John Russell Fearn Omnibus

by John Russell Fearn

  “In that case I’d take just the same troubles with me as he did,” Eric cried eagerly. “Say, Jonathan, that’s a get-out! An excuse—”

  “No, it ain’t.” Jonathan’s head shook stubbornly. “I figured she said she solved the diseases your dad took with him. That’s no way out…” He got to his feet and laid his veined hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Talking to you as man to man, Mister Eric—as a man nearly thirty years older than you are, I’m reminding you of your duty—your duty to your father’s great achievement, to his memory and your mother’s. Remember that she died with the wish you should do all you could to further the ideals of your dad.”

  Eric sighed. “Maybe, but this contingency hardly came into it. To give up everything! No—no, Jonathan; I love Earth too much.”

  Jonathan regarded him in silence for a moment. “You didn’t love it so much until Miss Benson dropped in,” he commented. “I can remember you saying you’d devote your life to the study of Mars. You even said you’d give anything to be there!”

  “Well, maybe Sonia—I mean, Miss Benson, has something to do with it,” Eric admitted, rubbing his head. “Can you blame me? I’m still young, unattached, and she’s beautiful and clever-—”

  “Ay, but men have faced similar problems and overcome them through sense of duty. Force of character.”

  Eric sprang up. “But a man has a right to choose between his natural life and his duty!” he snapped. “And I’m choosing right now! I’m not throwing away my life on a hell fired planet forty million miles from Earth… I want something out of life on this globe first.”

  “You want Sonia Benson,” Jonathan said, with unerring logic.

  “Oh—Oh, go to hell!” Eric roared, and swinging on his heel he stalked out of the room to his bedroom and slammed the door. Jonathan knocked the ashes out of his pipe, spat languidly.

  “Well, I guess he might do worse than sleep on it,” he muttered.

  *

  Eric slept badly, tortured by fantastic dreams in which he saw his Martian communicator as a pot-bellied, big-headed monstrosity moving through endless halls of bewildering machinery. He saw a face of no human parallel hovering superimposed on the midst of vast armies of soulless, marching robots. He saw hellish war descend on Earth, saw the complete collapse of civilization…

  He saw tears in the beautiful eyes of Sonia Benson, saw himself clasping her slim, delicate body in his arms—then old Jonathan came in from nowhere and laconically reminded him of his duty.

  He woke up wet with perspiration to find the dawn had arrived. Wearily he shaved and dressed, refused his breakfast at first; then thinking further, decided to have it after all.

  “Any decision, Mister Eric?” Jonathan ventured, chewing slowly.

  “Yeah! I’m not going through with it!” he retorted.

  “But, Mister Eric, your—”

  “I know—my duty! Well, to hell with it! I’m going into ’Frisco this morning to see Sonia. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  “So soon?”

  “Well, no harm in trying, is there? I’ll be back tomorrow night. You stay here and keep a watch on things while I’m gone. The Martian won’t communicate tonight in any case.”

  Jonathan shook his head sadly, lighted his reeking pipe. He watched in silence as Eric flung a few things in a valise, scrambled into his hat and coat, and stalked round to the garage. He was in a brittle, touchy mood…

  In ten minutes he was on his way, but night had fallen again before he reached the Mark Hopkins Hotel on one of the hills of ’Frisco.

  The girl seemed lovelier than ever as he entered her room on the fifth floor. She greeted him with warm gentleness, motioned to a settee and sat down beside him. Quietly she proffered a drink.

  “Something happened?” she asked presently. “You look worried.”

  “Do you mind,” Eric asked slowly, “if I call you Sonia?”

  She laughed. “Why, of course not! It’s much more informal. Besides, we’re the best of friends, aren’t we? We have common interests.”

  “I’d rather hoped we could be more than friends,” he said broodingly, studying his empty glass. “That’s what I came about. You see, I—I’m in love with you, Sonia…”

  She said nothing. Her multi-colored eyes were upon him as he looked up sharply. “Does it surprise you?” he asked quickly.

