Shawn felt the cold grip that held him motionless relax. The Aliens fell away, huddled motionless on the floor. Their ruler still stood in a mound beside Lorna, frozen into immobility. Within him the nucleus brightened, was shot with rose-light of angry crimson.
The jewel’s message came to Shawn. “Free your friends. Return to your ship. I will guide you. Quickly! My will is stronger than this being’s, but I cannot maintain my supremacy too long.”
THE Aliens made no move as Shawn sprang forward, unbound Lorna, and with her aid freed Trost, Heffley, and Flynn from their bounds. They eyed Shawn uncomprehendingly.
“Terry,” Trost gasped. “That red stone—what was it?”
“How did you—”
“No time for talk,” Shawn snapped. “Come on!” He led them to the door. Whispering in his brain were the thoughts of the life-jewel, guiding him through the heart of the golden ship.
They passed many of the Aliens, but none moved to molest them. They were frozen into immobility. Shawn could scarcely comprehend the power of a will so vast that it could capture the minds of every Alien in this huge ship. He knew, somehow, that the life-jewel had accomplished that.
They reached the Eagle safely. As they locked the ports the brilliant ray blazed out around them, driving the craft into space with giddy impetus. Shawn set the controls before he turned to the others. Swiftly he explained something of what had happened.
“It’s incredible!” Trost said, and Heffley seconded him. Hooker Flynn merely grunted, his jaw hanging.
“Not half as incredible as what’s going to happen, if things come off as planned, “Shawn said. He turned to Lorna, who had wrapped herself in an overcoat she had found in a locker. “How are you!”
“All right, I guess.” But she was shivering with reaction. Shawn gave her some brandy and passed the bottle.
“I’m going to look over my motors,” Trost said, taking from his pocket the horn-rimmed glasses, which had miraculously remained unbroken. “Come along, Hooker.” The two departed, and Heffley rose to follow them.
“I’m going to catch a nap. I’m worn out. Call me when anything happens.”
Shawn nodded, and the little man went out. “How about you, Lorna? Tired?”
But the girl was shaking violently. Swiftly Shawn went to her, drew her close, calming her hysteria. “It’s okay now, kid,” he said gently. “Buck up. It’s all over.”
“I—oh, Terry—” Lorna’s arms went around Shawn’s neck, and, seeing her lips so close, he did the logical thing. He kissed her.
“You know, I think I’m in love with you,” Shawn said shakily.
The girl’s eyes were very tender. The overcoat gaped open, revealing the curves of her tilted breasts, and Shawn felt their warmth cushion against his chest as he pulled Lorna close, seeking her lips.
An hour later a cry from Shawn brought the others racing into the control room, to follow his gesture toward the vision screen at their feet.
“The golden fleet,” Heffley said. “It’s coming back.”
“At the command of their ruler,” Shawn told him. “Actually at the command of the life-jewel that rules his mind. I’ve learned that the Aliens worship their king as a god—they’ll obey him blindly, unquestioningly. If he commands them to restore the Earth—”
The golden fleet was a cloud in space, massed about the great ship of their leader. Abruptly from the craft a mighty blaze of light burst, a million rays pouring from the vast assemblage of the golden ships.
“Look!” Heffley’s voice was edged with amazement. “Good Lord—look!”
SOMETHING swam into view where the rays concentrated. A tiny point of light, growing larger and larger, seemingly rushing forward with incredible speed. It was large as a grape—a plum—Two spheres, racing back from the alien dimension, drawn from another Universe by the power of the golden fleet!
Earth and Moon!
Washed in coldly green fires they came, till suddenly the emerald mists dissipated and were gone. The rays flicked out.
Once more Earth swung in its orbit, attended by its satellite!
Shawn’s knuckles were white. “No one killed—no life destroyed on the planet,” he whispered. “The life-jewel promised that—”
He stiffened. The golden fleet was moving. With the ship of the leader guiding them, they were flashing forward with steadily increasing speed.
Flashing—Sunward!
Racing into a molten holocaust that would destroy them before they had passed through the chromosphere, plunging headlong in suicidal flight!
