Captain Future 16 - Magic Moon (Winter 1944)

by Edmond Hamilton

  Captain Future rapidly explained the existence of a mysterious plot by Jon Valdane and his henchmen to secure control of Styx’ wealth.

  “I thought you ought to know so that you can defend yourselves, against these plotters in case I fail,” he concluded earnestly.

  “We cannot take life or inflict physical injury on any men, no matter what their evil purposes may be,” old Qu Lur reminded him.

  “Then how could you defend yourselves?” Otho protested. “Your powers of hypnotism and illusion are all right to scare people with, but they wouldn’t stand up against a real attack by armed men.”

  “I know your pacifistic traditions, but you’ll have to forget them and fight if necessary to protect your world,” Curt Newton told the Stygians.

  “Do not fear, we will protect our world if it becomes necessary,” replied old Qu Lur. “But we will not do so by taking life. We will do so by unchaining the Ancient Destroyer.”

  “The Destroyer? The thing you’ve been threatening the intruders with?” repeated Curt Newton. “What is it, Qu Lur?”

  “It is that which our ancestors devised many ages ago to repel invaders who came to our world,” was the reply. “Come, I will show you.”

  He led the way into a small, guarded chamber off the council hall. Curt Newton and Otho followed wonderingly.

  There was a massive stone pedestal in the little room, whose face was inscribed with crumbling, ancient hieroglyphs. On the pedestal was a glass case whose contents were a mass of tiny, sealed glass vials, each of which contained a pinch of gray dust.

  Qu Lur motioned solemnly toward the glass vials. “That is the Destroyer. With it, our ancestors of long ago crushed the invaders in a single hour. Always we saved it so that we could use it again if necessary.”

  Otho stared skeptically. “This Destroyer looks like nothing but some sealed vials of gray powder."

  “Otho, these hieroglyphs are ancient Denebian writing,” Captain Future exclaimed.

  He had recognized the hieroglyphs. They were in the ancient language of Deneb, that distant star whose pioneering humans had eons ago colonized the whole starry galaxy, including this System’s worlds.

  Captain Future mentally spelled out the first part of the inscription, from the knowledge of the hieroglyphs which he had attained on remote Deneb’s world.

  “Otho,” he exclaimed, startled and horrified by what he read. “This is one of the secrets of the lost, ancient science — and one of the most terrible of all those secrets.”

  HE TURNED to Qu Lur. “You would not unloose this. It would be disastrous beyond imagination.”

  “We shall be forced to unloose the Destroyer, unless all the greedy intruders cease to mock our laws and desecrate our peaceful world,” replied Qu Lur solemnly.

  “Chief, how can they cause any big disaster without taking life or doing injury?” Otho asked skeptically. “I don’t get it.”

  “That gray dust can do it,” Curt Newton said shakenly. He appealed to Qu Lur. “You must not unchain this thing, no matter what happens. Think of the awful consequences.”

  At that moment they were interrupted by a sound of excited voices out in the big council hall. Th’ Thaan came running into the little chamber.

  “Another of the Futuremen has come!” he exclaimed excitedly. “The one who does not look like a man, and who glides through the air.”

  “That’s Simon!” Curt Newton cried. “But what’s he doing here? Something must have happened.”

  He raced out into the big hall, with Otho and the others following. At the center of the hall was poised the Brain, calmly hanging in mid-air while his lenslike eyes searched for Curt Newton.

  He saw Captain Future, but also saw the disguised Otho behind him. “Kin Kurri,” exclaimed the Brain. “What’s he doing here with you?”

  “It’s not Kin Kurd, but Otho,” Curt Newton answered swiftly. “I’ll explain later. Simon, why did you come? What’s happened?”

  “I came to warn you,” the Brain replied rapidly. “Su Thuar and all the rest of Valdane’s strong-arm men are coming this way, ahead of the telepicture party. We saw them secretly depart. They had those blow-guns with them.”

  “The blow-guns?” Curt Newton repeated mystifiedly. “Is that all they took with them?”

  “They took a case of some kind from the property-room of the Perseus,” the Brain added. “We couldn’t tell what was in it. There’s nothing in that room anyway but the cameras, sets and costumes.”