  She was slow to respond. “Well, no, Eric, it doesn’t surprise me—but I am inclined to doubt your very sudden avowal of the fact. A young man in love doesn’t usually work so—so fast, unless he’s driven by something. An impelling urge—probably fear. You’re driven by fear, aren’t you?” she asked seriously.

  “How ridiculous!” He seized her white hand. “Why on earth should fear drive me to you?”

  “The fear of losing me,” she answered steadily. “There’s something mighty real about a love like that, Eric: there aren’t any words to express how I appreciate it… But it’s forced!” she went on, her face puzzled. “You didn’t travel all this way to tell me you love me so much unless it was imperative you do it quickly. I’m not going to run away, therefore the urge is on your side. Come on, what is it? I’ve a right to know.”

  “There’s nothing, really,” he insisted. “If there is any fear at all it’s only because some other guy might muscle in and take you from me. I couldn’t bear that. I want you to marry me—and quickly.”

  “Without knowing hardly a thing about me?”

  “Oh, why be so old fashioned!” he protested. “If a guy loves a girl he does what he wants—marries her; if she’s willing, of course. Long engagements, family inquiries—they’re things of the past. Isn’t it enough that I want you? I’ve money enough…”

  “If we were married; what then?” she asked slowly.

  “Why, we’d go round the world—see everything there is to see. We’d even—”

  “And your experiments?” she broke in quickly.

  He shrugged, a little bitterly. “I’m giving them up. They’re a waste of time, anyway… Come on, Sonia, what do you say?”

  “Eric, I say this: something must have happened since I saw you last to make you act like this—something you heard over that Martian radio.” Her voice was very decisive. “You’d never drop the experiments otherwise and try to snatch at happiness with me. If happiness it would prove…”

  “But, Sonia—”

  “I’m sorry, Eric, but I won’t marry you yet, not until I know what is behind all this business. It doesn’t convince me. I’ll help you with your experiments in a couple of days or so. To make the thing decent we can even be engaged to be married, but not until I have every detail will I give my consent.”

  He shrugged reluctantly. “O.K., then, if that’s how you want it…” He sat for a moment in moody silence, then brightened a little. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he cried. “Now I’m in ’Frisco I intend to have some fun. Come on out, before the jewelers shut up shop. Tomorrow I’m returning to the shack, but until then—”

  He broke into a laugh, and the girl smiled—then she turned and withdrew to her dressing room.

  IV – Eric Decides

  Eric was conscious of an increasing bitterness of heart as he set off on the return journey from ’Frisco next morning. He had left Sonia with a solitaire ring on her finger and the promise that she would join him within a day or two. With that he had had to be satisfied.

  But he found himself wondering what decision he was going to give this night when the Martian tuned in. Sonia would never marry him until she knew the truth; and once she did know it and realized he had thrown over duty for love of her she would probably cut him dead anyway. On the other hand, if he agreed to the Martian proposition he automatically finished his Earthly associations.

  Small wonder his mood was one of black despair by the time he reached the shack in the evening shadows. Jonathan was waiting for him with a hot meal out on the table. He said but little; he could see Eric’s mood was still anything but pleasant…
r />   For a long time Eric ate in moody silence, until at last Jonathan ventured to speak.

  “Did you see Miss Benson, Mister Eric?”

  “More than that; I became engaged to her. I’m going to marry her.”

  “Then the Martian—?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” Eric tossed down his knife and fork, looked keenly across the table. “I’ve decided it boils down to a matter of self-defense, of playing bluff with bluff. How do I know this Martian speaks the truth, anyway? How does she know I’ll keep my word even if I accept her damnable proposition? There’s not the slightest reason why the mistake of a father should be visited on the child. In plain words, Jonathan, I’m not taking the rap for something my father did… I’m fed up with the whole damned Martian business. I intend to enjoy life. I’ll give this Martian my assent—sure I will; I might even carry out the experiments she’ll suggest, but just suppose I met with some accident on my way into space? Suppose I was killed? How could she ever find out?”

  “I dunno, Mister Eric—but she seems to have some mighty tricky instruments.”

