The Science Fiction of Erle Stanley Gardner - The Human Zero

by Matin Greenberg

  CHAPTER 7

  Captives on Venus

  “Has it occurred to you that they show no surprise at our appearance?” asked the girl abruptly. “They should be surprised at the color of our skins, at our eyes, at our clothes, at our height. But they take us for granted.”

  “By George, that’s so!” agreed the professor. “Ah, here’s where they have their village. Notice the manner in which the trees protect them from surprise attacks from above. What enormous trees they are! That one is thirty feet in diameter. It must stretch up for five hundred feet, perhaps more.

  “And here are the women. Ugh! How ugly! Evidently

  they’re closely allied to the animals of. our globe as far as sex beauty is concerned. The males have the beauty.”

  Click made no comment. His startled eyes surveyed the drab spectacle in the cheerless, dripping forest. Little huts had been made, thatched with broad leaves, lashed with thongs. Overhead a tangled mass of branches dripped globules of moisture in endless cadence upon the echoing leaves.

  Ferns had been cleared away to make a little circle before the houses. About this circle the women had gathered. They were even smaller than the men, and their appearance was startling.

  They showed as squat, dish-faced creatures, thick of lip, dark of skin, round of eye, low of forehead. Their faces were expressionless, and they made no sound. But Click noticed a peculiar twitching of the nostrils, as though they were sniffing some faint odor.

  The chief led the way to a hut. The dwarfs who pulled the prisoners followed. They led the trio inside, gave a deft loop of the neck rope about their ankles, knotted it, and backed out.

  There was no sound of conversation coming into the hut from those who clustered in the village. Occasionally a sound of motion, the thud of bare feet on the ground, a hacking cough, would attest to their presence, but there was no conversation.

  Professor Wagner closed his eyes, sighed. Click tried to sleep, and could not. There was an atmosphere of tense waiting about the place that was as omnipresent as the everlasting fog.

  Steps sounded without the hut.

  “I wonder,” began the professor, then suddenly broke off. For to the ears of the men came a strange sound, the sound of a human voice talking as men on the earth talked, although the words were indistinguishable.

  “Good heavens!” snapped the professor, and struggled to a sitting posture. “That’s the German language, or I don’t know it when I hear it. What’s this? What’s this?”

  “I told you,” reminded his daughter, “that they didn’t show any curiosity. They’ve seen people like us before.”

  “Tut, tut,” snapped the professor. “We’re the first earth mortals ever to set foot on Venus.”

  But his voice lacked assurance, and made up in irritability what it lacked in conviction.

  The door darkened with moving bodies, bearing a shuffling burden. They swayed and tottered with the weight of it as they formed a congested group in the doorway.

  Then they crowded through.

  They carried a species of stretcher made of saplings across which had been stretched a network of cords. Upon that stretcher a huge form reclined, heaving restlessly, grumbling.

  They up-ended the stretcher, and Click found himself gazing into the face of a man, pop-eyed, blond, frightfully obese, the skin bleached of color.

  The man sputtered a stream of German at them.

  Professor Wagner rattled a reply in English.

  “We don’t speak German. Do you speak English? How did you happen to arrive here? When did you arrive? How? What are these people? Do they have a language? Do you speak it? Are you a captive, or are you treated as a guest?”

  The fat neck rolled the huge head from side to side.

  “Nein, nein, nein. Ach Gott, nein!”

  “Can you speak any German?” demanded Professor Wagner.

  Click Kendall shook a reluctant head. It was a language of which he knew nothing. And that ignorance seemed in a fair way to shut them out from all understanding with the strange creatures who held them captive.

  “The man evidently isn’t held as a captive. He’s treated with some respect,” muttered Click.

  “Crippled with rheumatism,” added the professor. “Notice the enlarged joints, the peculiar posture of the fingers. It’s a bad case, and the heart is evidently impaired. You can see the blue lips, the discolored finger nails. Truly this is a great disappointment, to think that our remarkable voyage has been anticipated by other scientists, and that these scientists are of another nation.”

  “Look, Father! He’s trying to make signs.”

  The man on the stretcher slowly and laboriously raised an arm. He tried to make a gesture, but broke off in a groan. Perspiration stood out upon the forehead. The pop eyes puckered in agony.

  With a sigh the man collapsed back to immobility. He shook his head, groaned, gutturaled another sentence in German, then smiled a wan smile.

  The squat men clustered on either side regarded the scene in unblinking silence. Their eyes, looking like twin lenses of a huge camera, turned from time to time as they exchanged glances.

  “Fm afraid it’s hopeless. Was there ever such a tantalizing situation?” exclaimed Professor Wagner.

  Again there was a commotion before the door of the hut, and then two of the squat natives entered bearing between them a human burden. It was Badger, bound hand and foot, his face gray with fright, his vest-button eyes fixed with terror.

  “You speak German?” shouted the professor.

  Badger nodded.

  The pop-eyed man on the stretcher saw that nod, interpreted it correctly. His blue lips parted and rattled forth a long string of conversation.

