“Remember, it would mean your life if Valdane suspected your identity,” cautioned Crewe. “He’s ruthless as a Venusian swamp-adder.”
“He won’t suspect,” answered Captain Future, grinning. “Don’t you see, I can join that expedition in an absolutely perfect disguise.”
“Holy space-imps!” exclaimed Otho excitedly. “I get it, chief. It’ll be the greatest impersonation feat in history.”
Chapter 2: Daring Imposture
THE big studios of Telepictures Incorporated, near New York Spaceport, were highly busy. In these mammoth metal buildings were made the stereofilm dramas that were televised to receivers all through the nine worlds. And busiest of all this morning was the studio devoted to the preparations that were being made for the epic “Ace of Space” expedition.
Big cameras, krypton spotlights, powerful sun-arcs, and other highly complicated equipment of all kinds, was already being transferred from the studio to the space-ship which lay docked in the nearby spaceport. That ship, the Perseus, was a small liner which had been literally converted into a flying studio for this far-flung location trip. Sam Martin, the weary-looking head “prop” man, prodded his men as they trucked anti-heat equipment, special space-suits, and all the other paraphernalia to the ship. Before it was taken away, each item was alertly inspected by Lo Quior, the little, spectacled Martian technical director who was one of the industry’s greatest wizards in creating special effects.
Jim Willard, cynical-looking young assistant director, strode across the shadowy, noisy main studio and entered a room in which a crowd of nearly forty young men were nervously waiting.
They were all Earthmen, and all of them were tall and red-haired, the shades of their hair ranging from dark rust to flaming auburn.
“All right, Mr. Lewis will look you over now,” Willard told the eager crowd. “Just walk past his desk and turn to face him.”
Nervously, the crowd of young men followed him out into the noisy main studio. There they formed into single file and slowly walked past the producer’s desk. Jeff Lewis, director and producer of some of the most thrilling space-epics in telepicture history, was a middle-aged, stocky Earthman with a tight, wise face and brooding eyes. He dourly inspected the faces of the eager applicants.
A chance to break into telepictures, to star in the biggest space-film ever made! No wonder Jeff Lewis’ talent-search for a young actor who looked like Captain Future had evoked such a great response. Every day, for the last fortnight, eager, redhaired applicants had come.
Lewis curtly turned down one after another of the hopeful young men as they reached his desk.
“You’re too short — height can’t be altered by make-up. And you won’t do because your skull’s the wrong shape — that’s another thing that would show. No, not you. Nor you.” One by one, the crestfallen rejectees filed away. The others still in line obviously were losing hope at this merciless weeding-out.
But finally Lewis stopped one of them, a tall, pleasant-faced, shy-looking young fellow with dark red hair.
“What’s your name?” the producer demanded.
“Chan Carson,” replied the young man with trembling eagerness. “I haven’t had any acting experience, Mr. Lewis, but I hoped —”
“We can teach a man to act, at least enough for this picture, but we can’t teach him to look like Captain Future if he doesn’t have a strong basic resemblance,” barked Jeff Lewis. “You have it, in a way.”
The producer compared the photographs of Captain Future on his desk with Chan Carson’s face and profile. Jim Willard also eyed them.
“The color of his hair and eyes are a little off, but makeup can fix that,” muttered Lewis.
“His nose isn’t aquiline enough, but that too can be remedied. Skull-shape, weight, height and features are otherwise the closest we’ve come across yet.”
“Who are you, anyway?” the producer asked Chan Carson. “What do you do for a living?”
The tall, hopeful young man answered timidly. “I’m a clerk over in the Interplanetary Department Store.”
“Good gosh,” muttered Jim Willard under his breath. “Are we going to use a clerk who’s never been off Earth to play Captain Future?”
THE film director smiled. “Didn’t I take a big, dumb doorman from a hotel and use him as Black John Haddon in ‘Star Pirate’?” retorted Jeff Lewis. “I can teach a man to act, if he looks the part. This Carson fellow does. He’s the only one we’ve found yet who looks even remotely like Captain Future. Make-up will erase the differences, and your coaching will get him through his scenes.”
