World Without Chance

by John Russell Fearn

  Ada gave a little cry of horror and turned away, raced for her tent. Reid came up in the mixture of lights, drawn by the Oriental’s last despairing cries. Our eyes met.

  “What this time?” he demanded curtly.

  “Ling’s been murdered!” I lifted him easily in my arms and for the second time within a few hours bore a dead body into Reid’s tent. He examined the body briefly then plucked out the dart with tweezers, staring at the end. He smelt it quickly.

  “Cyanic acid,” he announced. “Kills in about seventy seconds.”

  I looked at him murderously. “So it’s another of your precious outfit on the job?” I breathed. “The same crowd that had a go at Ada and me—”

  “Don’t be absurd,” he interrupted calmly. “This is only a sliver of wood, not a dart. Besides, only one person did this—Kiol. He could easily get at my supplies of cyanic acid in the tent here. Fashioning a dart and blowpipe would be nothing to him. Clearly it was revenge. He loathed the very sight of Hu Ling, as you may remember.”

  What was I to say? It was perfectly logical reasoning, and very probably quite true. Besides the dart was only crude; nothing like that other one—

  “Listen, Reid,” I said slowly, “Ling’s death is perhaps explainable in the way you’ve said. But with regard to the other things—”

  I broke off purposely, took him off guard. In one swift action, timing my leap exactly with the gravitation, I vaulted the table, grabbed him round the throat and bore him to the floor. The uppercut I slammed at him dazed him completely. By the time he’d recovered his wits, I had his gun steadily leveled.

  “Now you’re going to spill something!” I snapped, with a pleasant satisfaction in my heart. “And remember it would be a pleasure to kill you if you try any tricks! It looks as though one murder more wouldn’t make much difference anyhow! Get up, damn you!”

  He got up, his face like marble. “I really see no reason for such violence,” he said irritably, fingering his jaw.

  “Spill it!” I ordered inexorably. “And be quick about it!”

  He seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. “All right, I’ll tell you. Probably you’d know in any case in the finish, so what’s the odds? Maybe you’ll see how foolish you’ve been. Where do you imagine the lost races of Mars went to?”

  It was a surprising question, but I answered it quickly enough. “Vanished under the sand. Anybody knows that. We’ve examined Mars from end to end and found their buried cities—traces of their vast scientific achievements and marvelous resources. We’ve even found broken Martian coins—”

  “Coins! There you have it!” For once his pale eyes were gleaming almost fanatically. “Like every other scientist I have examined Mars. I have broken coins amidst my souvenirs. But imagine my feelings when Kiol, a native of Io, came to Earth and brought me a couple of darts with tempered jílian steel tips, the halves of several coins which roughly matched my own souvenir coins, and the story of a hidden city! The coins, of course, were not identical halves, but of same type. See here.”

  He felt in his pocket and produced two broken halves of a coin. Indeed, they fitted roughly and were undoubtedly of Martian origin. He made to return them to his pocket, but I snatched at them quickly—too quickly. They slipped from my hand and plopped into the sticky ilution sap on the bench, sinking instantly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You can see it’s true enough.”

  I looked at him in bewilderment. “You’re not suggesting that the Martians came to Io, are you?”

  “Not all of them, but some did—probably a remnant who escaped from the red planet before it finally succumbed to the devastating effects of dehydration. They chose Io because it was best fitted for their purposes. The gravitation is not entirely dissimilar to Mars. This world at that time would be rich and comfortable. Yes, they established themselves in what are now the jungles, and remains of their cities are still here. Kiol saw them—and now I have seen them.”

  “Then that dart—”

  “A Martian dart, obviously. In the interval of the ages these migrated Martians have lost nearly all their old skill and become degenerate, have reverted to the methods of the primitive. But the primitive doesn’t match up entirely when they tip their darts with jilían steel! That was what gave me my first clue. There they have an art that we of Earth haven’t even begun to master.