“Why?” Trost asked softly. “Terry, why are they killing themselves.”
“They’re not,” Shawn said with a queer certainty. “They’re being killed. The life-jewel has captured the minds of every being in the golden fleet. It can’t keep them under control for long—but before its power weakens the ships will be within the Sun. They can go very fast, Pete.”
And Shawn was right. As the Eagle entered the atmosphere of Earth the destruction of the Aliens was seen on the telescopic vision screen. Trost and Heffley and Flynn watched it, seeing a little burst of fire lick up from the Sun as the golden fleet was ripped apart into atoms by the unthinkable solar storm.
But Shawn and Lorna were in another room, the girl busily scribbling a shorthand report.
“What an exclusive!” she told Shawn, who stood at her side, grinning. “The Tribune will have it in headlines a foot high!”
“If the editor believes it. Remember, he’ll have no consciousness of being thrown into another continuum. He was in a state of stasis, together with the rest of the world, all the time.”
“Well—” The girl’s face was puzzled.
“Why don’t you give up your job with the Tribune!” Shawn suggested. “Listen, Lorna—if the Eagle’s going to make any more trips, I’ll need a first mate.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, with Shawn’s lips tight against her own.
DOOM WORLD
Deep Within the Sub-Lunar Caverns of Hollywood on the Moon, the Most Glamorous City in the Solar System, a Horde of Radio-Controlled Robots Menace the Movie-Makers of an Ultra-Modern Era!
CHAPTER I
INTERIOR: The offices of Nine Planets Films, Inc., Hollywood on the Moon. Close shot—Day.
“YOU can’t film Doom World,” Tony Quade said emphatically. “It just isn’t possible. I’ve read the shooting script, and all I’ve got to say is that you made a big mistake in buying the movie rights, even if you are the president of Nine Planets Films, Inc.”
Von Zorn’s small, simian face was puckered with anxiety. He scratched his toothbrush mustache and murmured, “It was a best-seller, Tony. We paid the author plenty, but if we can screen the book we’ll clean up. Otherwise we’ll drop a lot—too much.” Tony Quade settled his large, bigboned body more comfortably in the glass-and-leather chair and shrugged.
“My tears will mingle with yours, Chief.”
“But you can film Doom World! You got those Jupiter explosion shots last year, and the comet sequences for Space Devils. There isn’t a special effect in the System you can’t handle.”
“Exploration on Pluto, though,” Quade said, frowning. “Do you know how many expeditions have died there? You can’t live on a radioactive planet.”
“The characters in Doom World did.”
“Can I help it if the author’s vacuum-minded?” Quade’s voice grew ironic. “Some dizzy scientist exposed ’em to negative radio-magnetic rays, whatever they are, and neutralized the effect of the Pluto radiations. That may sound good on paper, and it help make the book a best-seller, but you know dam well it’s sheer fantasy. Pseudo-science—rats! It’s a fairy tale.”
“So you refuse the assignment, eh?” Von Zorn said suavely, his snappy black eyes glinting. “I’d certainly; hate to blacklist you in the System.”
Quade smiled thinly.
“You couldn’t blacklist me for turning down an assignment like Doom World, and you know it. How could we possibly film t
he picture on Pluto?”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Von Zorn said. “That’s why we own some of the sub-lunar caverns. All you have to do is build a set in one of ’em duplicating the Pluto scene. There’s no danger from radioactivity, for there won’t be any.”
“And what about the livestock? The book’s full of Plutonian animals, and they can’t live without. radioactivity. Do you want me to film Doom World without the beasts?”
“Robots,” Von Zorn urged. “We’ve used artificial monsters before. You can handle ’em by radio control.”
“It must be nice to sit at a desk all day and not know anything about picture making,” Quade said impolitely. “Do you realize how complex the neural and muscular structure of Plutonian animals is? An ordinary radio control unit couldn’t handle ’em. They’d look like animated papier-mâché.”