Chan Carson’s earnest face flushed with eager hope as he listened. “I’ll do anything you say if you pick me for the part, Mr. Lewis,” he promised in fervent tones.
His eagerness was not assumed. He had to get this part, Curt Newton was telling himself. For ‘Chan Carson,’ underneath a slightly disguised exterior, was none other than Captain Future himself!
It was Newton’s audacious scheme to get himself included in this mysteriously-motived telepicture expedition which Jon Valdane was backing. He had explained it to the astounded President, the night before.
“It’ll be a perfect disguise for me, if I can do it,” he had told Daniel Crewe. “They’re hunting for someone who looks like Captain Future, to play his part in their picture. If I can get that part, I can go along on the expedition without Valdane or his men dreaming that I’m really Captain Future. I’ll have a real chance to discover and checkmate their plans.”
Newton had known better than to look too much like himself when he applied for the role. That might arouse suspicion. So he had slightly altered the shape of his nose and the shade of his eyes and hair.
Jeff Lewis was speaking to the skeptical Willard. “Remember, this will be an action picture. He won’t have to do any emoting in close-ups.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of a stunning blonde girl who clung possessively to the arm of a chubby, middle-aged Earthman.
Curt Newton instantly recognized them both. He knew from posters around the studios that the girl was Lura Lind, one of the most popular feminine stars in telepictures. With her smooth platinum hair, flawless features and supple figure, she was dazzling. The man with her was Jon Valdane. Crewe’s description left no doubt. Yet it seemed incredible that this chubby little man with the kewpie-like face and beaming blue eyes could be the plotter who was scheming to loot a world.
Newton remembered the President’s warning. “He doesn’t look it, but he’s ruthless as a Venusian swamp-adder.”
Valdane was speaking in a piping voice to the producer. “I’m all ready to go with you when the expedition leaves, Lewis. My friend Kin Kurd, the Saturnian politician, is going with me too.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Valdane.” It seemed to Newton that Jeff Lewis’ words lacked heartiness. “Of course, you know that this will be no pleasure cruise. We’re going into the most dangerous spots in the System.”
If the producer was trying to dissuade Jon Valdane from the trip, he failed. The chubby little financier answered confidently.
“It’s worth a few hardships to be near Lura,” he said, with an infatuated glance at the blonde star. “And to make sure there’s no risk, I’m taking along my own personal bodyguard, Su Thuar.”
“Su Thuar.” Captain Future repeated that name to himself with sudden dismay. He knew the ‘bodyguard’ to whom the financier referred.
Su Thuar was a young Venusian criminal with whom Curt Newton had clashed four years before. He had killed the Venusian’s brother in an underworld rendezvous on Saturn, and had sent Su Thuar himself to prison.
He knew that Su Thuar wanted vengeance for that. If the Venusian’s hate-sharpened eyes penetrated his identity during the trip, it might mean disaster.
Jeff Lewis was introducing him to Valdane and the blonde star. “This is Chan Carson, folks — our ‘Captain Future’. He’s only a dry-goods clerk now, but I’ll make an actor of him.”
C
URT NEWTON bowed to them. Lura Lind inspected him with scornful blue eyes, and then spoke to Lewis with strident resentment.
“If you think I’m going to play opposite a rabbity clerk who’ll spoil all my scenes, you’re crazy,” she told the producer.
“Would I pick him if I didn’t think I could mold him into the part?” Lewis demanded. “You leave the casting to me, Lura.”
Curt Newton, the picture of nervous timidity, heard Valdane mildly support the actress’ protest. But Jeff Lewis firmly overrode it.
“Take Carson over to the make-up department and fix him up,” the producer told Jim Willard. “Then bring him back here.”
“Come on,” the assistant director told Newton half-contemptuously. “We’ll soon have you looking like a real planeteer.”
In the make-up department, Captain Future was tense as the experts worked on him. Curt Newton had, by means of the infinite secrets of disguise known to Otho, so altered the shade of his hair by dyes, and the color of his eyes by pupil-stain, and the shape of his nose by injected waxite, that no ordinary make-up would discover or change his disguise.