  “Think then for one moment of the vast buried scientific secrets in that city of theirs—secrets far greater than those on Mars itself, for the migrating people would naturally take their most valuable possessions. Today I saw that city, guarded by a handful of degenerates. Most of the place is apparently automatic and requires no brains to keep it going. A glorious scientific and mechanical heritage left from a day of supreme knowledge—

  “In that city are secrets beyond our knowledge—but among them are such solved enigmas as matter projection over a distance, super-telepathy, the release of atomic force, the tempering and fashioning of incredibly hard metals—

  “Now you know what I’m trying to do. Trying to rediscover Martian science for the sake of Earth—wrest it from these degenerates who no longer need it.”

  “So that’s it!” I said slowly, musing. “Then where does the death of Nick Charteris fit in?”

  “I’ve already told you I don’t know,” he answered calmly.

  Even then I didn’t believe him—but I did believe the Martian migration theory. I’d seen the darts for myself.

  “Then the ilution trees were just a gag to get here?”

  He smiled twistedly. “There was no other way. I have very little money of my own. I knew Brook would never fall for the idea of a Martian migration, but something up his own alley got him right away.”

  “But that piece of rubber you showed us?”

  “That was genuine,” he said, surprisingly enough. “I have the secret of untearable ilution rubber. As a matter of fact, it is done by a chemical extracted from an ore which I found on Mars. I could have made plenty of money out of it, of course, but I preferred to defer it for a while and use it as a means to an end. To come here. That stuff in the pot there is ordinary ilution which I melted over a fire.” He stopped and looked at me steadily. “Well, now you know. What are you going to do?”

  1 started to say there was little I could do, but Ada interrupted me. She looked eagerly from one to the other of us; then said, “I think Dad’s getting better! Come and look!”

  I took her arm and we hastened across the clearing. The moment I looked at Brook, I could tell he was better. He was sitting up in his bunk, rather breathless, but the greenness of the moon fever had left him.

  “What the devil’s been going on?” he demanded impatiently. “I don’t seem to remember—”

  “You’ve been ill—and things have been happening,” I told him seriously. I thought the two murders better be kept quiet for the moment on the off chance of a relapse.

  He made a wry face. “Ill!” he snorted disgustedly. “And after all the preventatives I took! Well, ill or otherwise, I want something to eat—and quick! Something good! None of that damned canned stuff from the ship.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing else,” remarked Reid quietly, coming in. “Unless, of course—” He fell to thought for a moment.

  “Unless what?” Brook snapped. He had the fierce impatience of the moon fever’s hangover.

  “Unless one of us could kill a rocket-bird. Their flesh is as tender as turkey. Unhappily, I’m not very good at game hunting.” Reid looked at me suggestively. Certainly I knew more about the job than him.

  “How soon do you want a meal?” I asked Brook, and he blew out his cheeks in exasperation.

  “Right now, of course! I’m starving, man! And I want some coffee, too! Black!”

  “I’ll—I’ll see to it, Dad,” said Ada quickly, and went away swiftly to take Ling’s place at the cooking tent.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. “I’ll want a rifle, Reid.”

  We went
out together, looked at each other silently.

  “I hope by now we understand each other?” he asked slowly. “Now you see why I stopped any arms. Not only from the point of view of possible fever madness, but because a chance Martian coming near this clearing might have got hurt. That might have released diabolical scientific forces upon us. See?”

  I didn’t, but I nodded. Handed him back his gun. “O.K.,” I growled. “Maybe I was wrong at that.”

  “I’ll get your rifle,” he murmured, and went toward the river, unhooked one of the motorboats, and went over to the Stardust. In ten minutes he was back and handed me an ordinary rifle.

  “See you later,” he said, in a voice that somehow struck me as peculiar. Then he turned back to his tent to make the necessary arrangements for the burial of Hu Ling.

  I looked round the clearing, listened to Ada’s bustling with pots and pans, the impatient shouts of her father, the creak of the table in Reid’s tent as he hauled the dead Oriental off it. Then I turned and strode into the jungle, heading to the point three miles away where there was apparently a good nesting ground of rocket-birds.

