ken worth on an elysia farm!” There was amazement in her eyes.

  “As a matter of fact, it was a wager. A chap and I got into an argument—a commander of the interplanetary Patrol, an old friend of my father’s—and he bet me that I was too soft to raise a crop of elysia. Lord knows it’s no easy job!” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think I could have stuck it out, Thona, if I hadn’t met you. Now don’t worry. The Raider won’t dare——”

  “I won’t dare?” The Raider stood over them, his eyes glittering in his mask-like face. “I won’t kill you—no. Neither of you. I’m tempted, I confess—but if worst comes to worst I can always bargain. And the son of President Kenworth——”

  He paused, while Kenworth cursed himself for revealing his identity.

  Am came forward, frowning. He gestured to the controls, said something under his breath. The Raider nodded impatiently.

  Am said, amazement on his dark face, “You’re going to do it?”

  “Yes. They’ll expect me to leave Venus to escape. We can’t take the chance of going back to our own ship—and I won’t go into space in this leaky boat. Nobody will expect us to go to the Night Side.” Thona gasped, and her hands flew up to her cheeks. Even Kenworth paled.

  Am said unbelievingly, “We’re going—to the Night Side?”

  Kenworth understood his apprehension, shared it. Ships stayed on the sunward side of Venus. There was a mystery about the Night Side—the half of Venus turned perpetually away from the sun, blanketed by thick clouds and shunned by the wanderers of the spaceways. There had been a time, long ago, when expeditions had set out to explore the Night Side. They had never returned. They had gone into the enigmatic blackness armed with huge ray-tubes and gas-projectors—and had vanished.

  Of tire Night Side only one tiring was known—no one had ever returned from it. And it was to this hidden land of eternal blackness that the Raider was guiding his ship!

  Kenworth revised his opinion of the Raider as he saw Am turn away without another word. The Martian, watching Kenworth with ray-tube in hand, said nothing. The octan scurried into the room and rubbed against Vakko’s legs, and he reached down absently to stroke it. It shrilled its pleasure. Kenworth felt Thona shudder against him.

  “Keep an eye out for ships,” the Raider commanded, and Arn nodded, went to the control board.

  Ignoring Kenworth, the Raider picked up the little vial of elysia from the desk. He unbuckled his leather jacket, fumbled with a thick, tubular belt he wore about his waist. It was transparent, filled with the pale elysia fluid, Kenworth saw. The Raider added Kenworth’s gill of the liquid to his own stock.

  “It’s a fabulous fortune,” he said pleasantly in his toneless voice, meeting Kenworth’s gaze. “Curious that people are willing to pay so much for—emotion. That’s what it is.” He eyed the belt ruminatively. “Pure emotion. A scientist once explained its action to me, but I couldn’t understand him, except that it seems to step up the emotions—the pleasurable sensations.

  “Elysia!” he went on almost dreamily, “It’s well named. Back in tire Twentieth Century men used morphine and—what was it?—cocaine—to allay pain and excite pleasurable sensations. But they were drugs, and harmful. One drop of elysia will give a man days of almost unendurable ecstasy—and the feeling will last for years, wearing off only very gradually. And a larger dose will kill.” He slapped the belt, chuckling. “It’s lucky I’d collected from most of the farms before you intervened, Ken worth.”

  Ain said, “We’re near the Twilight Zone now. The——” He broke off, snarled a lurid Martian oath. “Th’gadda! A ship—two miles off! Coming this way!”

  KENWORTH sat up hastily. The Martian moved closer, his ray-tube ready. The octan tried to climb up Vakko’s leg, but he kicked it away impatiently.

  The Raider went to the controls. He touched a button, and the televisor screen lit up, showing the outline of a ship, torpedo-shaped, bearing the insignia of the Interplanetary Patrol—three circles, intertwined.

  “Interference!” the Raider said quietly. “Blanket their signals.”

  Am growled assent. On the edges of the screen a flickering nimbus of pale light grew, darting and writhing inward, oddly reminiscent of the sun’s corona. Kenworth knew that the Patrol ship could not now send a message for aid. He prayed that such a message had already been sent.

  Thona touched his arm. He turned to her.

  “I thought—hostages——” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear.

  “Maybe later,” be murmured in response. “Right now he wants to make his getaway. We’re being kept only as a last resort. Pie must be pretty sure of himself.”

  The Raider’s ears were pretematurally quick. Without turning, he said in his flat voice, “I am. Quite sure. Watch the screen, and learn how spacemen fight!”

  3. Battle—and Escape

  THE conflict began. Strange air battle of the Twenty-third Century! Soundless struggle of deadly rays guided by trained, quick-thinking minds! As Kenworth watched the swift, deft movements of the Raider and his lieutenant, he began to understand the reasons for the space-pirate’s reputation. For the Raider was playing with the Patrol ship, playing with it so deftly that the attacker did not realize its own impotence. And Kenworth knew that the ships of the Interplanetary Patrol were not manned by fools—no! To command a Patrol ship was a high honor—and one not easily gained. Yet the diabolical cunning of the Raider had the Patrol ship at his mercy.

