Tales of the Shadowmen 4: Lords of Terror

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  The tall Earthman ran his fingers through his unruly mane of red hair. It was rare that Curt Newton, better known through the solar system as Captain Future, ran into something outside his experience.

  “That makes sense,” he said. “A man who could alter his own relationship to the time stream could seem to appear and disappear as the intruder did. But what technology could he be using?”

  “Many years ago, when I was still human, there was a discovery that could explain it,” the Brain answered. “A French scientist named Noël Essaillon invented something that he called noelite and claimed it had such properties.”

  “I remember the name,” Curt said. “Didn’t he disappear mysteriously?”

  “He did,” the Brain replied. “There were rumors that his government tested a weapon using noelite. Shortly after that, he vanished from sight. I always assumed that he had been taking into hiding for reasons of national security.”

  “The man who did this wasn’t working for the Earth Government,” the third man in the room said. He was Halk Anders, the head of the Planet Police. “If he’d been a part of any legitimate national government, we’d have a record of it.”

  “Do you have any leads?” Curt asked.

  “There have been several groups who’ve threatened the opening of the museum,” Anders answered. “It’s a prime target because so many planetary leaders will be in attendance. We’ve had threats from the Venusian Neo-Zani’s, a Martian separatist group called the Sons of the Two Moons, and Dr. Ku Sui’s organization, just to name a few.”

  “Whoever this man is, he seems to be a terrorist,” Curt said. “Tell the President that the Futuremen will make certain he doesn’t succeed.”

  Erik John Stark reappeared in his chair with a look of wonder on his face.

  “How long was I gone?”

  “Only an instant,” St. Menoux replied.

  “I relived three years,” he shook his head. “You say that it is possible to go into the future too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ve seen what will happen?”

  “It’s complicated,” St. Menoux said. “Time is shaped like a fan. The present is the fulcrum from which all possible timelines radiate. Any time I travel to the future, I move down the most likely of an infinite number of timelines. I can always return to the point I left, but my next trip will take me to a different future.”

  “Why are you here?” Stark asked.

  “I recently traveled to the 23rd century. I found civilization in ruins there. I checked the records as thoroughly as I could and discovered that there was an interplanetary war that began this year. Many of the leaders of the Triangle planets, Venus, Earth and Mars, were killed at the opening of the Moon Museum. Accusations and rumors went wild until the war broke out. It was only years later that they discovered that the deaths had been caused by an old trap.”

  Stark said nothing. His blue eyes were fixed on the time traveler’s face with a fierce intensity. St. Menoux swallowed and continued.

  “In the 20th century there lived a Japanese woman named Madame Atomos. She had sworn vengeance for the use of the atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This woman had a trap planted on the first vessel to land on the Moon.” 1

  “What sort of trap?”

  “A bomb of some sort,” St. Menoux said bitterly. “I had hoped to persuade the President of Earth to abort the opening and destroy the landing craft. Unfortunately, our meeting didn’t go very well.”

  Stark nodded.

  “There’s a terrorist alert since you popped up in the President’s office. All ships leaving the planet will be searched and there’s no traffic to the Moon except on official business. To make matters worse, the Moon is Captain Future’s home.”

  “Then there is no hope?”

  “You could just use your time travel device to go there, couldn’t you?” Stark asked. “I don’t see how even Future could stop that.”

  “I can’t pass between the planets,” St. Menoux answered. “There may be a way but I haven’t found it.”

  “In that case,” Stark said, “I know just the man to help us.”

  Tranquility Base was well named. No wind had disturbed the flag since it had been planted midway through the last century. No rust had formed on the landing craft, no rot had set in to the fabric of the flag. The airless lunar surface had preserved everything better than an Earth museum could have. It was fortunate that the craft had landed in an area where there were no Moon wolves. The bizarre silicon-based creatures would have feasted on its refined metals.

  A huge glassite dome had been erected over the landing site, but had not yet been pressurized. Curt Newton gazed at the sight. He had been born on the Moon, so this place held even more meaning for him than for most Earth people. He had mixed feelings about this new tourist site on the world that he had almost to himself for so long.

