Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  Bill at her heels, she went through the door. The developed reel of film was on the projector, and Quade started it unrolling as she entered. On the screen Eros sprang out in sharp detail.

  “Long shot. Here’s where the telephoto lens comes in.”

  A city leaped into visibility, in natural colors, a little blurred.

  “I’ll speed it up a bit,” Quade said. “The two pictures have to be transposed so you see one with each eye. That gives the three-dimensional effect.”

  A puff of dust appeared—and the screen went black. Simultaneously the Bouncer became violently excited. He leaped up, almost hitting the ceiling, and squeaked frantically.

  Quade said, “That’s funny. I wonder—”

  Bill declared, “It’s his eyes. He sees more than us.”

  “Think so?” Quade’s face wore an incredulous expression. “D’you really think that’s it, Kate? Maybe I’ll try the infra-red.”

  He manipulated the projector, but no change came on the screen. “Well, then, the ultra-violet.” He flicked lenses into place.

  The Bouncer quieted, staring around in an absent fashion. He hopped to Kathleen’s side and tugged at her hand. But she paid no attention. She was staring, open-mouthed, at the amazing spectacle on the screen, brought into sharp visibility by the ultra-violet filter.

  “By the nine moons of Saturn!” Quade gasped hoarsely. “Do you see it? Kate—am I crazy? Do you see it too?”

  “Yeah,” she managed to whisper. “But I don’t believe it.”

  His voice was hushed.

  “Do you know what we’re looking at? The fourth dimension!”

  A planet was visible on the screen, growing rapidly in size as it revolved. A planet that was unlike any other in three dimensional space. For it was not a sphere. It was a dozen spheres—a thousand—Kathleen blinked in amazement.

  “I—Tony, I can see inside of it! And all around it!”

  “We’re looking into fourth dimensional space,” Quade gloated. “So that’s the explanation of the ether eddy. It marks the orbit of a body in another continuum—a fourth dimensional continuum. It’s a hole in space, a hole created by a planet in another Universe. Look at that!”

  THE amazing world, or group of worlds, drew closer. Fantastic, unbelievable colors shocked Kathleen’s eyes. The surface of this planet was covered with incredible things.

  “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

  Quade asked gleefully. “Lord knows! It doesn’t matter. Whew, what a break! And I’ve got two dozen reels of that thing, taken from different angles. Kate, do you know what Von Zorn will pay for this?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “He wants a super-colossal picture—well, this is super-galactic! There’s never been anything like it in the System. A fourth-dimensional flicker! Oh, sweet Saturn!” He scooped up the startled Bouncer and planted a kiss on the creature’s astonished face. “You’ll get a diamond-studded collar for this. And Kate—I’ll see Von Zorn gives you the fattest role he’s got.”

  “Will Von Zorn pay through the nose for this!” Bill declared, struggling to escape from Quade’s grip. “And will Sandra be mad!”

  “Who,” Kathleen asked, “is Sandra?”

  The Bouncer plopped to the floor, remarking, “I wonder if she’s jealous?” At which Kathleen turned fiery red and hastily went into the other compartment, leaving the chortling Quade to watch the amazing film.

  HOLLYWOOD on the Moon was in a furore: Von Zorn had seen the fourth dimensional films, and had promptly called for his check-book. His apish face was wreathed in smiles as he ordered a screen-test for Kathleen and fed the Bouncer sweetmeats.

  He was fascinated by the little creature’s mind-reading abilities, but Quade carried Bill off quickly and handed him over to the Psychology Bureau, after enlisting a government agent’s aid. Quade had an idea. He had been worrying about the impending Sobelin-Nine Planets battle, especially as Von Zorn showed no inclination to retreat.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want,” the chief had told him firmly, “There’s a fortune in radium on Ganymede, and my lawyers tell me I’ve as much right to it as Sobelin. More, because you were working for me when you took out the option.”

  Later Quade returned to Von Zorn’s office with Kathleen, Bill, and the government agent. The chief was grinning fatuously as he talked with Sandra Steele, who was turning on him fifty thousand watts and the full battery of her violet eyes.

  Von Zorn glanced up, and a curious look came into his face.