  “The cameras, sets and costumes?” Captain Future echoed. Sudden dazzling enlightenment came to him. His tanned face blanched.

  “Of course, I see it now. Valdane’s plan — I’ve been a blind fool!”

  “Chief, you mean you know now what Valdane’s plan is?” cried Otho.

  “Of course. There’s only one way in which Valdane’s corporations can get absolute control of the Stygian diamond-deposits.” Curt Newton uttered a groan. “The blow-guns, the costumes, the loophole in the Stygian treaty that Valdane had in mind — it all fits together.”

  He plunged toward the doorway. “And it means death for Joan and maybe all the rest of the telepicture troupe. Simon — Otho — come on! We may be too late but we’ve got to try to stop it!”

  Chapter 13: Ambush in the Mist

  GRAG and Simon Wright, in the dark property room of the Perseus back at Planet Town, had conferred worriedly after Captain Future had left them with his final admonition to see that Joan Randall remained in safety.

  “I don’t see how we’re going to get to Joan without giving ourselves away,” Grag said anxiously. “Have you any ideas, Simon?”

  “No, I haven’t,” said the Brain. “I wish Otho were here.” He suddenly whispered a warning. “Someone’s coming.”

  They subsided instantly into immobility and silence. It was Su Thuar and two other of Valdane’s “bodyguards” who entered.

  “That’s the case there,” exclaimed the Venusian criminal, pointing to a metal chest. “Quick, before the property-men come down here.”

  The men picked up the chest, and in a moment they were gone with it. Grag and Simon were mystified, but before they could speculate upon it they heard other footsteps approaching.

  Joan and Ezra Gurney slipped into the property-room. At first, neither Grag nor the Brain recognized Ezra Gurney in his shabby prospector’s clothing and evil-looking white whiskers. Then his familiar drawl sounded.

  “Danged queer-lookin’ automaton over there in the corner, Joan,” he chuckled. “Looks almost lifelike, doesn’t it?”

  “Ezra,” cried Grag. He strode forward. “Where’s the Comet?”

  “Right here on this landin’ field,” was the reply. “Only she don’t look like the Comet now, but like a battered old space cruiser.”

  “Are Eek and Oog all right?” Grag asked anxiously referring to the Futuremen’s two pets on the Comet.

  “Sure, they’re fat an’ sassy,” Ezra reassured. Then his face lengthened. “Joan was just tellin’ me about Otho.”

  “Otho’s not dead,” Grag declared stubbornly. “He can’t be.”

  Joan interrupted anxiously. “Ezra and I just saw Su Thuar and all the rest of Valdane’s ‘bodyguards’ slip out of the ship into the mist. They had a metal chest with them, and two smaller oblong metal cases.”

  “Those are the cases that contain the native blow-guns they picked up secretly on Jupiter,” the Brain said quickly. “The chest they took from the telepicture properties here, but we couldn’t see what was in it. Joan, which way did they go?”

  “Northward, the same way Curt and the other two went.”

  “I don’t like that,” muttered Simon. “We should warn Curtis.”

  “Simon, you could overtake Curt and warn him if we got you out of the ship without anyone seeing,” Joan exclaimed.

  “I can get Simon out,” Ezra said promptly. “I got the run of the ship, for I told this Jeff Lewis I knew a lot about Styx and he asked me to go with their telepicture
party as a guide. I can wrap up Simon like a bundle, and smuggle him out that way.”

  “We’ll do that,” the Brain decided immediately. “It’s imperative that I tell Curtis of Su Thuar’s party following him.”

  Ezra soon made an innocent-looking bundle of the Brain by wrapping him up in his jacket. Then he sauntered casually out of the property-room, to leave the Perseus and release Simon in the mists.

  Grag had detained Joan Randall with an anxious plea. “You must stay here when the telepicture truck-caravan goes to the Stygian city,” said the robot. “The chief told me to tell you so.”

  “Stay here?” cried Joan. “I won’t do it. I’m going north with the others after Curt.”

