John Russell Fearn Omnibus

by John Russell Fearn

  The whole universe went out in blinding sparks and a welter of gradually subsiding pain…

  CHAPTER VII

  TRIP THROUGH SPACE

  By slow degrees Grant Mayson returned to consciousness. The details of the Council Room drifted in upon him, and with it the realization that the others had recovered, too, and that the girl Iana was standing a little apart, smiling at them.

  “You believe now?” Her voice was quiet, but anxious. “You have seen what happened. I died in the explosion on that space cruiser. I remained a mind without a body, unconscious in the infinite, until the law of chance and your electrical apparatus brought me accidentally back into being. The multillionth chance. Now you know—know many things, indeed. You men of science have wondered why Mars, my home world, is arid and has canals, why Vinra, or Venus, has dense clouds and yet no moon. The answer lies in the story I have told you by telepathy—a story which was enacted millions of years ago.”

  “Yes, we believe,” Stephen Balmore said, in an awed voice. “It was the most wonderful thing I have experienced—a telepathic trip into the dim past, the study of a science so mighty that it staggers the imagination. You other gentlemen are satisfied, I take it?”

  Grant and the remaining four men nodded promptly, then Grant added:

  “I would suggest that one of us records the full story for the sound tape immediately so that these other members of the Council may know the full details…For the moment, Iana, what are your intentions?”

  “I want to go to Venus,” she said seriously. “The people on that world are my own, my race. You have not the telescopes to probe through those clouds, and my knowledge is not great enough to show you how to make one. But I can show you how to build a space flyer.”

  “And would that be something!” Grant exclaimed.

  “What do you think, sir?” he asked of Balmore. “Is Miss Iana free to act as she chooses, and am I still in favour?”

  The head scientist smiled, “I think that we all realize that we are in the presence of a Martian scientist from a past time. We six are convinced. The others will be when they know the story. Yes, Miss Iana, you are free—on my responsibility.”

  He paused, a troubled look on his face.

  “A problem?” the girl asked quickly.

  “Yes, you might call it that. You are of Mars—and later of Venus—that we know. Yet you look exactly like any clever, educated woman of our own world here. In view of the general belief of science—on this planet anyway—that life on another world cannot be even remotely similar to ours, it seems odd that you should resemble us so closely.”

  “Yes, perhaps it does seem odd,” the girl admitted, reflecting. “I can only assume that bipeds evolve fairly similarly on worlds of one particular system. An inhabitant of Sirius’ system might be really different.”

  “Evolution has been more than kind to you, anyway,” Grant murmured, studying her.

  For a second she seemed to grasp the meaning behind his words, interpreted the look in his eyes. Then with a little smile she turned back to Stephen Balmore.

  “Do you think, doctor, that the Government of this country would grant me the facilities to build a space machine?”

  “I don’t see why not. Apart from the story which will be specially recorded for the President, we are a scientific race, though of course we are amateurs compared to you. But we believe in scientific progress, and for that reason I think a chance to visit Venus, and maybe other planets, will be too tempting to miss. It would be a large feather in America’s cap, too!”

  “I suppose that is saying you have enough science to carry it out.” Iana smiled. “Anyhow, I hope you will use your influence. In the meantime, until I get definite news, I’ll stay in my same room and work out the exact details for a space machine, ready for your engineers. For my information I want only one repayment—to join my race on Vinra, a race which must have grown to vast size from the original twenty. Some of them would have got back to the planet after that explosion, I’m sure. In fact I believe it only involved me.”

  “I’ll do all I can,” Balmore promised. “And you, Grant, had better come with me and explain as well. You’ve shown a grasp of science rather unique in connection with this problem.”

  Balmore’s guess was right. The President not only agreed to the construction of a space machine, but was eager to see the project a success. Easily he swayed Congress to his own way of thinking and, following his lead, the public made the girl a heroine of science to the accompaniment of fetes, charity bazaars, and theatre appearances.

  There was no more struggle necessary in order to establish her. She had arrived, was proclaimed a genius, placed in the care of the Scientific Association, and then given carte blanche to exercise her skill for the general advancement of the profession… And she did.

  Under her personal supervision a spaceship began to take shape in Pittsburgh, Grant handling the business end under orders from Balmore.

  Between times, with the easy generosity of great knowledge, the girl handed over to the State scientific secrets which to her were trifling, but which to America—and the world in general if America chose to be generous—meant vast improvement in everyday life. Special drugs for illnesses, new uses for radiant energy, weapons of defence. They all had their origin in her brilliant, fertile mind.

  And the space cruiser grew, made to house eight people—herself, Grant Mayson, Stephen Balmore, and the others who had submitted to her telepathic effort. To them, willing in the first place to believe, she had handed the supreme reward, the realization of any true scientist’s dream—travel to another world.

  The machine was finished early in the following year. Departure was in two days. Their particular work completed, Grant Mayson returned with the girl to the apartment in New York given to her by a grateful Government, but unlike other occasions Grant delayed leaving her. There was not another day’s work ahead to impel him home to rest. He felt he had the chance to talk to her at last, away from other people and distractions.