  “Ah,” he said, fingering his scrubby mustache. “Miss Gregg. I have rather bad news for you, I’m afraid.” Kathleen looked startled. “Didn’t the test come out all right? The cameraman said—”

  “Uh—it was fine. Yes. But circumstances have arisen—” He glanced sideward at Sandra. “We will be unable to use you in pictures. Your passage back to Earth will be paid, of course. I’m sorry.”

  Quade took a step forward, glaring at Sandra.

  “You chiseling little pig,” he told her angrily. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

  Sandra smiled as Von Zorn stood up.

  “Don’t talk that way to Miss Steele,” he snapped. “You were well paid for your pictures. I’m grateful—sure. But that doesn’t give you any license to run Nine Planets, or to insult Sandra.”

  “I see,” Quade said. “Okay. I’m sorry, Kate,” he said to the girl, whose eyes were wet despite the stubborn firmness of her chin. “You deserve a better break.”

  She turned blindly to the door and went out. The government agent came forward, digging into a pocket of his black uniform.

  “Here’s something for you,” he said, handing Von Zorn a paper. “And, believe me, I’m glad to give it to you, mister.” He winked at Quade.

  The chief stared at the document. “What the devil! Quade—what is this? A restraining order—Washington can’t do this! I’ve as much right to Ganymede as Sobelin! You can’t freeze me out this way!”

  “Sobelin’s getting one too,” Quade said with satisfaction. “Neither of you has any right to Ganymede. Remember the old property law—the right of eminent domain?”

  “But—but—Ganymede isn’t inhabited by intelligent life! Not over the eighth level, anyway.”

  “Sure it is,” the agent interrupted. “This little fellow here is probably smarter than you are.” He indicated the Bouncer. “He doesn’t look it, but he’s just over the eighth level. Mr. Quade called me in and wanted an intelligence test made. And it turned out he was right. Ganymede is already inhabited by these jiggers—which are over the eighth level of intelligence—so the asteroid belongs to them, and Washington says so. And I’ll bet neither you nor Sobelin want to buck the Government.”

  VON ZORN gulped. “Uh—no, of course not. You say Sobelin won’t get anything?”

  “He hasn’t a claim. Washington will establish a colony on Ganymede, mine the radium, and use it for the benefit of the inhabitants—exterminate the dangerous animals and give these little fellows the break they deserve.”

  “Oh, boy!” Bill said, although it wasn’t plain whose thoughts he. was broadcasting.

  Suddenly Von Zorn grinned.

  “Okay. As long as Sobelin is out too. I don’t care so much about the radium—we’ll clean up on Space Bandit, anyway—but I wasn’t going to see that crook put anything over on me. Congratulations, Bill!” And he deposited a sweetmeat in the Bouncer’s open mouth.

  “I’m glad you’re taking it that way,” Quade said. “You—haven’t changed your mind about Kate, though?”

  Von Zorn hesitated and glanced at Sandra. At the look in her violet eyes he compressed his lips.

  “I’m sorry, Quade. I can’t use her. But you’ve a good assignment on The Star Parade, and—”

  Without another word Quade went out. He found Kathleen at the turn of the corridor, dabbing at her eyes with a futile bit of lace.

  “Buck up!” he said, putting his arm around her. “Here—use this.” And he applied a large handkerchief cap
ably to her face.

  “Don’t—don’t rub my nose off!” she gasped. “Oh, Tony, I’d like to scratch that woman’s eyes out. She makes me sick.”

  “I don’t see how Von Zorn managed to fall for her,” Quade admitted ruefully. “But he did. Eats out of her hand.”

  The door of the chiefs office banged open suddenly. Furiously voices were raised in bitter argument. Abruptly the Bouncer emerged and hopped frantically along the corridor. Behind him Sandra Steele raced purposefully, an angry grin on her face. Bill squeaked with fear and took shelter behind Kathleen’s ankles.

  Sandra made a snatch for Bill.

  “Give me that—that thing!” she gritted. “I’m going to wring its head off.”

  “You’re not!” Kathleen told her sharply. “Leave him alone. Tony—”

  But before Quade could move Sandra had whipped out a vicious hand and slapped Kathleen smartly.

  Kathleen’s chin came up. She brought around a capable hand, clenched into a hard little fist, and punched Sandra Steele in the nose. With an incredulous scream of pain the screen star staggered back and came violently in contact with the wall. She slid down to a sitting position, spitting like a cat.