  The flickering rays still nimbused the screen, dimming and flashing out again as the clashing rays of the two ships flared—invisible rays of paralysis and death! Tire heavy armor that plated the ships could resist a certain amount of raying, but if a ship remained in the path of a beam for more than a few seconds, the ray would penetrate the armor and reduce the crew to a state of helpless paralysis. Kenworth saw that the Patrol ship was not using the death-rays, no doubt because the Patrol Commander knew or suspected the existence of the Raider’s hostages. And tire Raider, too, was using his rays at half-strength only. Kenworth, an expert at space piloting, cursed under his breath as he watched the Raider send his craft through a breathtaking series of whirls and dives. He
realized that when the Raider decided to strike, he could almost instantly ray the Patrol ship out of existence.

  But why was he delaying? What was he planning? There was no hint of his intentions on that gaunt, immobile face.

  The mad spins and lurches of the ship did not discommode the passengers, due to the artificial gravity field existing within the craft. But, watching the madly flaring screen, Kenworth saw the Patrol ship slip aside and vanish, saw the jagged peaks of a mountain range come rushing up, dim in. tire grayness of the Twilight Zone. The ship was falling!

  A voice boomed through the cabin. “Surrender, Raider! Kill your rays!”

  A tight smile flickered over the Raider’s face. He said in a swift aside, “Am, keep the interference on.”

  Arn grunted, little beads of perspiration standing out like jewels on his space-blackened face. Kenworth felt Thona huddle against him. For a moment a thrill of fear went through him, but a glance at the screen was instantly reassuring. The mountains seemed to be stopping their mad march toward the ship, slowing down. The Patrol craft lurched into view. Abruptly it began to recede in a series of curious little jumps.

  Kenworth knew that this was illusion. The Raider was fleeing, and the screen darkened steadily, with the pursuing Patrol ship a black silhouette against the pale gray sky. The titanic mountains of the Twilight Zone dimmed, faded to darkness. They were entering the Night Side.

  The Raider clicked over a switch. The dead blackness of the screen lightened, showed the Patrol ship. But there was a curious lack of perspective, of color. It was a shadow-picture, two-dimensional and unreal. Ultra-violet rays were responsible. All space-ships were equipped with them, Kenworth knew’. Invisible light, making a strange shadowland of the blackness!

  And now Kenworth realized the Raider’s plan. The nimbus of light still flickered on the screen, and the Patrol ship could not summon help, for the Raider’s interference mechanism blanketed the other ship’s signals. The Raider might have destroyed his attacker in the Twilight Zone—but that would have left the Patrol ship’s wreck to attract attention, pointing a definite finger of suspicion toward the Night Side. Pretending to be crippled, the Raider was luring his enemy into the hidden blackness of Venus—and there he would strike!

  Kenworth began to search the room with his eyes, methodically seeking several devices which he knew should be in the control chamber. A plan was forming in his mind—but he would have to act quickly. Luckily he had been in the collection ship before, and it was not long before he saw a rack of small tubes on the wall, tubes that resembled the paralysis-ray projectors, but which were in reality light-tubes. And light would be vitally necessary on the Night Side—if they could escape from the ship.

  Kenworth located, too, a shelf on which a dozen small packages were piled—parachutes, made from the incredibly tough filaments spun by the Cave Spiders of Mars. He put his arm unobtrusively around Thona, drawing her dose. She looked up inquiringly.

  He prisoned one of her small hands in his big one. Then, his eyes on the Martian, he pressed his thumb against Tirana’s palm, released it. Vakko did not move. His bulging eyes stared ernotionlessly at Kenworth. Using the Interplanetary Code—adapted from the archaic Morse—which every citizen had to learn, Kenworth began to give Thona a message. Dot—a brief pressure—dash—a longer one.

  “When I give the word, get light-tubes and parachutes.” Swiftly he indicated where they were.

  Thona’s eyes did not flicker. The answering pressure of her warm fingers gave Kenworth the message, “I understand.”

  NOW they were far into the Night Side, racing through the blackness from the Patrol Ship. Another screen had been put into operation, for the Raider did not care to crash blindly upon an uncharted mountain peak. But at this height there was little danger of such an accident.

  Kenworth watched the Raider, and took the opportunity to send another message to Thona.

  “Now!” the Raider said, the word coldly metallic. He touched a lever, flung over a switch.

  Am growled, “Good! Then we can get out of this—darkness.”

  The Raider said nothing. On the screen the Patrol ship grew larger. Rays leaped out—invisible, detectable only by the reactions of delicate indicating instruments. The Raider’s face grew intent, like a mask cut out of black stone.

  The Martian’s eyes flickered toward the screen.

  Kenworth moved. Like an uncoiling spring he shot toward Vakko, smashing against the Martian’s pipe-stem legs. Vakko toppled. The ray-tube was jerked from his hand, went spinning across the room. He screamed in an oddly piercing, shrill voice.