  And Badger settled the question of his linguistic ability by replying in smooth German, speaking rapidly, making gestures from time to time.

  “Ah!” sighed Professor Wagner. “At last we have solved our difficulties. Ask him if these men intend to do us harm, Badger.”

  But Badger paid no attention to the command.

  * * *

  For more than fifteen minutes the two chattered on. The little men sat hunched about, apparently without curiosity. Their huge, lidless eyes remained motionless. Their breathing was deep and regular. They showed no,emotion, gave no faintest flicker of facial expression.

  Then it became apparent that the conversation had drifted to the three who lay listening with such eager curiosity.

  Badger pointed toward them, indulged in a rattle of conversation. The German nodded, looked at the three, and his eyes clouded with hostility.

  Again he looked at Badger.

  “Treachery!” snapped Click. “That bird’s double crossing us.”

  “Hush!” whispered the girl. “We have got to make him our ally. Otherwise we won’t have any means of communicating with these people.”

  The German rolled his head, turned his pop eyes upon one of the natives, and muttered a single sound. It was one of those crisp, explosive words such as the chief had used.

  The native got to his feet, left the hut without a word of reply.

  Badger turned to the others.

  “Well, I guess you folks are wondering what it’s all about,” he said. “You see, it’s this way. This chap, Carl Gluckner, was working on a new type of aerial warship during the World War. He discovered a peculiar ray that had remarkable properties, but he couldn’t control that ray. At length he made himself a metallic house somewhat similar to ours, made it airtight, constructed it to withstand terrific pressure from within, and determined to explore the upper atmosphere.

  “He’s a little indefinite about it, and I think he’s perhaps trying to confuse me on the nature of his invention. That’s only natural, anyway. But he, and four companions, started out. They tuned up their ray, directed it beneath them, and found they were ascending with such terrific velocity that they lost all control of the car. Gluckner says he was unconscious because of being thrown against the floor, the acceleration was so gr
eat.

  “They were in the interplanetary regions for seven days. Then they managed to control the ray somewhat, and, by using it in short intervals with a greatly reduced current, were able to effect a landing. But the machine was pretty badly smashed when they landed. They came down not far from here, and the natives tried to capture them.

  “They had rifles, and turned loose, killing more than a hundred. But the little beggars don’t seem to have any great fear of death. When they start to do a thing, they do it. Sheer force of numbers told the story, and they overpowered the expedition. They killed Gluckner’s companions, but held him for purposes of observation.

  “He’s managed to learn their language. Says it’s a simple affair that’s like certain of the primitive African tribes. He’s sent for the chief. Here comes the chief now.”

  The little man entered the hut, stood for a moment before Gluckner, regarding him in unwinking gravity. Then he muttered a single word.

  Gluckner answered slowly, laboriously. He used five separate words, rolled his eyes, waited, then put together a slow, halting sentence, hesitating between each word as though to let the brain of the chief absorb the expression.

  The chief turned his camera eyes to Badger, took from his robe a huge diamond that had been shaped into a knife, and slit Badger’s bonds with a single stroke of the razor edge.

  “Good heavens,” exclaimed the professor; “that knife is a diamond; unpolished, but a diamond, nevertheless.”

  The chief approached the others, bent over the girl, cut her bonds, then straightened and put the knife back in his girdle.

  “But how about Father and Mr. Kendall?” asked Dorothy.

  Badger shook his head.

  The chief grunted again.

  Two men armed with spears entered the hut.

  The men each took an arm of the girl, led her outside the door.

  Click glanced at Badger.

  That individual was smiling, a loose-lipped, crafty smile.

  The girl’s steps died away. The steady drip, drip, drip of the mournful forest rattled on the leaf roof of the hut. And then that fog-filled air was knifed by a single piercing scream.

  Click struggled frantically with his bonds.

  “The girl. She’s in danger. Quick, turn us loose, go see what it is!” he told Badger.

  Badger went to the door of the hut. His manner was that of one who strolls casually. For an instant he stood within the entrance, then vanished. His feet could be heard on the ground, running.

  Click struggled with his body, writhing, twisting, trying to get free, hardly conscious of what he was doing. One of the guards arose, picked up a spear and thrust the sharp end against Click’s throat.

  Click glanced up into the expressionless eyes, jerked his head toward the doorway.

  “Can’t you let me go to help her?” he asked, forgetting that the man could not understand his language.

  His only answer was a tightening of the pressure where the spear pushed against his throat.

  Click subsided. The spear had punctured his skin, was pushing against the tender spot of his throat. He concluded that he was to be murdered in cold blood.

  “Nein, nein,” warned Gluckner.

  The pressure relaxed. Shod footsteps came strolling along the packed ground outside the hut. Badger’s grinning face appeared in the doorway.

  “She just saw a snake,” he remarked. “Said to forgive her for screaming.”

  And then he turned to Gluckner and rattled off a long discourse. Gluckner shook his head once, then talked swiftly for more than a minute.

  * * *

  Badger yawned, stretched, nodded, turned to the professor.