  “Had enough?” Kathleen asked belligerently, stepping forward. “You leave Bill alone!”

  It seemed Sandra had had enough. She scrambled to her feet and made off, trailing a string of vituperation that made Quade’s ears burn. Abruptly he became conscious that Von Zorn was standing near by regarding Kathleen.

  “Jupiter!” he gasped. “That’s torn it!” But he thrust himself between Von Zorn and the girl, fists clenched.

  THE chief waved him aside, his lips twitching strangely. “Ah—Miss Gregg,” he said in a muffled voice. “I—uh—fear Miss Steele will be unable to appear in The Star Parade. Inasmuch as your test turned out so well, I’d like to offer you the role.” He coughed violently. “You’re a very capable person,” he told the astounded Kathleen, and hurried away.

  Quade stared at him in amazement, and then turned to eye Kathleen’s delighted face. “I guess I’m hearing things,” he murmured. “You sock Sandra—and get her part. For Pete’s sake!” He looked up as a voice said: “For Bill’s sake, you mean. I’m commencing to think that little gadget is smarter than any of us.” The government agent was standing before them amusedly eying the Bouncer, who was clinging to Kathleen’s leg and squeaking with apparent delight.

  “You can’t tell me he isn’t laughing,” the agent chuckled. “And he’s got a right to. Know what happened?”

  “What?” Quade asked. “It must have been plenty.”

  “It was. After you went out, this dame Sandra Steele started making up to Von Zorn, and he pulled her on his lap and asked her for a kiss. And just then Bill bounced up to the desk and said, ‘If you think I’m going to kiss that repulsive monkey face of yours, you’re crazy!’ ”

  The agent spluttered with delight.

  “What a scrap! Von Zorn dropped the dame like a hot potato, and they lit into each other hot and heavy. ‘So that’s what you think of me,’ he yells. ‘A monkey-face, eh? Been making a sap out of me, have you?’ And then she started after Bill, and Von Zorn after her—”

  “This is the life!” the Bouncer interrupted, jiggling excitedly. “How about a kiss?”

  The agent hastily turned away. “I know I didn’t think that,” he observed over his shoulder. “So—”

  Neither Quade nor Kathleen was paying any attention to him. Bill, however, bounced up to the ceiling and declared triumphantly, “She loves me! She loves me! She loves me—”

  [*] Creating artificial life-forms on the Moon Is more practical than buying the bona fide article, which would necessitate a prohibitive overhead in duplicating and maintaining the creature’s natural habitat. A. Venusian “whip,” for example, would require several miles of jungle in which to browse, as well as several hundred pounds of fresh meat weekly.

  Nor does the local lunar government fail to consider the possibility of epidemic caused by some malignant bacteria using the body of an imported animal as host. The artificial beasts have the added advantage of being obedient to radio control a vital factor in picture making.

  THUNDER IN THE DAWN

  A story to stir the pulses—a tale of warlock and wizard and valiant men of might in the far-off olden time—a gripping tale of Elak of Atlantis

  1. Magic of the Druid

  THE tavern was ill-lighted and cloudy with smoke. Raucous oaths and no less rough laughter made the place a bedlam. From the open door a cold wind blew strongly, salt-scented from the sea that lapped restlessly against the wharves of Poseidonia. A small, fat man sitting alone in a booth was muttering to himself as he drank deeply of the wine the innkeeper had placed before him, and Lycon’s quick, furtive glances searched the room, missing no detail.

  For Lycon was a little frightened, and this prevented him from getting drunk as quickly as usual. His tall friend and fellow adventurer, Elak, was hours overdue from a clandestine visit to a lady of noble blood, the wife of a duke of Atlantis. This alone might not have troubled Lycon, but he was remembering certain curious events of the past fortnight—an inexplicable feeling of being trailed, and an encounter with masked soldiers in the forest beyond Poseidonia. Elak’s dexterity with his rapier had saved them both, and later, he had attributed the attack to the soldiers of Granicor, the Atlantean duke. Lycon was not so sure. Their opponents had not been the swarthy, sinewy seamen of Poseidonia—they had been yellow-haired, fair-skinned giants such as were native to the northern shores of Atlantis. And for many moons Atlantis had been looking northward with apprehensive eyes.