THAT, unfortunately, was quite true, even when less complex animals were used. However, the artificial monsters, radio controlled, could easily be created by the biological laboratories, and were much less dangerous to handle than the authentic life-forms. Moreover, the expense involved in locating, transporting, and keeping alive such creatures as a Venusian “whip” or one of the double-headed, apelike Hyclops of Ganymede would have been prohibitive.
The public often shunned the films of Nine Planets because the life-forms used were so obviously-artificial. Von Zorn was unfortunately reminded of this by Quade’s words. His face turned slightly green.
“And another thing,” he snapped. “I just got word that Gerry Carlyle’s coming back from Venus with a shipload of monsters in that blasted Ark of hers.”
Quade grinned.
“The catch-’em-alive dame?”
“Yeah. Right after we finished shooting Venus Adventure. Know what’ll happen now?”
“Sure,” Quade said, but Von Zorn kept on bitterly.
“The picture won’t draw flies! Because we used laboratory monsters, and now Gerry Carlyle’s brought back the real thing.”
“Why don’t you buy her cargo?” Quade asked.
A low, grating sound was heard as Von Zorn gritted his teeth. Eventually he found words.
“Do you think I haven’t tried? I offered her a fortune to forget her contract with the London Interplanetary Zoo and sell me the animals. Told her I could, use ’em in films. Here’s her answer.” He thrust a crumpled sheet of blue paper at Quade, who smoothed it out and read it aloud with interest.
Dear Von Zorn:
Nuts.
Gerry Carlyle.
With an effort Quade kept his face sober as he handed back the message to Von Zorn.
“You don’t deserve this, Chief,” he said solicitously. “So that’s why you want Doom World filmed, eh?. The most-popular book in ten years, with the strangest life-forms in the System. Thought it’d draw better than Gerry’s animals?”
“Exactly! We can’t lose on this. You’ve got to take it on, Tony.”
“It’s too big a job,” Quade said seriously. “And it’s plenty dangerous. I hear some of your biggest stars have been offered the lead roles, and said no.”
Von Zorn grunted.
“Neal Baker’s got the romantic lead. The heroine—is Kathleen Gregg.”
Quade whistled under his breath.
“A star role for her, eh?”
“Thought you’d be interested. I had a sneaking hunch you’d like to see Kathleen get ahead, so I gave her the part.”
“I catch on,” Quade said. “If I turn down the job, what happens to Kathleen?”
VON ZORN tried to register regret, but succeeded only in looking like a monkey with the colic.
“Why, I’m afraid we’ll have to let her go. It’s the only part I’ve got for her just now, and if you won’t take on the picture, Kathleen’s—out!”
Quade knew what that would mean to Kathleen Gregg. She had come to Hollywood on the Moon as a stow-away, and had been fascinated by the lunar metropolis ever since. Just lately Von Zorn had given her a contract.
“I hope a meteor hits you,” Quade told his employer. “You’d blow the Earth” to bits to get a hit picture. Okay, you win. I’ll film Doom World for you if it kills me—and it probably will.”
Von Zorn smirked. “Nothing pleases me as much as a spirit of willing cooperation,” he said smoothly, lighting a cigar made from greenish, aromatic lunar tobacco. “You will be well paid, Tony.”
“You’re darned right I will,” Quade observed from the door. “Wait’ll you get my expense account. I’ll put in everything from drinks to an engagement ring for Kathleen.”
“Always the joker,” Von Zorn chuckled. His grin widened as Quade, with a snort of disgust; slammed the door behind him.
The President of Nine Planets Films, Inc., pressed a button and spoke into a dictograph on his desk. Presently he said, “Thurman? Doom World’s going into immediate production. Tony Quade’s in charge. See that he gets full cooperation. He’ll need it!”
CHAPTER II
INTERIOR: The Silver Spacesuit—Quade and Kathleen seated at a table. Night, a month later.
WHEN you first saw Kathleen Gregg you immediately noticed her chin, then her eyes. She had a pointed little chin and snapping brown eyes, not yet tattooed to the popular tint of violet. Despite the fact that the Silver Spacesuit was the swankiest nightclub-restaurant in Hollywood on the Moon, Kathleen was wearing stained jodhpurs and eating scrambled eggs.
