For an unbelieving instant he stared at it. It was impossible for this thing to be here. It should be a hundred fathoms below the surface of the Atlantic ocean.
“Jan! Lee!” he cried excitedly. “Come here.”
With fingers that trembled he reached for the precious object.
“Stop!”
The command was not spoken. It was a thought, branding itself on his brain, chilling his blood with a sudden terror.
Slowly he turned.
Thogar was standing in the doorway, his tall, thin body hunched under the weight of his immense head. The huge lidless eyes in that grotesque head flamed like twin coals as they moved over the three frozen human beings.
A heavy, oppressive silence settled like a pall over the room. Almost automatically Dirk found his hand slipping slowly to the slender weapon at his belt.
“Stop!” Thogar’s imperative thought arrested the furtive gesture. You fool! That weapon would not avail against me. It is designed only to destroy mechanical life.”
Dirk’s breath caught in his throat as Thogar’s claw-like hand opened slowly, disclosing a gleaming red globe, not more than an inch in diameter. From its smouldering center deep fires flashed evilly.
“This,” Thogar continued ominously, “was designed to destroy cellular life. You stupid creatures have destroyed the robots which Mars was centuries in developing. But what was accomplished once, I can accomplish again. I, the last living member of my race, will perpetuate the memory and glory of Mars through another mechanical civilization of robots. Nothing will stop me, nothing can stop me. Centuries ago Mars knew that it was becoming a sterile race. That is the penalty for achieving too high a degree of development. Our exodus to earth was an attempt to discover if new environments would increase the productivity of the race. That failed, but I will not fail in my attempt. I have another theory to once again populate the earth with Martians. For that I will need a little cooperation, with the female Earthling.”
LEE gasped, her skin whitening.
Dirk felt a sick, horrified revulsion sweep over him. That this hideous, unclean creature should use Lee. . .
“You’ll have to kill me first,” he raged desperately.
“Precisely,” Thogar seemed amused. “That is just what I intend to do.”
He lifted his palm, focusing his eyes on the gleaming red sphere. It began to glow violently, radiating a stream of colors that clashed and danced madly against one another.
Suddenly, something distracted the Martian’s attention. His concentration on the sphere wavered. With surprising speed he leaped backward—as a human body launched at him from the doorway.
Jan gasped in surprise, but Dirk spun and lunged for the dais on which a small, leaden casket rested. This was the heaven-sent opportunity he had prayed for. Tremblingly, his fingers tore open the lid of the casket—the casket which contained the instrument that had beaten a dictator’s forces many decades ago. The Death Ray!
Dirk wasted no time wondering how it had gotten here. That didn’t matter. Its barge could have broken loose from its mooring on that fateful day when the forces from Saturn and Mars attacked Earth.
It had obviously been discovered by the Martians and placed here in this museum of earth armaments, an insignificant weapon compared to the death-dealing weapons perfected by the invaders from Mars.
The Death Ray was a cumbersome machine, with a round metal base from which a thin tapering tube emerged. Glistening coils surrounded the inner mechanism, giving it a Medusa’s head appearance.
Dirk jerked it from its casket and wheeled to face Thogar, the Martian. The huge headed creature was turning slowly from a limp body on the floor, holding the glowing sphere before him.
From the evilly smouldering crimson ball a radiation flashed out toward Dirk.
Dropping to the floor Dirk aimed the Death Ray at Thogar’s immense head and pulled the trigger.
THE Death Ray was fatal to cellular life of any species. Its powerful disintegrating properties possessed the power to shatter the fundamentals of life itself.
For a terrible instant Dirk feared that it had failed. Thogar stood the force of the ray without blanching, his monstrous head held erect, almost pridefully.
Then, while his eyes flashed with a sudden violent hate, his legs buckled and he fell slowly forward. The light in his protuberant, lidless eyes was maniacal. In their fanatic gleam could be seen not only the death of a creature, but the death of a race and a way of life.