  Yet as I went I was uneasy. Why, I did not know. The thought of Ada alone with Reid troubled me. Even more so when I realized that Brook would be unable to protect her. Moon fever leaves a fellow’s legs like tapers for days afterward.

  Besides, he was unarmed. Reid had the key to the arms cabinet.

  V.

  The jungle was completely silent as I moved swiftly through it, guiding my course like any other jungle expert by the position of the stars. Once you know Io’s revolution and changing sky and moons, it isn’t difficult.

  I chose a particularly fat specimen, sighted, and fired. The din of my gun boomed in the hot silence. The shot bird’s parachute membrane collapsed and it dropped lightly to the ground. In five minutes I’d scooped it up from the moving, disturbed birds, and headed back into the jungle.

  But as I came within earshot of the camp once more, I could hear Brook shouting hoarsely. Shouting for me!

  Immediately I doubled my efforts, vaulted the last bush, and came into the clearing. It was oddly deserted in the pale light. Dropping the bird in the cooking tent, I raced across to where Brook was hollering.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” I panted, bursting in.

  He gulped for breath. “It’s—it’s Ada! Reid went off with her a few minutes ago, along with Kiol. I saw it all from here and couldn’t do a thing!” He clutched my arm. “He took her by force, Dick!” He panted. “Threw her over his shoulder, gagged her to stop her cries—but I saw them just the same. I can’t understand it. They—they went upriver. Blast it, if only I wasn’t so weak!” he finished in despair.

  Without a word I raced out of the tent, grabbed a few tins of compressed food and a bottle of restorative, and took them in to him.

  “Get these inside you!” I said curtly. “You’ll have to wait for your rocket-bird. I’m going after Ada. I damn well felt something like this would happen!”

  “But what does it mean? Where’s he taken her?” he demanded huskily. “I never thought Reid—”

  “No time to explain now,” I tossed out as I left, and in flying leaps headed for the river. Then at its edge I stopped. For one thing, Reid had driven a hole through the bottom of the remaining motorboat, and it was awash. For another, I had no idea where this Martian city was situated. And even on Io a thousand miles of packed jungle is pretty impossible to search in.

  The only thing to do was to repair the boat and then take a chance. I had it out of the water in five minutes. In another five I was at work with tools repairing the four-inch rip in the bottom. I worked with a desperate, feverish intensity, the thought of Ada slogging all the time into my mind.

  I saw it all now. Reid had engineered it very nicely from the beginning. He’d put Kiol and Ling together and favored their antipathy until at last the Ionian had killed for revenge. Then he’d undoubtedly been back of the death of Nick Charteris. And lastly the idea that I leave camp and look for food— That had been smart! It had left him free to take Ada. But why? That was the thing that appalled and perplexed me.

  I worked onward in a grim mood, wondering as I slammed home the rivets how I could possibly trail Reid upriver. Then a sudden movement in the bushes of the clearing to my rear brought me round with leveled rifle. To my amazement it was Kiol who burst into view, breathing hard, sweat glistening brightly on his blue skin.

  For several seconds he could not speak, only gulp for breath and motion back to the jungle. Then at last he got it out.

  “Miss Brook and Reid—they back in jungle. City. Woman in exchange for science. She help me one time. I escape and help her now. Come tell you. Have to hurry.” He looked back over his shoulder anxiously.

  My jaws snapped shut suddenly. I drove home the last rivet and pushed the boat into the river, tossing in my rifle. Racing to the cook tent, I swept up some stuff and tossed a sleep-preventative tablet into my mouth. Returning to the boat I motioned to Kiol and had him leap in beside me. I took no thought for Brook. He was safe enough anyhow. The immediate job on hand was to locate Ada—before it was too late.

  I drove the motor on our little boat to the absolute limit of its capacity, sending the craft chugging in a tremendous wake along the swiftly flowing river. Naturally, with a lesser gravity, we moved at a far greater speed than would have been possible on Earth.

  Kiol kept his eyes fixed on the long vista. He hardly spoke at all, and when he did it was only to urge greater speed. That couldn’t be done; we were going all out.

