Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  Now she was playing up to Von Zorn, the chief—and that meant power.

  “Listen, Tony,” she said, bending to look directly into his eyes. “Why not be nice? Von Zorn’s mad as a hornet about this Eros trouble, but I can take care of him. How about it?”

  “Go chase a meteor,” Quade said, and left her.

  CHAPTER II

  CUT TO: Space Cruiser

  QUADE hailed a taxi and was hurtled along Lunar Boulevard to the spaceport, where his ship waited, refueled and ready. It was a two-man cruiser, with the usual transparent nose of camera-ships, speedy and powerful. Nodding to the mechanic, Quade glanced at the setting sun and climbed aboard. Quade entered the forward compartment and touched the siren that warned aircraft a spaceship was taking off. He set the gravity plates and went back into the rear room.

  A man was asleep in the hammock, with Quade’s best fur robe pulled over him. Quade gasped a startled oath and fled back to the instrument board to reverse the gravity. The ship, which had been lifting, settled.

  With hasty strides Quade returned to his passenger and planted the toe of his boot firmly where he thought it would do the most good. The next moment he was staggering back with his ears buzzing and the imprint of a hand red on his tanned cheek.

  “Jupiter!” he exclaimed incredulously. “A girl! For Pete’s sake—you can’t be Gregg’s kid!”

  The girl looked something like an indignant rabbit, with a furry white helmet drawn tightly about her oval face, a stubborn little chin and snapping brown eyes. She bounced out of the hammock and Quade retreated hastily.

  A buzzing drone came from the other compartment. With a bewildered look on his face Quade stepped back into the nose of the ship arid met the gaze of Von Zorn.

  “Oh, Lord,” he moaned to himself. “What have I done to deserve this?” But he shut, the door quickly behind him and smiled in what he hoped was a disarming fashion.

  At close range Von Zorn more than ever resembled an ape. He knew it, and was enormously sensitive about his appearance. Only a week ago he had fired an ace director who had made some wisecrack about the chief’s simian appearance.

  “What are you grinning about?” he asked, eying Quade with distaste. “How about my picture?”

  “Space Bandit?” Quade put his back against the door. “Simple. I’m switching the locations to Ganymede. Going there now, in fact. My Eros crew has already landed, I guess.”

  Von Zorn took out a cigar, made from the aromatic, greenish tobacco grown on the Moon, and cut it carefully. “I’ve trouble enough without you making it worse,” he growled. “Our last Venusian picture is flopping, and we invested over a million in it. That blasted Carlyle woman’s blown it sky-high.”

  “Gerry Carlyle?”

  “Yeah. The catch-’em-alive dame. We pay out half a million to the biological labs to create duplicates of Venusian animals, and now there aren’t any audiences because Gerry Carlyle’s brought back the real thing.”.[*] He lapsed into a stream of fluent profanity. “I had another picture ready for you, Quade—a super-special, The Star Parade—but it doesn’t look as if you’ll get the assignment. Sandra Steel’s, featured in it, and she won’t work with you.”

  “That’s nice of her,” Quade said, gently edging Von Zorn toward the door and hoping the girl would keep quiet. “I’ll see you later, Chief. I’ve got to hurry.”

  VON ZORN became reflective.

  “You know, I’ve half a mind to go with you,” he said. He paused, and Quade stopped breathing. “But I’ve got a date with Sandra tonight. So you’ll have to get along without me.”

  “That’ll be tough,” Quade responded hoarsely, and shut the door behind the chief. He was at the instrument board in a single leap, and sent the spaceship rocketing up almost before Von Zorn had had time to get dear. Quickly he set the course.

  “Where the devil are you taking me?” an angry voice asked behind him. Quade got up slowly, mopping his forehead.

  “Listen,” he said very gently, “I’ve been through a lot today. You may not know it, but you’ve caused enough trouble to throw Jupiter out of its orbit. And unless you’re careful, young lady, you’re going to get the spanking I told your father you deserved.”

  She had pulled off her white helmet, but still wore a close-fitting worker’s uniform of brown leather. Her chin went up.