  She departed before Grag could think up more objections. The big robot made a disgusted snorting sound and reluctantly resumed his former immobility. For a stir of preparation was resounding through the Perseus as the telepicture troupe prepared for the trek northward to the Stygian city.

  Sam Martin, the chief property-man, came down into the dark prop-room with his helpers and made the air ring with sharp orders.

  “Get the stuff I listed up through the unloading hatches at once! The automaton and the dummy Brain, the Stygian costumes, the cameras and the krypton-spots. Snap into it!”

  Grag resigned himself to being carted around again like the automaton they thought him to be. He heard a worried prop-man report.

  “The dummy Brain isn’t here. And neither is the chest that had the Stygian costumes in it!”

  “So that’s what was in that chestful of Stygian costumes,” thought Grag.

  “They must be here somewhere. Look for them.” Martin ordered.

  BUT the search was unavailing. Swearing, Sam Martin superintended the unloading of Grag and the other needed properties from the Perseus. They were loaded into the rocket-trucks ready outside the ship.

  Jeff Lewis stormed when the property-man reported the loss.

  “This picture is hoodooed. First Rizo Thon disappears. Now it’s the dummy Brain and our Stygian costumes.”

  Jim Willard tried to reassure his boss. “We can leave the Brain out of our scenes till the boys make up a new dummy. As for the Stygian outfits, we won’t need them if Chan Carson wins the Stygians’ cooperation.”

  “All right, but let’s get started before something else happens,” snorted the producer. “Where’s the old prospector who was going to guide us?”

  “Right here,” drawled Ezra Gurney, stepping forward.

  Grag had meanwhile been loaded onto one of the rocket-trucks. The actors and technicians were climbing aboard the vehicles.

  “I know Styx as well as any outsider, which ain’t sayin’ much,” he heard Ezra telling the producer. “It’s easy for a man to get lost in these mists, but I can take you to the Furries’ city Dzong, all right.”

  Jon Valdane had been standing beside the Perseus, watching the bustle of preparation. “We’re ready to start, Valdane,” Lewis told him.

  The chubby financier answered quickly. “I’m not going with you on this trip. To tell the truth, I’m too tired. All this long voyage has worn me out.”

  “It’s wearing me out too, the way things are happening,” Lewis said gloomily. “All right, Jim — start rolling.”

  The rocket-trucks that contained the telepicture troupe and their equipment moved ponderously across the misty landing-field. As they passed the battered little cruiser that was the disguised ship of the Futuremen, Grag looked longingly at it. He wished he could see Eek.

  The caravan of trucks throbbed toward Planet Town, more than a mile away, and then rolled through the sordid, noisy streets of metalloy structures and headed northward into the shrouding white fog.

  Grag sat stiffly propped in a corner of the last truck, just as the property-men had carelessly left him. His mind was not so much on the indignity of being so treated, as it was upon the surprising fact that Jon Valdane had remained behind. Was Valdane, Grag wondered uneasily, up to something back there in Planet Town? Maybe he should have stayed to find out?

  “But the chief told me to watch over Joan,” the robot told himself. “And I couldn’t stay, without them finding out I’m no automaton.”

  Captain Future had impressed on Grag that if he once showed signs of life and intelligence, the whole precarious imposture of the Futuremen would be shattered. The truck-caravan throbbed northward through the drifting mists for an hour, first up the shallow valley and then over a rolling plain of blank white grass and towering club-mosses. There was little talk. The telepicture people were subdued by the oppressive, awesome mystery.

  Grag heard Ezra Gurney’s drawling voice drift back. “Gettin’ pretty near the Furries’ city now,” Gurney was telling the producer.

  “I hope Chan Carson was able to make friends with the Stygians by his Captain Future make-up,” Lewis said in a worried voice. “It’ll help a lot.”

  Lo Quior suddenly cried a warning. “There are some Stygians just ahead.”

  Startled, Grag managed to twist his head imperceptibly so that he could see. Nervous exclamations were coming from the whole party.

  A half-score of the weird, white-furred natives stood, only half-visible in the shrouding mists. They formed a semi-circle across the path of the caravan’s advance. The Stygians suddenly raised long, slim tubes in an odd motion. Next moment, a vicious shower of deadly, tufted wooden darts whizzed through the mist and struck the rocket-trucks.