  The island continent is, roughly, heart-shaped, split down the middle by a waterway which runs from a huge bay or inland sea at the north down to a lake nearly at the southern extremity, thirty miles from the seacoast city of Poseidonia. For as long as men could remember the northern shores had been harried by red-bearded giants whose long black galleys had swept down from the frozen lands beyond the ocean. Dragon ships they were called, and those who manned them were Vikings—sea pirates, plunderers who left ruin and desolation wherever they beached their craft. Lately rumors had spread of a great influx of these Northmen—and in taverns and by campfires men met and boasted and sharpened their blades.

  There were two men in the brawling clamor of the inn who had attracted Lycon’s intent gaze—one a gross, ugly figure clad in a shapeless brown robe, the traditional garb of the Druid priests. Beneath an immense bald head was a hairless, toadlike face glistening with sweat. These Druids, it was said, wielded immense power secretly, and Lycon habitually distrusted priests of any order.

  Besides the Druid, Lycon watched a bearded giant whose skin showed traces of being darkened artificially and whose hair was probably dyed, as it showed blue in the lamp’s glow. Casually the small adventurer touched the hilt of his sword. Somewhat reassured by the feel of its smooth metal, he banged his cup on the table and yelled for more wine.

  “What watery swill is this?” he asked the innkeeper, a wizened oldster in a liquor-stained tunic. “It’s fit for babes and women. Bring me something a man can drink, or—or——”

  On the verge of uttering a grandiloquent threat Lycon subsided, muttering softly. “Gods!” he observed to himself as the innkeeper moved away, “what’s got into me? These past weeks have made me a coward. I’ll be jumping at shadows soon. Where in the Nine Hells is Elak?”

  He paused to throw a gold piece on the table and to lift a replenished cup to his lips. That was but the first of many cups, and presently Lycon’s apprehension and worry had crystallized into belligerency. The bearded giant was watching him, he saw.

  Lycon drained his cup, set it down with a crash—and sprang to his feet, overturning the table. Dark faces were turned to him; wary eyes gleaming in the lamplight.

  FOR all his fatness Lycon was agile. He leaped over the table and headed for the giant, who had not moved, save to set down his liquor.

  Lyco
n was, by this time, very drunk indeed. He paused to drag his sword from its scabbard, but unfortunately it stuck, marring the impressiveness of the gesture. Nevertheless Lycon persisted and pulled out the weapon at last. He flourished it beneath the other’s nose.

  “Am I a dog?” he demanded, glaring malevolently at the giant, who shrugged.

  “You should know,” he said gruffly. “Go away before I slice off your ears with that toy.”

  Lycon gasped inarticulately. Speech returned with a rush.

  “Misbegotten spawn of a worm!” he snarled. “Unsheathe your sword! I’ll have your heart out for this——”

  The blackbeard cast a swift glance around. He did not look frightened, but, oddly, annoyed, as though Lycon had interrupted some important project of his own. Yet he stood erect, and his blade came out flashing. The innkeeper hurried up, clucking his annoyance. In one of his hands was a bungstarter, and watching his chance, he brought this down toward Lycon’s head.

  From the corner of his eye the little man saw the movement. He ducked, whirled, felt his shoulder go numb beneath the blow. The giant’s sword swept out at his unprotected throat.

  Something hit Lycon, sent him sprawling back, while razor-sharp steel raked his chest. He fought frantically to regain his footing. He came upright with his back to the wall, sword in hand—and stood staring.

  Elak had at last arrived. It was his blow that had hurled Lycon from the path of the giant’s steel, and now the lean, wolf-faced adventurer’s rapier was engaging the blackbeard’s weapon in a dazzling flash and shimmer of clanging metal, while Elak’s laughter brought fear to his opponent’s eyes. The innkeeper crouched near by, the bungstarter gripped in his hand, and swiftly Lycon caught up a heavy flagon and crashed it down on the man’s head. He fell, blood spurting, and Lycon turned again to watch the battle.

  The blackbeard was being forced back by the rapidity of Elak’s onslaught. Few could stand successfully against the electric speed with which the adventurer wielded his rapier; already the giant was bleeding from a long cut along the forehead. He cried, “Wait! Wait, Elak——”