Before The Golden Age - A SF Anthology of the 1930s

by Edited By Isaac Asimov

  Sleep was far from his mind. In the first place he was uncomfortably chilly, and with the setting of the sun, the room had become cold, bitterly so. Also he was hungry, not knowing when last he had eaten; but even those considerations did not count as high as the predicament in which he found himself.

  That he was no longer on Earth he realized; knowing that nowhere upon the home planet could such monsters have managed to subsist, to develop their sciences to the high degree that was apparent. Earth’s moon, Luna, as a possibility, he could discount, since it possessed no atmosphere, and Earth would have shown in its sky. Venus, too, was out of the question, for the sun’s rays would surely be warmer there than upon Earth. That left Mars as a possibility, else one of the moons of Jupiter—that is, if they were still within the confines of the solar system.

  But considering the distance of Sol from its nearest neighbor, some twenty-five trillions of miles, he doubted that the decapods could have brought them so far, unless their machines had a means of traversing space faster than light itself.

  No, things pointed more directly at Mars, the red-planet. That red sun and copperish sky, the slightly lessened gravity-pressure, the thinness of the air, thin, as if he were breathing upon a mountain top, seemed to indicate Mars.

  Sitting upon the floor, looking through the transparent ceiling of the tower-room, he was given positive proof that he was actually upon Mars. From the east he saw a moon rising, a small round globe, inordinately bright, silvering everything around him and blotting out some of the stars by its brilliancy. But that was not all. Even as he stared at the sky, a second moon was making its appearance, but unlike the first it came out of the west, out of the west, wherein the sun had newly dropped; whereas the first moon had appeared coming in the opposite direction!

  This second satellite was even more brilliant than the first, but that wasn’t its only unique feature. It acted as no self-respecting moon should, mounting the sky in rapid strides, blotting out star after star as it progressed swiftly to its zenith, which, according to Brett’s wrist watch, would be reached in less than two hours!

  Although not an astronomer he remembered enough of his university studies to realize that the two moons overhead were none less than the twin moons of Mars .... Phobos and Deimos; whose brilliancy was due to their proximity to the surface, Deimos being only 12,000 miles or so away, Phobos, a mere 2,170 miles. It came to him, too, that Phobos’ queer antics were due to the fact that its period was only about 7 hours long, whereas Deimos’ revolutionary period was 30 hours, and that Phobos, in consequence, made three revolutions to Mars’ single rotation, its apparent motion and actual motion being the same, so that it rose in the west and passed across the sky to the east for its setting, taking but eleven hours to travel from meridian to meridian.

  Considering these factors the man was momentarily happy over his discovery, but his joy was short-lived. Mars—49,000,000 miles from home— forty-nine millions of miles of empty Space ....

  Shivering with cold in his thin summer suit, he crouched upon one end of the matting, awaiting morning through the long watches of a night that seemed never ending.

  * * * *

  He must have dozed toward morning, but with the sun’s rising he heard the stirrings of the monsters on their pallet. Here was no morning ablutions, no housekeeping facilities, but he found that the decapod went elsewhere for that. Plucking him from the floor the female led the way to the open doorway and started with him to descend the tower ladder, the larger and heavier beast following. Other beasts were leaving their domiciles on all sides, a general exodus of them.

  Brett’s searching eyes found a number of his fellow captives; the negro, Jeff, dwelt in a tower opposite his own, and as they reached the ground he descried the Militant Matron riding the arm of her chocolate brown mistress some distance ahead. Several other beasts, he now found, possessed pets besides the new arrivals. One bore a blue-skinned fish-like creature with a flat, seal-like head and long flippers. Another carried an animal with a distinctly fish head, oogling eyes and a long squid-like body.

  It came to him then that life here had come out of the sea, that possibly even now they were living on the bottom of a sea long dead. He discovered that they were headed for the lake in the center of the wide plaza. As they reached the brink the decapods were plunging in, diving and splashing lubricously. Reaching the shore his own “mistress” dived in, taking Brett with her, regardless of the fact that he was fully clothed, and the water icy. Immediately his clothes sucked up water, dragging him low. Mistaking his trouble for an inability to swim Missis fortunately kept a hand upon him, preventing his sinking, but shortly he was blue and shivering.

  As they climbed from the water at last the pair of decapods oogled his sodden condition. Hoping he could do something for himself, the decapod dropped him on the sand. Hurriedly he climbed out of his garments, wringing out the water as best he could. His action, evidently, astounded the monsters; his disrobing appearing to them as if he had peeled off his skin. As he cast aside each article they picked them up to study them, tooting shrilly at each other.

  Speculatively he looked at the sun; but its wan rays told him it would be hours before they could dry the clothes for him. Dolefully he replaced his outer shirt, then his trousers, damp and clammy, and draped the under-things and coat over his arm while he stuffed his socks into his shoes to prevent the leather shrinking, slinging them around his neck by their strings.