“There’s egg on your nose,” Quade pointed out helpfully.
“Go chase a meteor,” Kathleen said, and made a hasty dab with her napkin. Chuckling, Quade turned to the window beside him.
The great lunar metropolis stretched for miles beneath their vantage point. It was a city of domes and towers and gardens, blazing with vari-colored brilliance beneath stars which were pale by comparison. Far to the north could be seen the Cyclopean rampart of the Great Rim, the walls of the crater that held Hollywood on the Moon. Aircraft drove past incessantly, and a low murmur of traffic trickled up from the streets far below.
“It’s a great little city,” Kathleen said softly. “We’ll be beneath it tomorrow, Tony.”
“Yeah. The set’s built, and we’re ready to start shooting. I’ve had a biologist helping me who’s a wizard—Kenilworth. He’s created Plutonian life-forms that’ll make your hair stand up. Somehow he’s managed to overcome stiffness.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, the radio control unit, naturally can’t handle all the muscular and neural organization, and as a rule a robot animal’s body doesn’t work in coordination with itself. Too stiff, you know. But Kenilworth’s got something entirely new. Trouble is, he wouldn’t let me in on it. Said he’d be ready to show me the whole thing tomorrow. Some new invention—but Von Zorn ought to pay plenty for it.” Kathleen touched the dial of the radio at their side, and a throaty voice began to croon:
Where the Martian moons ride over,
Where the flame-flowers blossom and burn.
Till the Sun grows cold, and the planets grow old,
I’ll be waiting for you to return;
You brought me—
Quade gave a low, muffled howl and turned it off. Kathleen’s chin lifted. “What’s that for?”
“You—uh, you like it?”
“That was a Neal Baker recording!”
“It still smells.”
“Just because you don’t like it—”
“My dear friends,” said a pleasant, well-modulated voice, with a faint trace of some indefinable accent. “I’ve found you at last!”
“You lucky fellow,” Quade said. “Hello, Neal. Kathleen, I’m afraid you know Neal Baker already.”
She flashed him a deadly glance and moved over, offering Baker her-seat and squeezing Quade uncomfortably against the window.
“Thanks,” Baker said, sitting down. He looked exactly like what he was—the handsomest and most popular crooner in pictures. He was always being featured in romantic adventure films, and possessed a daredevil, swa
shbuckling air that was infinitely impressive.
“Tomorrow—the great adventure,” he said, looking into Kathleen’s eyes. “I’ll be very glad to work with you—may I call you Kathleen?”
“By all means,” Quade broke in genially. “She also answers to the name of Fathead, a sort of affectionate nickname, you know. I hate to mention it, Miss Gregg, but if you push me again I’ll fall out the window.”
“I hope you do,” Kathleen said meaningly.
BAKER laughed politely, and Quade turned to face him. “Neal,” Quade began, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this job. It isn’t an ordinary location flicker. I don’t know if you realize just how different it is.”
Baker raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve simply duplicated Plutonian conditions in a cave set. Eh?”
“Even fake Plutonian settings are bad stuff. And we’re not using regular robots. You’ll see what I mean tomorrow. Here’s the point; there’s danger in this job. Von Zorn put me in charge, and you’ll obey my orders. No publicity stunts. If you try anything like going off on a hunting trip, like you did last year on Phobos, there’s going to be trouble. These robots are muy malo.”
Baker smiled.
“I see. If there’s any publicity, you want it.”
Quade didn’t answer, but his lips tightened. Kathleen said, “Oh, don’t try to show your authority, Tony. Just because you don’t like Neal—”
“I see,” Quade grunted. “Might have expected this. They all do it, the minute they get a contract.”
Kathleen’s gaze was not pleasant. She said softly, “What?”
“Go Hollywood,” Quade told her, and got up to leave. The others made no move to restrain him. Going down in the elevator, he shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned into space. There was trouble ahead. He could sense it. Years of knocking about the System, grinding cameras from Mercury to the giant planets, had given Quade plenty of experience. He knew, somehow, that before Doom World was canned there would be complications.
Collected Fiction Page 52