  Curt’s parents had been scientists on Earth, working to develop artificial beings as servants for humanity. They and their friend Simon Wright had fled to the Moon, seeking a hiding place to finish their experiments. Luna wasn’t far from Earth but, of all the moons and planets of the system, it was one of the few places where life had never taken hold.

  That was to say, there was almost no life on the surface of the Moon. Michel Ardan’s 1865 orbit of the satellite had spotted the ruins of ancient buildings. Professor Selwyn Cavor’s ill-fated expedition to Luna’s surface in 1901 had discovered a strange inhuman civilization in the vast caverns beneath. Curt had been in those caverns and suspected that there might be an entire living world deep inside the satellite. Perhaps the descendants of the ruined surface cities of Baloise, Ingala and Nial lived there still.

  In any case, Curt’s parents had their seclusion. At Simon’s request, they transferred his brain from his dying body to the serum case that still housed it. Then they had completed their experiments. Their first triumph had been Grag, a towering metal robot of matchless strength. Not satisfied, they constructed Otho, a pale synthetic man who looked and acted nearly human.

  Unfortunately, the Newtons’ enemies managed to track them to their new home. They murdered the young couple only to be killed in turn by Grag and Otho. Curt had been raised on that lonely orb by android, robot and disembodied brain. They had trained his mind and body to the peak of human perfection and now shared his strange vocation of seeking adventures and righting wrongs.

  “Master,” Grag’s voice came through the spacesuit’s radio. “All my tests on the landing craft are negative.”

  “It’s the same with the flag and the stray equipment,” Otho added. “If there’s anything odd here, I sure can’t find it.”

  “Then we have to assume the green man’s statement is a terrorist threat,” Curt said grimly. “Well, if he wants to destroy this place, he’ll have to deal with the Futuremen first!”

  St. Menoux was sitting at the bar in an ancient city on the low canals of Mars. Getting off of Earth had been fairly simple. Stark had bribed their way on an Interplanetary Corporation freighter that had brought them to the red planet.

  He sipped his drink and glanced around anxiously. Stark had referred to Jekkara as a wretched hive of scum and villainy and it lived up to its reputation. There was a spaceport nearby and a few of the braver off-worlders mingled with the fierce Martian crowd. Madame Kan’s was famous for its beautiful dancing girls, its getak tables, and thil, an exquisitely prepared cactus brandy.

  St. Menoux was sampling a glass of the exotic liquor as a Martian girl whispered in his ear. She dressed in the local custom, which meant that she was naked to the waist. The tiny bells on her skirt tinkled wickedly as she moved.

  “I can promise you pleasures such as you’ve never known, Earthman,” she breathed. “I can find you a pipe of ming if you like, or the forbidden shanga, or perhaps the new drug from Pluto.”

  The traveler shook his head again, wishing he were somewhere else. He was relieved when he saw Stark signal him from across the room. He ro
se and moved to join his companion where he sat with another Earthman.

  “St. Menoux,” Stark said, “this is Northwest Smith. He’ll get us where we need to go.”

  The man called Smith was tall and lean with space-bronzed skin and cold grey eyes. He wore black spacer’s leathers and had a heat ray strapped to his right thigh, gunfighter style. If Stark seemed like a tiger in human form, then Northwest Smith was a wolf. St. Menoux shuddered at his need to associate with such men.

  “I said I can get you there,” Smith said with a thin smile. “We’re still working on whether I will.”

  “Our money’s good,” Stark replied.

  “That’s not the issue. You want to land in the Sea of Tranquility. That’s Captain Future’s backyard. His home is somewhere in Tycho Crater and he keeps an eye on everything that happens on the bright side of the Moon. Getting in there is more dangerous than trying to raid Black Pharol’s tomb.”

  “True,” Stark countered. “But you’ve done that, haven’t you, Northwest?”

  Smith smiled crookedly.

  “My point is, for a job this dangerous I need to know the reason.”