  “Iana,” he said quietly. “I’ve come to know you pretty well in these last months. For all your knowledge, it hasn’t made you cold and impersonal. You’re warm—decent —good natured, like a million other girls who haven’t got a shred of your ability.”

  “Well, thanks, Grant,” she laughed, handing him a drink from the side table but declining one herself. “For a scientist as good as you are that’s quite a speech!”

  “I—I want to ask you something.” Grant, hesitated and looked at her over his glass. “Do you think—? Iana, I’m in love with you!” he finished rather desperately. “I have been ever since that day I found you in the laboratory. I’m—I’m not a demonstrative sort of chap, you know. Scientists rarely are. But with you—well, now you know.”

  The girl’s face became serious as she studied his lean, earnest features. Tall, untidy as usual, he stood watching her.

  “I respect that love,” she said at, length. “I really do, Grant. But there is a barrier between us. The barrier of different worlds. We’re as apart as the ends of the Universe.”

  “I can’t believe that, Iana. I—”

  “But it’s true!” Her simple insistence quietened him. “I have loved only one man with all my heart, longed for the day when we could be married. That man, as you will have guessed, was Cal Anrax, the scientific wizard.”

  “But that happened millions of years ago! You can’t love him now!”

  “To me it was but yesterday. That is one reason why I want to go to Venus, to see what his genius made of the race, to see the monuments he left behind. I might even find a man of my own world who is a descendant of Cal. Then—then I believe I could be happy.”

  Grant sighed and put down his empty glass.

  “I’m jealous of that fellow,” he confessed. “He was a genius, I admit, but he’s only a memory. It makes me feel as though that memory comes between you and me. And it’s tough—especially loving you as much as I do.”

>   Iana was silent, reflecting. Then she laid a hand on his arm.

  “It is too soon to deal with this problem,” she said gently. “I must see Vinra first. Please leave it at that—for my sake.”

  Grant looked at her, at her lovely face so close to his own. A struggle mirrored on his gaunt features and passed.

  “Very well, Iana. For your sake.”

  *

  New Yorkers in particular and the world in general gave the space flyer a terrific send-off. The journey began at ten in the morning, and the departure was traced by television transmitters, newsreel cameras, reporters, and every other conceivable means of transferring on-the-spot news to those who were not present.

  Then, to the six in the control room—except to Iana who was accustomed to space travel—the wonder of the journey was the prime factor. Balmore, scientist ever, spent hours checking notes first hand on information he had formerly gathered through telescopes. The other experts each absorbed the grandeur in his own way.

  Grant felt that he ought to do the same, yet for a reason which puzzled him the journey was not a thrill. He was conscious, somehow, of the rather ridiculous feeling that he had done it before somewhere. Perhaps through the telepathic dream of Iana. But then, so had the other scientists, and yet they were fascinated now.

  Finally he settled down to a kind of routine interest in events, watching Earth shrink and Venus expand in all her argent, cloud-girt splendour. The girl herself handled the controlling of the machine, resting at given intervals and using the robot pilot to take over.

  So, finally, the gulf was covered and they nosed at last into the density surrounding the planet. Anxiety and earnest watchfulness settled on the party as the girl eased the machine down through the impenetrable vapours. Upon her features was an expression of worried interest, the look of a person expecting a dream to come true.

  The air screeched outside the thick hull and the clouds seemed to go down for miles. At last they burst below them, to find themselves no more than a thousand feet above ground. Instantly Iana levelled the machine out, looked below in puzzled wonder.

  There was no sign of civilization, or anything remotely like it. Only jungle—vast, crawling jungle—a smothering, steamy immensity of trees, vines, dense verdure, impenetrable beyond belief.

  “I don’t understand,” Iana whispered, flying the machine on in a straight line. “There must be some sign!”

  So she declared over and over again, but her belief was not realized. They completed a circuit of the planet from east to west, and then from north to south, without finding anything but vegetation or deep azure sea.

  Or, at least, almost without finding anything.

  They came more by accident than anything else upon five eroded stone columns in one clear patch of jungle, and here Iana decided to bring the machine down.

  Through the windows they could see they were on what had once been a terrace, but all formation of it beyond crumbled tiers and cracked colonnades had vanished before the snaking, eroding plant life.

  “Well, Iana?” Stephen Balmore asked at last, disappointed.

  “I don’t know,” she muttered, getting up and rubbing her head in a puzzled manner. “Not a trace nor sign of my race, and I just can’t imagine why not. I expected a completely civilized world, and instead we find this!”

  “We’d better go out and see what there is,” Grant suggested. “Come on.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  DEAD WORLDS

  Changing into tropical attire, they armed themselves with protonic guns and provisions, then stepped out through the airlock into the jungle. Silence, crushing heat, eternal vegetation which seemed to grow and die even as they moved. There was nothing else. No sign of anything that lived or breathed.

  For over two hours they searched assiduously amidst the ruins of the once beautiful, gigantic structure without finding a single sign, inscription, or clue to help them. At last Iana gave a despondent sigh and sat down on an eroded column.