When his frail body struck the floor, life had left it forever.
With Jan and Lee at his side, Dirk strode across the floor to the limply sprawled body that lay next to Thogar’s.
“It is Karl,” Jan said simply.
Dirk knelt beside the youth and Lee cradled his blond head in her arms. He was dying, but a spark of light was in his eyes as he looked up at Dirk and Jan.
“There are others below,” he said painfully. “I came up when the guards—” He coughed weakly, unable to finish the sentence.
“We know,” Dirk said.
“D—did I do right?” Karl asked feebly.
Dirk nodded and Jan gripped his hand. Both men were thinking the same thoughts. Karl had been afraid at one time, but in the moment of need,
his heroic action offered one more shining example of the spirit of Man. He had sacrificed himself, taken the death that Thogar had been ready to unleash, to save them.
When Dirk looked again at Karl, the youth’s face was peaceful in death.
Dirk slipped his arm around Lee’s shoulders and his hand gripped Jan’s arm tightly. There was much for them to do. The enemies from space had been vanquished and the long unending struggle to make the world a better place in which to live must begin again.
It was a monumental task but with Lee in his arms and Jan at his side, it did not seem impossible.
[1] In the winter of nineteen forty-one Japan attacked America at Pearl Harbor and, some time later, Germany turned from the east and threw its might in an all-out onslaught on the British Isles. The United States entered the war and the conflict settled down to a long, costly war of attrition. Finally after four years Hitler was defeated, the enslaved peoples of Europe were liberated, and an International Tribunal was established to bring peace and security and democracy to the Nations of the World.
[2] The invention of the devastating weapon which the newspapers dubbed the “Death Ray” was the turning point of the war. Developed in America, it was capable of completely shattering all types of life, whether of vegetable or animal origin. Based on Lite principle that had made possible the discovery of U-25, it destroyed life by splitting the atomic structure of the cell into myriad organisms. It is somewhat consoling to realize that this deadly instrument of death was never actually utilized against humans. Once the knowledge of its existence reached the Third Reich the soldiers of Hitler’s armies lost much of their fanatical desire to tight. Thus, when England and America invaded the continent of Europe they were able to smash the apathetic armies of Germany with comparative ease.
After the war settlement the International Tribunal decreed that all armaments and planes and ship? would be destroyed to eliminate for all time the possibility of another costly, futile war.
For some time it was debated whether or not the “Death Ray” should be included in this general destruction of armaments. At least it was decided that its potential destructive power was too dangerous to leave in existence. Along with all other implements of war it was ordered destroyed. It was sealed in a leaden casket, along with the formula for its discovery and operation and towed out to sea on a black barge, to be sunk by radio-controlled planes with the rest of the world’s war weapons.
[3] It is a possibility that Dirk Masters was stunned into a state of suspended animation by the bolt from the invading space ship. This plus the fact that he was obviously buried under tremendous pressure in an aperture created by the blasts from the ship might logically account for his remaining alive dur
ing the one hundred and fifty years. Many instances have been recorded of smaller animals living in a semi-suspended state for incredible lengths of time. Hermetically sealed under great external pressure, Dirk Masters’ life functions slowed to an imperceptible rate and, for one hundred and fifty years, he remained in that apparently lifeless state. Then, when the blasts from the blue rocket ships shattered the ground and caused a disturbance directly over the crypt in which he had been sealed, he was liberated in the shallow water off the coast of Florida. The water and air revived him almost at once and, after a few weeks rest, the recuperative powers of the human system restored his strength and health.
[4] The secret of the power of the Saturnian weapon which Dirk and Jan have found so invincible, might lie in an adaptation of ether waves, which would “short circuit” the brains of the robots which are actually nothing more than receiving sets designed to pick up the thought waves of the master Martians.
[5] It might seem incredible that a grenade would not lose its effectiveness in a hundred and fifty years, were it not for the fact that they had obviously been hermetically sealed under glass. This protection would render them as potent as the day they left the factory.