  “If we don’t do this, there will be an explosion that will kill a lot of prominent leaders from Earth, Venus and Mars,” St. Menoux said.

  Smith looked startled.

  “You’re kidding, right, Stark? Why in Shar’s name would you want to stop that? You hate those government types.”

  “It leads to a war,” St. Menoux continued. “Billions will die, civilization will fall into ruin.”

  “How could you know that?” Smith demanded. “You couldn’t unless...”

  “He’s a time traveler,” Stark supplied.

  “Seven hells!” the pilot swore. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to get involved with one of those again!”

  “There’s no other way,” Stark said.

  Smith scowled and tossed back a shot of thil.

  “Fine,” he said. “I suppose if I have to go out, making a fool out of Captain Future’s as good a way as any.”

  Gerry Carlyle ran a hand absently through her reddish gold hair as she watched the Planet Patrol cruisers. After a moment, they broke off and she guided the Ark from lunar orbit towards the bright lights of Hollywood-on-the-Moon. Gerry let out a breath of relief and reached for the intercom button.

  “Smith, the coast is clear.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart!” a voice answered. “Any problems?”

  “No problems, aside from you calling me ‘sweetheart.’ ”

  “I knew there wouldn’t be. There isn’t a man breathing who could say ‘no’ to you.”

  “It had more to do with the fact that I have a hold full of Plutonian ice-tigers,” Gerry said. “One look at those brutes and the cops didn’t want to inspect the ship too closely.”

  “I’d meant to ask about that,” Smith asked.

  “Nine Planets Studios wants them for a remake of Scott of the South Pole,” she said.

  “Isn’t that a historical Earth story? What do they want ice tigers for?”

  “I just catch the animals,” Gerry replied. “I leave the details like that to Van Zorn and his writers.”

  “Well, I owe you for this sweetheart!”

  “Listen, Smith,” Gerry’s voice took on an edge. “I was never your sweetheart and that goes double now that I’m engaged. As far as I’m concerned, you and I are quits.”

  “Hey,” Smith said. “Where’s all this hostility coming from?”

  “You’d better be telling me the truth about what you’re up to, Northwest,” she replied. “If anyone gets hurt in whatever you’re planning, I’ll hunt you down myself!”

  A moment later, a small, camouflaged vessel detached from the underside of the Ark. It was the Maid, an Edsel class transport that Northwest Smith had used for years. The battered exterior hid an engine that could outrun or outmaneuver anything the authorities could send after her.

  “Are you sure she’s a friend?” St. Menoux asked.

  The time traveler, and a Venusian co-pilot named Yarol, shared the Maid’s small bridge with Smith. Erik John Stark, who hated confining spaces, was in the hold.

  “A very good friend,” Smith answered, “and you sure as Pharol don’t want her as an enemy.”

  “Mr. Stark said the same thing about Captain Future.”

  “Curt Newton isn’t the kind of person many folks would care to cross,” Smith agreed. “But I think our barbarian friend is actually looking forward to it.”

  “But why?” St. Menoux asked.

  “The two of them are about as opposite as can be. Some native Mercurians took Stark in after his parents died. He was just in his teens when the human colonists slaughtered his tribe and ‘rescued’ him. He’s had a hate for human development ever since. You can always count on him to take the side of the oppressed planetary ‘primitives.’ ”

  “And Captain Future is on the side of the corporations?”

  “Not exactly.” Smith replied. “Future is a genuine idealist. He hates to see the people of the planets abused or cheated, and he’s come down hard on the worst violators, but he’s strictly a law and order type. It’s Earthmen who write the laws these days, so he puts Earth’s interests ahead of anyone else’s. Plus, he believes that Earth has the burden of spreading its culture and technology to benefit backwards worlds. Erik believes that type of idealism is as dangerous as the worst of the corporate land-grabbers.”

  “Do you share his sympathies?”

  “I’ll miss the old Martian ways when they’re gone,” Smith answered. “I’ll miss the decadence of Venus too, but they’re on their way out with or without me.”