Nevertheless, he breathed much easier when the make-up artists had finished their work. He looked into the mirror and felt like bursting into laughter. They had changed his hair, eyes and nose back to normal, never dreaming that this was his true appearance. “Well, you do make a dead ringer for Captain Future when you have the make-up on,” Jim Willard admitted reluctantly. “Here, put on the suit.”
It was a gray zipper-suit such as Captain Future habitually wore. There was a slim atom-pistol in the holster at its belt.
Willard grinned. “You don’t look like a dry-goods clerk now. Come on, and we’ll show Jeff."
As they emerged from the make-up room, they came face to face with a handsome, sleepy-eyed young Venusian. Curt Newton recognized Su Thuar! That Su Thuar recognized him as swiftly was evidenced by the sudden distortion of the criminal’s handsome face. His eyes blazed.
“Captain Future!” hissed the Venusian. His hand darted to an atom-pistol inside his jacket. “I’ve waited four years for this chance.”
Curt Newton’s mind raced with lightning speed. He could beat Su Thuar to the draw. But if he did so, he would betray his real identity and his plan to join Valdane’s expedition would be wrecked.
Newton gambled desperately. Instead of drawing his pistol, he recoiled with a pretended cry of terror from the Venusian’s drawn gun.
Su Thuar was so startled by the unexpected sight of Captain Future afraid, that he hesitated. Then Jim Willard got between them.
“Are you crazy?” Willard stormed at the Venusian. “This isn’t Captain Future — it’s Chan Carson, the actor who’s to play Future’s part.”
Su Thuar’s face stiffened, and then the fierce blaze died out of his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t have time to think. I have an old score against Future, and I thought this man was that fellow.”
“If this really was Future, you’d have been dead a second after you drew that gun on him,” snapped Jim Willard.
He turned to Newton, who was pretending to tremble with terror. “Come on, Carson.”
“Who-who was that?” Newton stammered fearfully as he followed the assistant director back across the noisy studio.
“Valdane’s chief bodyguard,” answered Willard. He added a dry comment. “Our esteemed financial boss is taking along a prize lot of strong-arm men to make sure nothing happens to his precious skin on this trip.”
Jeff Lewis looked Newton over with keen, probing eyes when they reached him. The dour producer did not seem displeased.
“You’ll do, for looks, Carson,” he grunted. “But remember, you not only have to look like Captain Future but act like him. Let’s see you draw your gun.”
“It won’t go off, will it?” Newton asked timidly.
He was deliberately presenting himself to them all as a timid, scary clerk, so that no one would dream of connecting him with his real self. For he was aware that Su Thuar was still staring at him.
A burst of derisive laughter came from the whole group at his frightened question. It assured him that his masquerade was succeeding.
“Some Captain Future!” muttered Jim Willard. “He’s about as much like the real thing as a mouse is like a lion.”
Chapter 3: Disastrous Discovery
JEFF LEWIS patiently began to coach Curt Newton how to draw the atom-pistol, how to stand boldly erect, how to move quickly and softly.
“Try to think of yourself as the real Captain Future,” the producer said earnestly. “Now go through it again.”
Curt Newton went into an awkward crouch, and drew the atom-pistol so gingerly and clumsily that its barrel caught in his own belt.
He felt relieved when Su Thuar, who had been watching, followed Jon Valdane and Lura Lind out of the studio.
“Well, you’ll have time to practice on the way to Jupiter, our first location,” Lewis told him. “We’ll be starting in a few days now.”
They were interrupted by a loud, brassy voice. A man had forced his way across the busy studio to Jeff Lewis.
He was a swarthy Mercurian with a shock of bristling black hair, and bold black eyes. He addressed Lewis with conceited confidence.
“I understand you need an actor to play the part of Otho, the Futureman, in your new film,” he said loudly. “Well, I’m your man. I’m Rizo Thon, the greatest make-up artist you ever met. The only man who can play that android.”
“Nothing doing,” the producer said bluntly. “I’m hiring Ki Iquir for the part of Otho.”