CAPTAIN STINKY
First published in the June 1942 issue of Amazing Stories.
Even for a Martian it is a mistake to underestimate little Ebenezer Scragg, master of the garbage scow, Sweet Pea!
THE small smoky space-port saloon was jammed with its usual crowd of battered humanity, when Captain Ebenezer Scragg, Master of the garbage scow, Sweet Pea, shoved open the swinging doors and shouldered his way to the bar.
He managed to find six inches of space between a huge-shouldered Martian and a slight Venusian whose pale green features were flushed from the vile concoction he was drinking.
When he attracted the attention of the bartender he ordered a drink and downed it neat. Smacking his lips he turned and nodded to several of his friends and acquaintances who were scattered about the dingy room.
The captain was a gnarled, whiskered little man with bright snapping eyes and a stubborn outthrust chin. A prominent Adams apple bobbed up and down his scraggly neck. The scant hair that stuck obstinately up from his scalp was a horrible shade of red that was a cross between orange and pink. His clothes—blue trousers and wind-breaker—flapped about his skinny ungainly frame with every motion he made.
A Martian space tar lolling drunkenly at a table looked up at the Captain and a slow grin split his pumpkinlike face.
“Long time since I see,” he said jovially. “How has been my friend, the Captain Stinky?”
Captain Ebenezer Scragg glared at the Martian.
“Listen, you overgrown lobster,” he cried, in a shrill voice that cracked slightly with rage, “if you call me that name again I’ll bust a chair over your gol-danged head. Just because I’m master of garbage scow, don’t mean I ain’t entitled to some respect. I’m Captain Ebenezer Scragg of the Sweet Pea, and if you’ve got anything in that blockhead of your’n that you want to discuss with me, why call me by my name and rank.”
CAPTAIN EBENEZER stopped because he was out of breath.
Glaring balefully at the Martian, he was about to turn back to the bar, when a general wave of coarse laughter swept over the saloon.
A drunk in the corner stood up and struck a pose.
“I’m Captain Ebenezer Scragg,” he cried, between hiccoughs, “Master of the Sweet Pea, the dirtiest, stinkingest garbage scow between here and Earth.”
Captain Ebenezer’s face turned as red as his hair.
“Leave her name out of this,” he shouted shrilly. “The Sweet Pea don’t need any apologies, not to drunken bums like you, anyway. You couldn’t get a berth on her the best day of your life, if you ever had one. I wouldn’t have you for nothing a month.”
The drunk chortled triumphantly.
“You ain’t got enough money to get me aboard your scow,” he jeered.
Because this statement was perfectly true it struck home to the Captain’s most vulnerable spot—his pride.
He knew that not one man in the saloon would accept a berth on his ship. The garbage scows that met the great space liners and removed the accumulation of refuse the liners collected on their three and four week trips, were regarded as beneath the dignity of any respectable space tar.
Captain Ebenezer’s contract with the space liners provided that he remove their garbage at pre-arranged meeting places in the void. Occasionally he was able to sign on a few seamen to help him, but more often he had to do the complete job himself. In fact it had been months since he had been able to recruit the remnants of a crew.
IT SAVED him money but it doubled his work. And such work! It was humiliating for the Master of the scow to be forced to climb over the refuse in the hold to open the garbage chutes. He could stand that, but when he had to grab a pitch fork and spread the cargo about to keep it from piling up at the chute door, his sensitive, dignity-loving soul wilted.
The fact that he was master of his own, ship duly commissioned and authorized, was ashes in his mouth with the realization on that he was held in a sort of pitying contempt by the rest of the spaceman at the port.
He would have cheerfully cut his tongue out before admitting that he cared for the opinion of other masters and space tars. Still, deep in his tough old heart, he cared very much.
The ribald laughter that was sounding in the smoke-filled, dank saloon was as gall and wormwood to him.