  Mister spoke impatiently to Missis and Brett was once more picked up. He found they were headed for the huge building across the plaza that was the replica of the Royal Palace. They entered at the first level wherein the decapods were already at breakfast, standing before a long twenty-foot-high counter that encircled the room, behind which a number of the creatures were serving them food in large bowls.

  Placed upon the counter between his mistress and master, Brett looked at the food, a thick, mushy substance that gave off a faint fishy odor. With large scoops, many times bigger than a man-sized spoon, the pair of decapods prepared to devour the ten pounds or so of the stuff that their plates held, but made no offer of any to the man. He watched hungrily as they ate. Unappetizing though the stuff looked it seemed better than nothing, his stomach was clamouring for sustenance.

  Then, when he was ready to give up, deciding he was not to be fed at all, he saw Missis lay down her scoop, and reaching out to Brett, shoved him toward the dish in which a fair amount of food remained. He understood. He was to have table scraps!

  The man in him wanted to rebel, but in the face of hunger fastidiousness was gone. Picking up the scoop, he managed to get it to his mouth. He recognized the food as that which had been fed to him aboard the drum-ship; both his hunger and thirst were quenched by it.

  Along the counter he saw others of his kind, likewise making the best of the meal, while a number of the animals native to this unknown world wolfed down their own breakfast. Across from him, sat the Militant Matron. A deep puddle of water had gathered around her, dripping from every part of her clothes; her sailor hat hung limply about her face, and yet, somehow, she managed to retain something of her dignity as she ate from her bowl, daintily, with a natural-sized spoon. She would, thought Brett, be just the one to carry such an implement upon her person.

  Finishing breakfast, the next thing on the program was to see Mister off for the day. In a large open space, adjoining the plaza was a landing field in which a great number of drum-shaped ships were parked, replicas of the one that had brought them from Earth, but smaller, large enough only to hold two decapods comfortably. Missis stood with Brett upon her arm until the ship of her spouse had taken off. The ship had neither propeller nor wings, but mounted straight into the air without visible means of propulsion. Brett would have given what little he owned to learn the motive principle.

  All the ships turned in one direction over the city, and then Missis was returning to the lake-side where dozens of strolling decapods joined her, and among which Bre
tt was glad to see a number of his fellows.

  After showing him off to a number of her “friends” the creature placed Brett on the sand, watching warily that he did not run away. For the present he was interested only in his fellow-captives, anxious to learn how they had fared. His heart lifted when George came hurrying toward him.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER IV

  They each had the same experiences to relate. “They’re treating us just as if we were dogs,” averred George disgustedly, “as if we hadn’t a grain of intelligence. And that bath! Ugh, I’m still half frozen.”

  Not far from where they stood the Militant Matron was talking to the pompous looking little man, whom Brett had dubbed the Senator, the woman waxing indignant over her treatment at the hands of her captors. In precise tones she was telling what she thought of creatures unable to recognize her true value, and complaining of indigestion brought on by their unnatural food, as well as her deplorable condition following her enforced wetting. Several times the Senator cleared his throat, trying to get a word in edgewise.

  Huddled on the sands a little distance away were the three negroes, Jeff, the woman Mattie and the third, who was a mulatto, in a once neat over-fashionable suit, now water-wrinkled. The woman was moaning about the “punishment ob de Lawd.” Standing by the lake timidly surveying the others, was the spinster to whose arm clung the high-school girl in her absurdly high heels. She had made an attempt to keep herself presentable despite the condition of her bedraggled clothes. There was fresh rouge on her cheeks and lips that only made the whiteness of her face the more noticeable.

  Three men, a portly elderly man who may have been a merchant, the nondescript clerk, and the fellow with the over-inquisitive eyes, stood in a group discussing their predicament in low tones, glancing now and then at the decapods standing or squatting beside the lake, keeping an eye upon their charges.

  Not far away, sobbing on the sands sat a small pink-faced young matron Brett had noticed the previous day. Her hands covered her face, while racking sobs shook her body.

  Certainly, nowhere had Brett seen a more despondent-looking gathering. Then he forgot them all, as he discovered the girl he was hopefully seeking. She was leading the six-year-old child who clasped a damp kitten to her breast. Feeling his eyes upon her, the girl came to Brett’s side.

  “Jill is worried about her kitten,” she told him, “the poor little thing seems ailing.”

  The child held up her kitten for him to see, but he had to admit he could do nothing for it. Snuggling it close, the tot dropped to the ground, all her concern wrapped up in the little cat.

  Again the girl’s eyes met Brett’s. She smiled warmly, “Please pardon the dishabille, but I left home too hurriedly to have my luggage sent ahead.” Then she added, “I’m Dell Wayne by the way . . . .”

  Her flippancy in the face of their predicament shocked him for a moment, then he grinned. He liked a girl who knew how to laugh. He realized that they may need a little laughter here. And she did look disheveled with a long slit in a water-stained silk skirt, a sagging wool sweater upon which a tie whose color was none too fast, had left a scarlet smear. Also, her hose and slippers had been removed. Carrying his own shoes and underthings and wearing only trousers and shirt he realized he himself was a none too prepossessing figure.