  “They’re attacking us,” yelled Jim Willard. One of the darts had ripped through his lower arm.

  Sam Martin had taken a dart through his throat and was sprawled dead, half out of his truck. A technician was clawing at a missile that had stuck in his chest, and another prop-man was yelling in agony.

  “Turn the trucks around,” Jeff Lewis cried hoarsely. “Start back to Planet Town.”

  “It seems incredible,” exclaimed Joan Randall. “I’ve never heard of Stygians killing anyone before.”

  EZRA GURNEY, whipping out an atom-pistol from inside his jacket, fired a crackling bolt. One of the Stygians crumpled. But the other Stygians instantly melted back into the mist, out of sight. And from these invisible attackers there continued to whiz the deadly darts that now were striking down more of the party.

  The telepicture troupe was giving way to panic. The rocket-trucks had jammed together when their drivers had run into that one which Sam Martin had been driving, and which had stalled when he was killed. As they jammed, Ron King yelled in pain and terror as a dart grazed his cheek. And Lura Lind’s shrieking rose shrilly above the whole babel.

  “Those aren’t Stygians,” Grag exclaimed to himself, thunderstruck. “The costumes that were stolen from the property-room —”

  There was no time for Grag to complete the thought. The panic that had seized the telepicture troupe was costing lives.

  Ezra Gurney had the only weapon in this unarmed party. He could not use it now, for there were no targets. The attackers had retired into the concealing mist, from which their darts continued to rain on the party.

  “This is where an automaton comes to life,” thought Grag. Then he exploded into action.

  He leaped off the truck and began to advance in great, clanking strides toward the unseen foes in the mist.

  “Stop that automaton,” yelled Jeff Lewis through the din. “It must have rolled off. Something set its switches going. It’s running wild.”

  But Grag was already plunging into the mist. Darts rattled off his metal body without harming him in the least. He began to seek for the attackers. Then his sensitive microphone ears located the source of the whizzing darts, and he charged in that direction.

  Two of the weird, white-furred men who were crouching in the mist and loosing their missiles toward the telepicture party, suddenly looked up to see the giant metal robot looming over them with his photoelectric eyes blazing down like stars in the mist.

  The men uttered yells and recoiled. Grag’s mighty metal arms caught them and hurle
d them senseless to the ground. He stalked on, found another of the attackers. But this one was already fleeing. The attackers retreated from the enraged robot as he searched the fog.

  Grag heard Jeff Lewis shouting over the din. “Get Martin’s truck started. Turn back to Planet Town.”

  Grag would dearly have loved to remain and hunt down the ambushers, but Captain Future had told him to guard Joan. Mindful of that order, the big robot turned and tramped hastily back to the troupe. The trucks had been turned around and the telepicture troupe was panically streaming southward with its dead and wounded.

  Deadly darts still whizzed out of the mist at them, taking toll of more actors as they retreated. Grag found Joan Randall and Ezra at the rear of the panic-stricken retreat, Ezra firing furiously in the mist.

  “Can’t see them to shoot at, dang them!” swore the old veteran.

  Grag picked up Joan bodily and carried her as though she were a feather, his great metal body shielding her from the whizzing darts.

  “Put me down,” cried the furious girl. “I’m going on after Curt.”

  “You’re going back to the ship,” the inflexible robot replied. “The chief ordered me to keep you out of harm.”

  With Ezra Gurney beside him, he strode rapidly through the mist after the fleeing telepicture caravan as they retreated to Planet Town with their unseen attackers still following and showering darts upon them.

  Chapter 14: Warning of Doom

  UPON hearing the news the Brain had brought, Captain Future, in the Stygian city, had had a disastrous divination.

  “We’ve got to head off the telepicture party and turn them back to Planet Town,” he cried as he raced for the door. “They’re coming into danger and death.”

  Qu Lur and Th’ Thaan and the other Stygians were with them as they burst out of the big stone tower into the misty daylight.

  “We go with you,” exclaimed Qu Lur. “You can go faster upon our kurus.”