  “I don’t care if my father does work for you. You can’t talk to me that way, mister. I-came here because I thought you’d help me out, the way Dad’s cracked you up in his letters—but I guess he was wrong. So just take me back to the spaceport.”

  Quade grinned maliciously. “You’re not going to have your own way this time,” he told her. “In fact, I think you’re going to get more than you bargained for. Our first stop is Ganymede!”

  Several hours later Quade said didactically, “Ganymede is a small asteroid which has an atmosphere because its mass is so great. It’s very heavy. Understand?”

  Kathleen nodded. She was sitting at Quade’s feet, looking out through the ship’s nose at the blazing vastness of interplanetary space.

  “I didn’t think it was big enough to have any air. is it breathable, Tony?”

  “Sure. There isn’t quite enough oxygen, though, so it isn’t very comfortable. But it’s tremendously heavy for such a tiny world. We’ll land there pretty soon.”

  The televisor buzzed shrilly. Quade reached out a long leg and clicked over the switch. On the screen a man’s face sprang out in sharp detail.

  He had good-looking, bony features with shaggy eyebrows and a jutting jaw, under a harsh mouth like a steel trap.

  “Tony?” he said sharply. “There’s trouble! We left Eros when we got your message. We’ve been on Ganymede four hours now, and the work’s been started. But a herd of Hyclops cleaned out the camp!”

  Quade sucked in his breath.

  “Yeah? What happened?”

  “They drove the crew away, the ones they didn’t kidnap. I’m in the ship, and they can’t get at me, but I can’t handle it alone. Ghiorso just wigwagged a message from outside. The Hyclops are chasing him, and he says he’ll go south along the Bore. Are you armed?”

  “Sure. But I’d better come right to the camp, Perrin.”

  “The Hyclops will kill Ghiorso and the others if you do. Better do as he says, Tony, and head this way afterward; Huh?”

  Quade hesitated. “All right. Hold on, kid. I’ll be along.”

  HE snapped off the televisor and let his fingers dance over the keyboard. The ship leaped forward at an acceleration that would have killed the occupants if it had not been for the neutralizing gravity field.

  “Can I help?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah. Keep quiet, sorry. Wait until we hit Ganymede. Then you can help, all right.”

  Far ahead, spinning like a tiny ball through space, the asteroid came into view. Stretching across the face of the globe was a thin black line—the Bore, a broad channel that held practically all the water on Ganymede. Gripped by the mass of the asteroid, it nevertheless moved in a tremendous tide along the Bore whenever Ganymede came close to another body whose gravitation had appreciable influence.

  It was some time before they reached the Bore, and cruised swiftly northward, keeping a sharp watch for refugees. Kathleen first saw the man. He was staggering along the rocky bank, tripping occasionally on the grayish moss; and Quade grounded the ship almost beside him.

  The refugee stumbled to his knees, clawing at the ground. Quade flung open the door and sprang out, Kathleen beside him. He lifted the other.

  “Perrin!”

  The steel-trap mouth of the televisor operator gaped.

  “Yeah—they got in the ship. I had to run for it. Get Ghiorso, Tony.”

  “Sure.” Quade lifted the other easily and turned to the cruiser, but Perrin struggled feebly. “He’s just—up the Bore a little ways. Behind that rock. Couldn’t come any further.”

  Gently, Quade put Perrin down.

  “Wait here,” he said
to the girl, and sprinted along the Bore. The rock was some distance away, and he found himself breathing heavily in the alien atmosphere, with its deficiency of oxygen. He reached the boulder—and saw that there was no one behind it.

  Then he heard Kathleen’s cry.

  He swung about. Despite the mass of Ganymede, the gravity was less than terrestrial, and he made a great bound that brought him almost above the asteroid’s close-lying air blanket. He held his breath, feeling an icy chill strike him. Looking down he saw Perrin and the girl struggling. Kathleen went down, clutching at the man’s legs, but he kicked free viciously, leaped within the space ship. The door thudded shut.

  Quade sprinted the rest of the way, though he knew he’d be too late. The space cruiser lifted and drove up, and in a moment was lost beyond the sharp curve of the horizon. He stopped beside Kathleen. She was rubbing a bruise on her forehead.