  “Maybe she has, but I’ll wager she wouldn’t find out anything if she saw a space ship leave Earth and then vanish in space, never to land on Mars. She’d think I’d started out and got lost. Truth would be I’d never begun to go. But it would stop that idea of war. She’d think I’d shown willingness anyhow.”

  Jonathan pondered through an interval. “It might,” he agreed, rather doubtfully. Then seriously, “I’m rather regrettin’ that Miss Benson ever happened in on you like she did, Mister Eric. You’ve not been the same man since—”

  “Now don’t start preaching!” Eric snapped, getting to his feet. “I’ll handle this in my own way. I’m going to concentrate on Mars now and give my assent.”

  “And suppose the things you’ve just planned have also registered way up there?”

  “Not very likely. They were ordinary thoughts with no direct concentration on any given objective… Now shut up and let me concentrate.” Eric closed his eyes and sat in silence for a good ten minutes, then he looked up. “Guess that ought to fix it, anyway. We’ll see what comes through.”

  He moved to the receiver and switched it on, was rewarded with the usual static… For nearly two hours he wandered moodily round the little room, smoking incessantly, waiting for a communication to come—and at last he was rewarded. That far distant voice began to speak.

  “Your concentration message has been received, Eric Sanders. You will not regret your decision. You will begin to prepare yourself. Now listen carefully and record or write down what I shall tell you. I will wait awhile for you to gather your instruments together…”

  Smiling rather grimly Eric threaded steel tape from spool to spool of the recorder, started it in motion as the voice resumed again.

  “Air on this planet was once practically identical in pressure to that of Earth, therefore within this underground city it is but little different from your own, even though our surface air is unbreathable—cold, and almost dehydrated. Air adaptation may therefore be discounted. The physical changes in your body will be those of adaptation to a gravity 2/5ths of Earth normal, and the development of your brain to the extent of reading thoughts within a range of five hundred Earthly yards. Martians are naturally highly telepathic; we have advanced further than you. You have the same root possibilities in your brain, but they can only be brought into force by the application of certain electrical frequencies. First, however, we will deal with the matter of gravity.

  “Gravity is still as much a mystery to Martian science as it is to yours. We do not know whether it is basically magnetic, a pucker in space-time, or some type of force—but we do know its effect on the body. As was proved in the case of your sire, change to a lesser gravity creates death for one very good reason. The blood of an Earthling is held in its circulatory tract by gravity fixed at Earth-norm; but when that pull is considerably lessened it produces an excess flow to the brain—arteries and veins no longer perform their correct function under the decreased pull. In consequence, there is an effect which I might call slow apoplexy.

  “Further than that, assuming for a moment that this did not occur, the muscles are entirely out of coordination, and the conception of pleasant lightness and jumping about on a lesser gravitated world is so much myth. One must be prepared, have every muscle trained, have the blood stream diluted so that the removal of gravitational pull creates no harm. Even as you on Earth have invented chemicals for enriching the blood, usually with a basis of iron and phosphates, so Martian science has found one which renders the quality of Earthly blood inferior, yet enables it to maintain bodily health because the substitute is so perfectly matched to feed the brain and nerves… Here is the formula, which from a study of Earth materials I understand can be easily made…”

  Eric listened, watched the recording tape. His interest was oddly stirred anew by the long string of chemicals uttered by the passionless, steady voice. For the moment the scientist in him was absorbed again by the eerie fascination of this strange communication between worlds.

  “You will have that formula made up, different chemists supplying different ingredients so no particular one can possibly make the whole. You will inject it into a vein with a hypodermic three times a day for an Earthly week. At the end of that time your blood stream will be fitted for Martian conditions. While you remain on Earth the effect will be one of slight light-headedness, but not sufficient to upset your general health…

  “Now for your muscles. On Mars your muscles will propel you with a power far stronger than is prudent for your body. In time you would become a mass of strained tendons and ligatures through overuse. Therefore the muscular strength must be weakened to a given degree.