  “I was just wondering when the next mail goes out so I can send for my wardrobe, particularly a bathing suit,” he rejoined, adding, “Incidentally, my cable address is Brett Rand . . . .”

  She did not answer because she was listening to the words of the “Senator” and the dehydrated spinster who came strolling along. They heard the woman saying: “Isn’t this awful, Congressman Howell? Oh, you’ll do something to get us out of here, won’t you? Oh, I know you will. I said to Cleone—she’s one of my pupils—why with Congressman Howell here, everything will be all right!”

  He replied: “Ah, Miss Snowden, of course, of course—er—I shall do what I can. I shall—er—see that these—er—monsters learn who I am. The United States is not going to permit them to get away with this—er—highhanded sort of thing. Now, Miss—er—Snowden, don’t worry at all. I shall have us all—er—all back home before this—er—day is over. I’m—eh hem-on my way now to see some—er—thing in—er—er—authority.” And he moved away.

  Dell Wayne sighed for him. “Poor dear, I’m afraid he’s going to be terribly disappointed.”

  Brett glanced at her covertly. “You seem to have taken this thing neatly on the chin, Miss Wayne . . . .”

  Her chin lifted sharply. “What else are we to do? Oh, I realize that we’re in an awful position, far from home, slaves of things that don’t realize our capabilities. We won’t be able to stand this sort of life they’re forcing on us, the cold, the dousing in the lake, the food .... but I guess that old saying is right—‘Where there’s life there’s hope’, perhaps we can find a way out of this mess, somehow. Can’t you think of something—?”

  “There’s one chance—to get a ship to take us back home, but I admit that, even if I had a ship, I’d not know what to do with it,” and he recounted his experiences with the machines of the decapods previous to his capture.

  They spoke of these things for some minutes, each making impossible suggestions, when George came up to them carrying the eight-year-old boy, followed by a gangling fifteen year old who hung back, eyeing the group as he anxiously waited for them to notice him, to draw him into their midst.

  “Say, can’t something be done for this kid?” George asked. “He’s running a fever . . . .”

  Dell took the boy and brought out a handkerchief. “He’s burning up. Someone wet this for me, please.”

  The fifteen year old, whose name turned out to be Forrest Adam, ran to do her bidding, but beyond dampening the little boy’s hot face, they could do nothing for him. All he could do was to cry for his mother.

  The woman who had been crying on the sand came over. “Give him to me,” she ordered. “He’s just the age of my little Jacky at home. We can understand each other’s needs.” But even as she took the boy from Dell the beast, to whom he belonged, came to pluck him from her unwilling arms, taking him away.

  Other decapods were reaching out for their charges, and Brett had only time to call good-bye to Dell and George, when he, too, was lifted up and carried “home.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER V

  Reaching the tower-room Missis proceeded to inspect the sodden clothes Brett had been carrying, and, without so much as a “by your leave,” began to undress him completely. The man tried to fight her off, but the monster paid his struggles no attention. When her little double thumbed hands stumbled over buttons, he, perforce, assisted her, rather than have her pull them off.

  When that was done she commenced to dress him again, with his assistance, putting on the garments he had discarded, now half dry. Some she tried to put on backwards, but he corrected her. Yet, no sooner was he reclothed than she started the whole business of undressing him again, like a child with a new toy.

  Resignedly the man allowed himself to be dressed and undressed until she tired of the play; then when she lay on her pallet for a nap, he was glad to follow suit. But he could not sleep. His mind was too full. He realized with Dell that unless something were done shortly, all those who had fallen into the hands of the decapods with him, would be dead. It was his fault entirely that George was here, but though he had tried to broach that subject, to tell how he regretted having gotten his chum into this mess, George had shut him up immediately. If it was only for what he owed George, something had to be done—and there were those others. A plan was already forming itself in his mind, yet it was too intangible a thing upon which to put much faith.

  Several days slipped by, the program being the same as on the first day, beginning with the forcible wetting in the lake, the same food, seeing Mister off in his flying ship, meeting fellow-captives on the lake shore for an hour or so before returning to the quiet of the tower-roo
m to await Mister’s nightly return.

  McCarthy and his horse, as well as the wire-haired terrier had shown up the second day, and Brett had made the acquaintance of the rest of the Earthlings, the inquisitive man who turned out to be a news reporter, the merchant, Thomas Moore, Hal Kent who was a government clerk instead of a haberdasher, Cleone, the high-school girl who usually could be found clinging to Miss Snowden’s thin arm.

  McCarthy’s concern was only for his horse, which was evidently dying on its feet, unable to digest the food of the decapods. The fifteen year old was perhaps the only happy person in the whole gathering. He had confessed to Brett that though he had read avidly all pseudo-scientific stories he could lay his hands upon, he’d never dreamed he would actually partake of such an experience. He was certain that rescue would come!