  “Pity you don’t speak German. Some of this information is well worth hearing. He says the heat on the central portion of the illuminated disk is unbearable. That no one lives there except a race of people that are close kin to the things we call apes. They’re hairy and live in the trees. This tribe represents about the highest order of civilization he’s seen; but he hasn’t made a complete exploration of the planet.

  “The same face is always turned toward the sun, just as the same face of the moon is always turned toward the earth. That means there’s one side that has perpetual night. There’s a peculiar sort of mushroom growth that attains gigantic proportions in the night zone. And the borderland is peopled by a race of ferocious warriors.

  “They use a sort of blowpipe and have a missile that’s got some toadstool preparation on it. It causes a painful death within about three hours of the time it’s absorbed into the system.

  “These people aren’t very warlike, but they have a certain callousness to all forms of pain or suffering. They’re something like wild animals of a low order of intelligence. Yet they’re human all right. It’s what Gluckner calls ‘undeveloped soul ego.’ There’s a German name he uses that’s hard to translate.

  “Well, I’m going out and walk around and see if I can make better friends with these natives. So long.”

  He strolled to the door, muttered a sentence in German, and then went out.

  Gluckner regarded the bound pair for a moment with pop eyes that seemed to contain some element of doubt. Once more he sought to raise his hand and make motions, but the effort was futile. The rheumatism had made his joints almost immovable. He sighed, barked a single explosive order, and the natives took hold of the stretcher, bore him outside.

  There remained three guards watching them with unblinking camera eyes. About them the fog swirled. The trees dipped their mournful protest against the dismal environment. The reddish glow of waning light gradually began to tell on Kendall’s nerves.

  Perspiration slimed his body from the effort of his struggles. The thongs bit into his wrists, and Click noticed that they developed a slime as the perspiration came in contact with them. There was a gelatinous something in the substance that softened in water. An idea seized him.

  He worked his hands back and forth—up and down— sliding one over the other, trying to slip his bonds over his wrists, seeking to get as much perspiration on them as possible.

  He noticed that the reddish light was becoming less bright. There seemed to be a pall settling down. Things lost their color, became drab. It was harder to see. The air seemed quivering with suspense.

  “Thought it didn’t get dark here,” he said to Professor Wagner.

  “Most strange. It cannot be night as we know it. Yet there is undoubtedly some obscuration of the sun. Perhaps there is an eclipse caused by some minor satellite. After all, the question of a small satellite for Venus has caused astronomical arguments at various times.”

  The guards became restive, uneasy. The darkness grew more profound.

  Then came a terrific crashing noise in the forest. It sounded as though millions of feet were tearing through the foliage, smashing branches.

  CHAPTER 8

  Horror in the Dark

  “Rain!” exclaimed Click.

  And it was rain, such as terrestrial residents never experienced. More like a thundering cloudburst it came. The trees bent and swayed. The beating drops, larger than any Click had experienced, came hissing through the foggy air, spattered upon the soggy ground.

  The guards peered out of the door, turned their great eyes upon each other. Click could see them as shadowy outlines vaguely visible against the curtain of pouring water which covered the doorway.

  Then came other forms. The doorway was blocked with struggling figures that paused long enough to make explosive remarks, single syllables of alarm.

  In the confusion Click managed to plunge his arms in a pool of water which seeped through the wall of the hut. The water softened his bonds, made them as slippery as so much wet seaweed. He slipped his arm down until his right hand could grasp his knife which had been left in his pocket. A few seconds and he was free.

  He rolled over to Professor Wagner.

  “I’m cutting your ropes,” he hissed in a shrill warning, audible over the crash of the storm.<
br />
  Click slit the ropes. “Come on,” he ordered.

  The professor arose, followed.

  The two fugitives slipped out into the darkness. Instantly they were drenched to the skin. Yet the rain was warm, almost tepid. The fog still swirled through the moisture. The trees steamed, and the darkness was that of a foggy night.

  “I believe these fellows can see in the dark,” said Click.

  “Better keep to the shadows. Let’s try ducking into the first shelter we can find.”

  A doorway loomed before them. So dark was it that they were almost upon it before it became visible.

  They dived inside.

  “Here’s where I find a spear,” promised Click, as he groped about.

  Of a sudden his groping hands touched clammy human skin. He jumped back, bracing himself for attack.

  There was a guttural exclamation from the darkness.

  “Gluckner!” exclaimed Click.

  “Ja, ja,” came eagerly from the darkness.

  A sudden inspiration seized Click; perhaps the man spoke French. And Click knew a little something of that language. His execution was atrocious, but it had served to get him by before.

  He tried to bring his mind to work upon his slender vocabulary. The result was a few stuttering words that ventured upon the darkness and were abruptly swallowed in an enthusiastic burst of voluble French from the German.

  Click gave a sigh of relief. Why hadn’t he thought of French before? But the events had been so exciting, so unusual, and Badger had been so ready with his flow of German that it had entirely escaped his mind that the German would very probably know French.

  Click interrupted the rapid flow of words and ordered the man to speak more slowly.

  “Ask him what is the trouble,” said Professor Wagner.