  “No,” she said, answering Quade’s question, “Not hurt a bit, except my head. But I couldn’t stop him. He just hit me, and started to get in the ship.”

  “Swell,” Quade grunted. “What the devil is that rat up to? I wonder.” He shrugged and turned to stare northward. “Well, unless we want to stay here and starve, we’d better head for the pole. It can’t be far. Can you walk?”

  “Sure,” she said, eying him. “You’re a cold-blooded person, aren’t you? Haven’t you any idea why he stole our ship?”

  “My ship, you mean,” Quade corrected pointedly. “No. But I can probably find out at camp, so let’s get started. You’ll slow me down enough as it is.”

  KATHLEEN compressed her lips on some retort, and fell in behind Quade as he started along the bank of the Bore. There was no water in the channel; it was probably on the other side of the planetoid, drawn by the gravitational influence of Mars. The landscape was bleak and barren; rocks, and a rubbery, grayish kind of moss. The curve of the horizon was startling.

  Quade turned to the girl suddenly.

  “See that?” he asked, pointing.

  Something was bounding toward them in a series of short leaps. At first a scarcely visible dot, it grew rapidly in size until it plopped down directly in front of them and stood staring. It was about a foot and a half high.

  Quade, watching Kathleen’s face, chuckled. “Never seen anything like that before, have you?” he asked.

  She shook her head wondering.

  “What is it, Tony?”

  “I don’t know the Latin name, but—you noticed the way it travels? It’s vulgarly known as a Bouncer. Stanhope called ’em that when he first landed on Ganymede, and the name’s stuck. But there isn’t much known about them, as this asteroid’s rather an outpost. Nothing to bring people here.”

  The Bouncer eyed the two curiously. It had a turnip-shaped head, with two huge, staring eyes, between which a button of a snout was set, and down beneath a fantastically long upper lip was a puckered, sad-looking mouth. Underneath a fuzzy growth of soft white hair its flesh was pink.

  Its body was shaped like that of a kangaroo, save that it had no tail; and possession of a round, bulging paunch made it resemble a grotesque little gnome. The short forearms and paws were curiously anthropoid in contour.

  “Notice its eyes,” Quade said. “It’s got a unique range of vision. Sees the infra-red and ultra-violet rays. There’s another funny thing about it, too. Listen.”

  The puckered mouth opened. The Bouncer nodded its turnip-shaped head a few times, and suddenly announced; “Your face is dirty, Kate.”

  Kathleen made a soft little scream and started violently, while Quade roared with laughter. The Bouncer jiggled up and down, nodding as though pleased with itself, and observed, “It talked. It actually talked.”

  “You’re not hearing things,” Quade chuckled. “I told you Bouncers are funny animals. Besides seeing ultraviolet and infra-red light, they can read thoughts!”

  Kathleen swallowed with an effort. “Really, Tony? I—I still don’t believe it.”

  “Why not? Our thoughts are a combination of words and images, and Bouncers can pick up strong vibrations broadcast by a brain. Try it. Think something—hard.”

  Kathleen looked at him questioningly, and then glanced down at the Bouncer, who nodded and worked his puckered mouth swiftly. She squared her shoulders and her chin came up.

  “Only a mannerless tramp would criticize a lady’s personal appearance,” the Bouncer declared. “I guess that’s telling him. Oh, for heaven’s sake, how do I turn it off? I can’t stop—”

  THE small voice died into silence as Quade grinned.

  “See? It picks up strong thought-impulses—and that’s probably why it never became popular as a pet. Too dangerous. I don’t believe more than a couple were ever exported from Ganymede.”

  Kathleen dropped to her knees beside the little animal, and it pawed the air violently with its tiny hands. She scratched the pointed head gently. It jiggled with delight and said, “Her hair’s awfully pretty. If she weren’t such a spoiled kid—”

  “Come on!” Quade said very loudly, and hastily started up the bank, his face flaming. Smiling maliciously, Kathleen followed, and after a brief hesitation, the Bouncer made the party a trio. The girl quickly struck up a firm friendship with the agile little creature, and after asking Quade for an opinion which he refused to give, decided to call him Bill.