“You bunch of washed-up space bums,” he snarled, as the noise subsided, “have got a helluva lot of nerve to be laughin’ at me and the Sweet Pea. We do important work whether you swabs realize it or not. Tonight I’m meetin’ the Jupiter, eighteen days out of Earth and headin’ for home. What’d they do if I didn’t meet her? They’d be in a bad way, that’s what.”
The big Martian looked up blearily.
“The Jupiter is one hell of-a fine ship,” he said. “I shipped on her for many trips. She is a real liner, not like your garbage scow, Captain Stinky.”
Captain Ebenezer’s jaw stuck out angrily.
“I’m warnin’ you for the last time about that,” he said shrilly. “I got a name, and you know it. If you shipped on the Jupiter you should know how to address a space ship’s captain. They probably threw you off the Jupiter because they got sick of havin’ a dumb, drunken bum ruining the looks of their ship.”
The big Martian stood up, his huge red face twisted in rage. With one step he was beside Captain Ebenezer, and with one mighty hand he jerked him off the floor and held him suspended in the air.
“Why I leave the Jupiter” he growled, “is my business. “You keep your nose clear and you stay healthier.”
CAPTAIN EBENEZER’S fists were flailing frantically, but futiley, at the mammoth Martian. His wizened, monkey-like face was as red as a ripe tomato.
“Lemme down!” he howled wrathfully. “Just lemme go, you overgrown ox, and I’ll knock three kinds of blue tar out of you.”
The Martian held him at arm’s length, four feet above the floor. With a motion of his wrist he shook the Captain until his teeth chattered together like dice.
“Captain Stinky,” the Martian jeered, “maybe this will teach you a little lesson.”
Still holding the Captain suspended in the air he lumbered to the door. With one heave he tossed Captain Ebenezer’s small figure through the swinging doors onto the sidewalk that flanked the saloon.
Captain Ebenezer picked himself up slowly. Every bone in his body ached and he felt as if he had collided with a runaway meteor. He dusted his clothes with what dignity he could muster and glared at the round face of the Martian, leering at him over the top of the swinging doors.
“All right, you big baboon,” snarled Captain Ebenezer, “let that be a lesson to you.”
With that illogical but somehow face-saving outburst, Captain Ebenezer limped away.
AN hour or so later, still limping and bubbling with rage, Captain Ebenezer reached t
he lower end of the great space wharf where his garbage scow, the Sweet Pea, was moored.
The wharf was formed in the shape of a vast semi-circle. On this particular asteroid—one of the principal way stations on the Earth-Jupiter circuit—the center of the semi-circular wharf was reserved for the great liners and fighter and observations units of the United Space Navy.
The tapering ends of the wharf, unlighted and for the most part neglected, were used by cargo ships, space tramps and the more humble type of space-spanning craft.
Here the Sweet Pea, a squat ugly scow, almost as wide as it was long, moored. A glassicade tower on top of the deck served as Captain Ebenezer’s “bridge,” and it was the one square of space in the whole universe most sacred to him.
It was dark as the Captain limped to the wharf office to have his clearance papers countersigned. The clerk, a natty ensign from the naval school, frowned importantly at the papers Captain Ebenezer thrust on his desk.
“Hmmmm,” the ensign tapped a pencil against his front teeth, “everything seems to be in order. Hmmmm.”
Captain Ebenezar revelled in the formal ritual that accompanied every leaving.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, saluting with what he hoped was smartness and dash.
The ensign checked a form, told the captain to leave when he was ready and went back to other, matters. Captain Ebenezer saluted again and walked from the office stiff as a poker.
Outside, he limped up the walk to the open deck of his ship. The brief contact with authority and formality, and the realization that his passion for dignity and respect were appreciated by someone else brought back his customary feeling of cocky importance.
Captain Ebenezer descended to the tiny cabin which he shared with the only other crew member, a Venusian, whose duties included chart-making, visi-screen recording, and the other semi-technical matters which Captain Ebenezer foggily understood.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 105