  “What do you believe in then?” St. Menoux asked.

  “Money.”

  St. Menoux shook his head. He had defended his country from the Nazis, but that had been a duty expected of him. He was a mathematician, not a man of causes. He knew that if his mentor, Noël Essaillon, were still alive he would chide him for this foolish adventure. A scientist’s job was to observe and experiment. A little tampering here and there to study the effect on the timestream was justified, but trying to “set things right” was unscientific folly.

  St. Menoux thought about going back and asking Essaillon’s opinion. Talking to the dead was a simple matter for a time traveler. He decided against it. He knew what the answer would be and, this one time, he very much wanted to change history. He wasn’t sure why, but this situation had captured his heart.

  An alarm began to sound in the cabin.

  “What is it?” St. Menoux cried.

  “It’s Captain Future’s ship, the Comet,” Smith replied. “Hold on while I try to give him the slip.

  The Maid began to dodge across the moonscape with amazing agility. The motion was too much for St. Menoux, who became violently space-sick. Fortunately, Stark had come forward and was able to get the traveler strapped in.

  It swiftly became apparent that, despite Northwest Smith’s uncanny piloting skills, the teardrop-shaped Comet outmatched his vessel.

  “He’s hailing us, NW,” the Venusian announced.

  Curt Newton’s iron-jawed face appeared on the screen. His fiery hair was more unkempt than usual.

  “Northwest Smith,” he said. “We’ve identified your craft and we know that you’re carrying two terrorists. Land at once or I’ll blast you out of space!”

  “You think you can?” Smith taunted.

  In response a brilliant blue ray of coherent protons slashed past the Maid’s bow.

  “I’m not bluffing,” Newton said grimly. “Land now!”

  Smith’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Do as the man says, Yarol.”

  Curt Newton stood in the dome, now filled with air. The dignitaries were starting to fill the place. The delegation from Earth was here, as were representatives of Mercury and Jupiter. Several of the many races of Mars from stilt-limbed Aihais to tiny, great-headed Macrocephalites were present. The Emperor of Venus was
there, his milk-white skin and pale gold hair stood out vividly against a silken black robe. His cherubic face showed none of the depredations for which he was known. Two stunning Venusian women attended him and Curt knew by their beauty that they must be some of the famous Minga maids. One had the milky skin and bronze hair of Ednes and the other the dark hair and skin of Vejap. Both wore elegant velvet gowns that left one shoulder bare and the distinctive triangular caps of the high-caste women of Venus.

  Curt turned away. The daughters of the Minga might be privileged, but they were still slaves. It disgusted him that there were planetary rulers who still condoned such things. Besides, the loveliness of the women was almost tangible and his strange upbringing had not prepared him for such things. Aside from his sweetheart, Joan, he preferred to give beautiful women a comfortable berth.

  He turned away and nearly collided with President Crewe, who had a stunning Martian woman on his arm. She had the reddish complexion of her planet, but there seemed to be a touch of Earth in her face. Her silken costume, conservative by Martian standards, made the young adventurer blush.

  “Curtis,” the President said, “allow me to introduce Ambassador Tara from Helium City.”

  “Kaor Jeddara, Tara,” Curt said.

  “I’m honored to meet the famous Captain Future,” the woman replied. “Where did you learn Martian? Your accent is flawless.”

  Curt nodded politely and made small talk for a few moments. He was relieved when his televisor chimed. He made his excuses and moved to an isolated section of the dome. The face that greeted him on the screen was an exact replica of his own.

  “I’ve got the ship in custody, Chief,” Curt’s double said. “The Venusian was the only one on board.”

  “What about when you hailed them?” Curt asked.

  “I got a glimpse of Smith, Stark and the Green Man. I also made sure they all got a good look at me.”

  Curt nodded. Otho had molded his synthetic flesh into an exact replica of Curt’s features and then applied special dyes to his eyes and skin. His normal appearance was that of a pale, hairless human with wild green eyes. The android’s synthetic nature made him the solar system’s greatest master of disguise.