  “For Bill’s no worse than any other name,” she told the Bouncer, to which he replied, “Especially if Tony doesn’t like it.” After that Bill became silent, while both Kathleen and Quade tried desperately to suppress the strength of their thoughts.

  The scenery changed little as they advanced. It was a tumbled wilderness of rocks, the eternal soft gray moss, and the dry Bore at their right. At last, without warning, they found Ghiorso.

  Quade should have guessed what was wrong. Certainly the man’s body didn’t look normal, with its bloated torso and withered, shrunken limbs, as it lay crumpled on the moss, a skull-face turned up blindly to the purple sky. As it was, he paused a dozen feet from the corpse and gripped Kathleen’s arm. “Wait a minute,” he murmured. “I’m trying to remember something. I think—”

  Bill made his mistake, one that was almost fatal. Bounding about the two like an India-rubber ball, he caught sight of Ghiorso’s body and immediately hopped toward it. He was scarcely two feet away when the corpse seemed to split down the center and a sinuous blood-red thing flowed out on the moss.

  The Bouncer gave terrified squeak, hopped entirely over Ghiorso’s body, and continued on without pausing until he vanished behind a cluster of rocks. But the scarlet thing had stopped, and, with one end lifted in the air, waving about slowly, seemed to be listening or watching.

  Kathleen caught sight of Quade’s white face as he stepped in front of her. He took a stubby, dangerous-looking pistol from his pocket.

  CHAPTER III

  CLOSE SHOT: Ganymede

  THE red thing was moving closer, very slowly. It looked something like a centipede, but its glistening body was plump and cylindrical, and seemed distended. Moreover, all over it grew wiry, pliant cilia or tubes, and these propelled it over the moss. It hesitated, and coiled up suddenly like a great spring.

  Quade’s breath hissed between his teeth. A bolt of white flame leaped from the muzzle of the pistol, and simultaneously the monster flashed into the air toward them, disintegrating as it sprang. Quade, his arm about Kathleen, propelled her away, with a wary backward glance. At a safe distance he paused.

  “Look yourself over,” he said urgently. “Those little feelers can burrow into your body even if they’re only an inch long.” He examined his clothing carefully, and the girl did likewise.

  “What was it, Tony?” she asked at last. “I don’t think I’ve got any on me.”

  “If you had, you’d know it by now,” he told her. “Those are the red leeches. The nastiest things on nine planets.” He holstered the gun and started along the Bore, the girl keeping pace with him.

  “We’ll have to keep our ey
es open now,” Quade said. “I’d really forgotten about the leeches. If you hear me yell, or see anything coming at your face, put your hands over your nose and mouth and keep ’em there, no matter what happens.”

  Kathleen looked frightened.

  “What do they do?”

  “You saw what this did to Ghiorso. If I hadn’t killed that leech, every one of those little tubes on its body would have dropped off eventually and become new individuals. They’re hardly as long as your little finger then, and they coil up on the ground until some animal—or man—comes along. Then they spring for his mouth or nose, and burrow down inside his lungs or stomach, feeding as they go. They’re enormously elastic, and simply eat until only the skin of their host is left. And there they wait until the next course comes by.”

  The girl shuddered, and increased her pace. The Bouncer suddenly popped up behind a boulder and hopped toward the two. Quade made a threatening gesture.

  “Beat it,” he warned. “Go chase a meteor. D’you want me to wring your neck?”

  “Oh, leave him alone, Tony,” Kathleen said. “He’s—company.”

  “He got that leech started after us,” Quade grunted. “Company, eh?”

  The Bouncer jiggled up and down excitedly.

  “More company than you are, you cold-blooded fish,” he told Quade, who promptly reached for a stone. Bill squeaked shrilly, and fled to Kathleen, to whose leg he clung fearfully, casting quick glances over his furry shoulders.

  “Stop it, Tony,” Kathleen said, trying not to laugh. “It isn’t his fault. He just broadcasts thoughts. You said so yourself.”

  “Movie-struck, spoiled brat,” Bill declared, and Kathleen’s chin went up. Without another glance at Quade she marched along the bank of the Bore.

  MARS rose above the horizon, a pale reddish globe larger than the Sun but far less bright. Quade kept looking up the channel, listening intently. At last he hesitated.