  “Sheer waste of time!” she confessed. “My race has utterly vanished…”

  “Is it possible that they went underground?” Grant Mayson reflected, frowning. “Perhaps the vegetation proved too much for them and so they went below?”

  The girl gave him a quick look, then the hope born in her eyes faded.

  “It would have taken more than vegetation to defeat Cal Anrax,” she said seriously. “There must be some other explanation. Perhaps we have the wrong place.”

  She got to her feet suddenly, struck by a thought.

  “Of course!” she cried. “They probably returned to the home world! Cal said we would go back, just before I was killed. Perhaps he did that. Maybe they found a way through the force globe Vaxil and his scientists created.”

  “We can but look,” Grant acknowledged. “You agree, sir?”

  “By all means,” Balmore nodded. “Mars it is!”

  Happier at the thought that she had perhaps found a solution, Iana led the way back to the ship. Within ten minutes they were hurtling upwards again over the jungle, through the clouds, and out once more into the depths of space.

  Most silent of all as the journey got under way was Grant. He sat in the small chair by the forward port, a look of profound preoccupation on his features.

  “What is it, Grant?” the girl asked him presently. “Something seems to be worrying you?”

  “Hardly a worry—a puzzle,” he said, glancing up at her. “While I was on Venus, on that broken down terrace, I felt that I knew exactly where your race went, and yet I couldn’t quite place it. Is it possible that there were mental presences there affecting my mind? Trying to tell me something?”

  The girl reflected.

  “If that were so, Grant, why didn’t all of us sense it? Myself especially? I certainly didn’t notice anything.”

  Grant got to his feet and sighed.

  “Something queer about all this.” He rubbed his jaw pensively. “I feel like a man grasping at shadows, and yet who really knows the answer. Like a man who has had amnesia and who finds memory coming back to him at the sight of familiar signs and places.”

  The group in the control room was silent for a moment, puzzled. Then an extraordinary expression passed over Iana’s face. She seemed to come to the very verge of saying something, but it died again into moody speculation, even unbelief.

  “I suppose that space travel affects everybody in a different way,” Balmore said, fishing for solutions. “It must affect the brain strangely. That’s all that’s the matter with you, Grant.”

  “I guess so.” Mayson nodded and smiled. “Forget it! I’d better nail myself down henceforth to helping plot the course.”

  And he did, tirelessly, but Iana noticed that there were times when his eyes were looking at the cosmicharts unseeingly, when his thoughts were obviously millions of mile away…

  Mars, deserted, red, sprawling with its rusty red deserts, loomed up as a landscape after some hundred and thirty hours of steady travel.

  It was late in the Martian afternoon when they came within a thousand feet of the surface, the pale sun hanging out of the colourless blue sky.

  “If ever a world died, this one did,” Iana murmured sadly, piloting the machine on-wards steadily across the waste. “Can you picture it as a world of oceans, landscape, mountains, soft winds and warm sunshine? Wiped out, because Vaxil wanted it all for himself!”

  “Do you blame Cal Anrax for what he did?” Grant asked, his gaze on the endless waste of dead sea bottom below.

  “I never did and never shall. Cal did right. He knew all our own people had died, that only Vaxil and his Easterners were in possession of the planet. It was just retribution. But it looks as though my guess was wrong.” The girl sighed. “None of my people came here from Vinra, obviously—unless they have domiciled underground.”

  She flew the machine steadily onwards for over an hour, her eyes fixed on the unvarying sameness of the landscape. At last she gave a little cry and pointed ahe
ad.

  “There! See that? Like glass?”

  Grant, Balmore, and the scientists peered ahead at a shining half-moon projecting from the red sand.

  “That’s the force shield,” the girl explained excitedly. “The one we found.”

  “Still there, after all these millions of years?” Balmore asked incredulously. “How can that be?”

  “Why not? The generating force would be derived from the sun, and an energy under certain conditions can remain fixed for millennia. Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”

  Clearly the girl was too eager with discovery to bother deeply about the scientific issues. She maneuvered the ship downwards in a sweeping curve and they came to rest not a quarter of a mile from the dome.

  To clamber outside into the thin, cool air, stumble in the loose sand and light gravity towards it, was but the work of another ten minutes. Then they stood in silence peering through what was apparently clear glass—a fact disproved when Balmore touched it curiously then jerked his hand back with numbed fingertips.

  “Force is right!” he breathed. “And look at those men down there! Are those your people, Iana?” he asked wonderingly.

  A fixed expression had come to the girl’s face. She leaned as near the dome as she dared, staring down with the others into some kind of control room. Below was a group of men, oddly attired, standing or sitting before the switchboards of machines. With the passing moments they showed not the least trace of motion. They might have been carved in stone.

  “Well?” Grant asked finally. “What goes on?”

  “Why is it all such a problem?” the girl asked helplessly. “One of those men down there is Vaxil—the second from the left there. The others are his immediate henchmen, members of the very Council which sent Cal, and me, and the others away as Outcasts. Millions of years have passed, and yet these men still stand just as they were on the very day Cal and I looked through this dome together! Why? I just don’t understand it!”