  Thona was running across the room. The Raider swung about, and as he moved a grinding crash rasped through the ship. The pirate wheeled, his fingers darting lightning-like over the controls. His momentary inattention had almost lost him the battle with the Patrol ship.

  “Arn!” His command stopped the big lieutenant, brought him, too, back to the controls. “Get the Patrol ship!” he snapped. “Quick! Then——”

  Kenworth had counted on this. In the crisis, the final battle between the two ships, the Raider would need both Am and himself at the controls—would not dare turn to face a lesser peril, knowing that a moment’s inattention would mean disaster. Already there was a warning tingling shuddering through. Kenworth’s body—the first taste of the Patrol ship’s paralysing rays, lancing through the protecting armor!

  He snapped a vicious blow at the Martian’s pouchy chest, and Vakko shrieked his pain. But the deceptively slender arms did not relax, and, cursing, Kenworth drove blow after blow into the Martian’s body. Pie heard a shrill piping, and felt something whip across his eyes. Tentacles wound about his head, and a vicious beak stabbed at his face. The octan!

  He put all his strength into a sledgehammer blow that smashed bones in the Martian’s chest. The binding arms relaxed, and Kenworth leaped to Iris feet, tore away the octan’s tentacles. The parrot-like beak snapped viciously at his hand, and the thing squealed in futile rage. He flung it from him, turned.

  He had a flashing glimpse of a maelstrom of titanic forces racing across the televisor screen. The Raider was still at the control board, his fingers darting to and fro. Arn was on his feet, plunging toward him, gas-gun leveled.

  Thona was gone. Kenworth spun, leaped for the doorway. Something popped near his head, and a cloud of greenish gas sprang into existence, writhing as though alive. Pie got through the door, holding his breath, and swung it shut. A precious moment was wasted while he searched for a bolt that was not there. Then he turned and went racing along the corridor.

  “Dal!” It was Thona’s voice, “Dal—here!”

  She was standing by an open oval of emptiness through which a blast of racing wind screamed, She made a quick movement with her hand, threw something out of the ship. Light flared. It was a light-tube, hurtling downward, lighting the dead blackness of the Night Side.

  Kenworth adjusted the parachute Thona handed him, saw the tumbled surface of land far below. He heard Am shouting, and a gas-pellet burst against the wall. But the greenish vapor was instantly dissipated by the rushing blast. Kenworth seized Thona’s hand and they leaped together out into space.

  A WARNING tingling sent fear darting through Kenworth. Away from the protecting insulation of the ship, the paralyzing rays were bathing them. Realizing that this would happen, Kenworth had determined not to open the parachutes until they had fallen beneath the range of the rays. But would the fall be swift enough to save them? Would they become paralyzed—unable to open the parachutes?

  The tingling ceased; in the white flare the ground rushed up at them. With a word to Thona Kenworth touched the stud that opened his parachute. The two ’chutes blossomed together.

  Above them the ships whirled and spun and dived in mad conflict. Abruptly the Raider’s ship flashed away, came darting down at them. Kenworth could guess what was in the Raider’s mind. His hostages were invaluable—he dared not lose them. But to land and recapture the two
meant laying himself open to the Patrol ship’s attack.

  The Raider fled, was lost in the darkness. The other ship slanted down. Kenworth could guess, too, what lay in the mind of the Patrol ship’s commander. Like the Raider, he wished to land, to pick up the two refugees. But he would realize that the moment his ship touched the soil of Venus, his defenses down, the Raider would come swooping out of the shadows, his rays working deadly havoc before the other ship could be lifted from the ground.

  The landscape swayed, rocking as they drifted down. Now the light-tube was dying. Even the tempered metal of the tube had been unable to withstand the impact. But the light had served its purpose. It had revealed the landing-place.

  Rock. Great plains of rock, fantastically colored, with here and there small patches of the dull gray soil of Venus. Over all lay a silvery sheen, the brilliant sparkle of frost. An icy drill struck through Kenworth. The Night Side, turned perpetually from the sun, would naturally be cold—but the wonder was that it was not colder than this. Then he realized the solution—the dense atmosphere that blanketed the Night Side from the utter chill of airless space.

  They touched the ground, rolled over. Kenworth helped Thona up, brushing white frost from her garments. He hesitated, glancing around.

  Thona, completely invisible as the last traces of the light died, groped closer.

  “Dal!” she said, a curious note of feat in her voice. “Dal! Do you feel—something strange?”

  4. Spawn of Darkness

  KENWORTH knew what she meant. Yet the sensation was utterly unreal, fantastic. It was like a queer sensation of movement within his brain—provoking some half-forgotten memory—now evading him, now swimming into view——

  He had it! Once, in N’yok, he had attended a council of telepathists, that small group of scientists who had devoted their lives to experimenting with telepathy, And it was there that Kenworth had experienced a sensation similar to this inexplicable motion within his brain.