“Ki Iquir? — that clumsy Martian ham?” scoffed Rizo Thon. “He couldn’t play this part in a million years. Wait till you see what I can do with it.”
The conceited Mercurian dived into one of the dressing-rooms, carrying his make-up kit with him. A few minutes later, he returned completely transformed. He was now a pale-skinned, lithe-looking man with a rubbery figure and sparkling, slanted green eyes in a hairless face.
“How this?” he demanded confidently. “Do I, or do I not, get the part?”
“Say, he is better than Ki Iquir,” declared Jim Willard in surprise. “In that make-up he’s the picture of Otho, the android.”
Curt Newton grinned to himself. Rizo Thon not only looked like Otho — he was Otho. He had simply taken off a disguise, instead of putting one on.
It had been Newton’s idea for getting Otho into the expedition. And it worked. Jeff Lewis was fascinated by the marvelous make-up, and hired “Rizo Thon” at once.
At the end of that day, Captain Future lurked in his dressing-room until the studio was deserted. Then Otho slipped into the room.
“So now we’re actors, chief,” grinned the impudent android. “I’m getting a kick out of this.”
“You’ll get a bigger kick when I tell you that Valdane’s right-hand man is Su Thuar, and that he’s going along on this party,” Curt Newton said in a grim voice.
Otho swore. “That cursed Venusian snake. I thought he was still in prison. Still, if he doesn’t suspect us, we’re all right.”
“He doesn’t, but he will the first slip we make,” warned Captain Future. “And the fact that Valdane has hired a criminal of Su Thuar’s caliber proves that there is a sinister purpose behind this whole expedition.”
“I never doubted it,” replied Otho. “But what about getting Grag and Simon into the expedition? Can we do it?”
“I haven’t had a chance yet to find out,” Captain Future said. He looked out. The studio was dark and deserted. “Come on, now’s our chance to get into the prop department and see about that.”
Unobserved, he and Otho made their way into the big property room where the sets and costumes for “The Ace of Space” were being assembled for transport to the Perseus.
They soon found the two objects they sought. One was a big metal dummy that was outwardly a replica of Grag. It was an ingenious automaton that could be made to go through simple movements by m
eans of interior motors controlled by a tiny switchboard on its back.
The other object was a similar replica of the Brain — a square, transparent box with a ‘face’ and lens-eyes like Simon Wright’s. Inside it was a plastic gray copy of a human brain.
THESE were the dummies of Grag and the Brain intended for use in the telepicture.
“They’re nearly identical copies, and that makes it easy,” Curt Newton said. “Tonight, Simon and Grag can slip in here and substitute themselves for these dummies —”
“And go along with the expedition, without anyone suspecting,” Otho finished. He chuckled. “The four Futuremen, playing themselves in a telepicture. Wouldn’t that producer’s eyes stick out, if he knew?”
“This is no lighthearted game we’re playing,” Curt Newton reminded him. “We’ll be in peril from the moment we leave Earth. That’s why I wouldn’t let Joan know anything about this mission.”
He glanced out into the studio. “No one’s around. Now is our chance to get these dummies out of here.”
Two hours later that night, he and Otho carried the two dummies with them into the guarded office of the System President, atop Government Tower.
Grag and Simon Wright were waiting for them there. And with them was an aging man in the uniform of the Planet Patrol, a white-haired, wrinkled veteran whose bleak old eyes lighted with pleasure.
“Cap’n Future,” he exclaimed. “I thought you were still out in deep space, till I got your message today.”
Marshal Ezra Gurney, old comrade of Futuremen, pumped Curt Newton’s hand. “Wait’ll Joan hears you’re back,” he chuckled.
“She mustn’t know, Ezra,” Curt Newton said earnestly. “We’re up to our necks in a dangerous business and I don’t want Joan tangled in it. And she’d insist on going with us, if she knew.”
“Goin’ where?” asked the old marshal keenly. “What’s up?”
Captain Future rapidly explained. Gurney’s weatherbeaten face lengthened as he heard.
Captain Future 16 - Magic Moon (Winter 1944) Page 2