  It seemed an eternity to me. I never knew a river to stretch so far—but I found that we had actually been on the way for thirty minutes when Kiol finally signaled sharply and pointed to a lee of the bank. Immediately I pulled toward it, grabbed my rifle, and vaulted off the boat yards before it touched shore. Kiol came up beside me, pointing to a faintly defined trail in the shifting light.

  “Through there—straight to city,” he said quickly.

  At top speed I jumped along it, vaulted the shrubs that loomed in the way, and finally burst through the screen of vines at the top of the rise. Immediately I came upon my first sight of that forgotten outpost. It stopped me involuntarily.

  In the light of Jupiter and Europa it covered perhaps two miles of a natural jungle clearing, at the most barren point of which I was now standing. In every direction loomed the crumbled ramparts of once magnificent architecture—eroded columns of stone, skeletal walls, their masonry crumbled into now-smashed streets that had once been picturesque.

  I began to move forward, only to stop as Kiol suddenly cried sharply and dropped in his tracks. In horrified amazement I stared down at his head. Half of it had been incinerated!

  “Kiol—” I cried hoarsely, then I broke off and twisted round at a smooth voice behind me.

  “I shouldn’t make any moves if I were you, Cambridge. Drop your rifle!”

  It was Ludwig Reid, of course, standing just in front of the nearby bushes. On either side of him were two of the queerest creatures I’d yet seen. In some vague way they looked Earthly, but only in the faces. Their bodies were those of an insect, supported on eight bowed, powerful legs.

  “The degenerates,” Reid explained casually. “Men of Mars, no longer masters of the mighty intelligence they once possessed.” He came up slowly as I studied them, his flame gun held at the ready. “I rather fancied you’d come along when I missed Kiol!” Turning deliberately he kicked the dead Ionian in the ribs, then with a sneer turned back to me. “You don’t place much value on your life, do you, Cambridge?”

  That was too much for me. In that moment my accumulated hatred for the man suddenly spilled over. I hurled myself at him with clenched fists—but I never landed a blow. Instead, he anticipated the move and slid to one side, at the same time bringing the butt of his gun down with tremendous force.

  Blinding fire burst soundlessly before my eyes.

  * * * *

  A
s I recovered consciousness, I realized that I was lying on cold stone in the moonlit ruins of what had once no doubt been a vast hall of scientific instruments. Indeed, the instruments were still there. I could see their shadowy outlines as I slowly opened my eyes and warily looked about me.

  Very carefully I turned my head and saw a dim vista of huge, incomprehensible instruments crouched in the shadows. Most of them seemed to be intact, but in design they were quite incomprehensible. My main impression was that of titanic electromagnets, tubes, generators, vacuum globes, and other generalized material, all of which seemed to be linked by heavy cables to a huge switchboard at the far end of the place.

  I turned a little farther, then the movement was arrested as an insect Martian merged out of the shadows bearing in his tentacled ‘hand’ a cup of beautifully wrought jilian steel. In his other hand was one of his deadly darts, poised ready for an instant drive into my heart if I refused his advances.

  There was only one chance, and I took it. I raised the cup toward nay lips, then paused suddenly and gave a hoarse shout, pointing at the same time to the distant shadowy masses of machinery. As I’d hoped, the guards twisted round briefly, and in that second I hurled the cup’s contents over my left shoulder. By the time they looked at me again I was simulating all the actions of drinking.

  I ‘drained’ the cup, handed it back, and waited tensely. I wondered whether I was supposed to drop dead or throw a couple of handsprings. It was Reid who supplied the answer. He came softly from some adjoining part of the hall and looked at me in grim amusement in the moonlight.

  “Well, you begin to feel the hardening effects?” he asked pleasantly. “In case you’re not aware of it, you have just drunk a liquid containing inert calcium. In that condition it is odorless, but the moment it starts to mix with the hemoglobin of the bloodstream it becomes an active element and changes your entire body to stone, in the space of perhaps an hour. Pleasant, isn’t it?” He looked at me in unholy satisfaction.