  “You will accomplish this by using an electrical radiation which will slightly loosen the molecular build-up of your muscles and flesh until they become normal for Mars. On Earth you will feel extremely frail, but here on Mars you will be normal. For the electrical radiation you can use an ordinary generator, but equip it with a projector to the following design…”

  The tape recorded every word of the designing that followed. It was not particularly intricate, but highly unusual. Within it was to be a wire coil, its number of turns round a copper drum giving the exact radiation required to produce the molecular loosening.

  “For a week you will adopt these measures,” the voice concluded. “A week from the time you have made up the formula and built the radiation projector. I will communicate at intervals while you progress. Once you have accomplished these two things the final work will take place—that of rendering your brain Martian-normal, able to receive and transmit thoughts over a five hundred yard range. Also you will discover how to prevent the carriage of Earthly germs to Mars. It will consist of a formula for a liquid which you will spray over every article you bring from your world…. You will not regret this, Eric Sanders. An empire awaits your coming. For the time being, farewell…”

  Eric sat in silence for a long time after the communication ceased, until at last Jonathan’s dry voice aroused him,

  “Well, Mister Eric, what are you going to do about it? It seems kind of obvious to me that that Martian woman trusts you. She’s looking to you to do the right thing, on your honor as a man of Earth.”

  “Yeah… I guess that’s right.” Eric frowned, stirred uneasily. “You know, I got the funniest impression while she was talking. A sort of feeling that science is the only thing that matters in the long run, and yet—Oh, hell, I don’t know!”

  “It’s in your hands, Mister Eric, and when it comes to a matter of an empire’s fate—Well, it’s duty as ought to count.”

  “But, Jonathan, there’s Sonia—”

  “She’s only one woman, lad. I’m not doubting you’d find pleasure with her, but it won’t get you no place. At heart you’re a scientist and idealist like your dad. It’ll take more’n a beautiful girl to turn you aside… Leastways, I’m hoping so.�
��

  “Two hours ago I’d have told you to soak your head in a bucket,” Eric muttered. “Now I begin to think you’re right. I have a duty, tough going though it’s going to be… O.K.! I’ll keep my word to this Martian. I’ll explain to Sonia—somehow—when she comes,” he finished gloomily.

  Jonathan rose up with sudden eagerness, fixed the spools so that they read back the messages that had been received.

  “Now you’re talking, boy!” he cried eagerly. “I’m backing you to the end…”

  *

  In the days that followed Eric followed out the Martian’s orders with an enthusiasm that amounted almost to frenzy. It was a spurious energy, and most certainly didn’t deceive the all-embracing eyes of old Jonathan. It was not so much the love of science that was driving Eric this way, but the almost fanatical desire to convince himself that he didn’t care a damn about Earth, Sonia, or anything else. He smothered himself in hard work to drown out all other natural calls of his being—and to a partial extent he succeeded.

  So hard did he work he had the radiation projector fixed inside a week, personally traveled to San Francisco and lodged the order for the special coil winding with an electrical firm. In two days—days in which he studiously avoided visiting the Mark Hopkins Hotel or sending any messages—the coil was finished and he returned to his shack. That part of the work was done.

  The chemical formula was more difficult. He had to contact some fifteen different experts in chemistry in leading cities before he was finally assured of success. Another fortnight was swallowed up, and during the time he received no further messages from Mars, nor any word or visit from Sonia. He began to hope she had forgotten him, or that she was a worthless flirt—anything rather than the attractive, delightful girl she appeared to be. It would make it easier to turn her down when the time came…

  True to instructions he injected the pale yellow chemical fluid into his arm three times a day, found it interfered but little with his health. There was only a trace of sickness the first day, then the effect began to wear off and was replaced by the predicted sensation of light-headedness. Unpleasant, undoubtedly, but not enough to interfere with his work. The stuff had an odd effect on his skin too—changed it from its normal healthy bronze to dead white. It struck him as distinctly effeminate. He found also, through an accidental cut whilst shaving, that his blood had become infinitely paler than normal. Any doctor would have pronounced him as a sufferer from pernicious anaemia.