Forgotten Fiction

by Lloyd Eshbach

  CHAPTER IV

  THE terrible days of the Gray Plague ended in mystery. Much that had puzzled the world, Parkinson, with his Venerian knowledge, explained; but there was one thing, the final, enigmatical act in the strange drama, that was as much of a mystery to him as it was to the rest of the world.

  Enigma! Of what significance, of what portent—who could tell?

  When the great vessel from the United States, equipped to destroy the meteor of the Venetians, neared the great thoque sphere, they came upon a scene quite different from what they had expected. Parkinson, who was on the ship, was more surprised than the rest, for he had definite knowledge of what, in the natural course of events, they should see. For the others there was nothing so very strange in what they saw; Parkinson had lied, that was all.

  When the bacteriologist had left the meteor, there had been a high, bronze-colored tower, a burnished lighthouse, covering its entire top. It had been there—but now it was gone! Only the jagged, arched surface of the meteor remained.

  They lowered boats and rowed to the strange island. There they saw something that filled them—Parkinson especially—with a very definite uneasiness. The entire top of the meteor was a twisted, fire-blasted mass of bronze-like metal. Where the tower had been, where the shaft had led into the remarkable interplanetary vehicle, there was now a broken expanse of thoque that flashed fire under the rays of the sun.

  Something seemed to have melted, to have fused the tower, until it had crumpled, and had run, filling the entrance of the meteor. There was irrefutable evidence to that effect; no one thought otherwise.

  But what agency had done this strange thing?

  Someone suggested that it might have been the work of some prearranged mechanism. Parkinson shook his head. Had such been the case, his Venerian knowledge would have told him so.

  Obviously, nothing of Earth had done it, nothing of Earth—then something of Venus! Inconclusive conjecture, perhaps, but no other explanation offered itself. Something had sealed the contents of the meteor from the sight of man, something with a purpose. From Venus? The thought was logical, to say the least.

  Not for long did they remain there beside the Venerian vehicle; there was naught for them to do, so they turned about and headed toward the United States. They bore tidings that were vaguely disturbing, tidings that none were glad to hear. For, according to all indications, something alien to Earth was still within her confines.

  BEHIND it all—the meteors, the Plague, the sealing of the Venerian vehicle—is one fact of great significance. No longer is man alone in the universe; no longer is he in isolation! Out of space came a menace, an intelligence striving to wrest from him his right to rule over Earth. No longer can man in his smug complacency think of himself as being secure in his strength. He has been shown the utter folly of such thinking.

  The menace—the invaders from Venus—came, and were destroyed, their purposes defeated. Yet—in the vast reaches of space, in worlds of other dimensions, in the cosmic crucible of life that embodies all creation, there may be other forms of life, other menaces, hovering clouds of death, preparing to sweep down upon Earth to snuff out her life. Who can tell?

  And who may say that man is free from the Venerian danger? The strange sealing of the meteor implies that the menace is still present. Who knows but what those inhuman Venerian brutes may even now be planning some new invasion, may be preparing to renew their attack upon Earth?

  Time alone will tell.

  [*] The work of the English bacteriologist Twort, in 1915, and the Frenchman, d’Herelle, in 1917, brought to the attention of the scientific world the fact that many bacteria are subject to attack and destruction by some unknown active agent with which they are associated in infected material. This agent, whatever its character, changed growing germ cultures to a dead, glassy substance.

  Twort advanced the thought that the agent might be a living, filtered virus, although he favored the theory that it was an enzyme derived from the bacteria themselves.

  D’Herelle, on the contrary, believed that this phenomenon was due to a living, multiplying, ultra-microscopic microbe that destroyed certain bacteria.

  Evidence favoring both theories has come to light, with the result that, at present, controversy is rife. Up to date, the contention of neither side has been proved.

  1931

  THE VALLEY OF THE TITANS

  MANY phases of abnormal development of mankind are due to the ductless glands, and it is more or less well known that we have in our power, the possibility of creating giants or dwarfs. It could hardly be said that the possibilities stop there. It might be equally likely that some time some means could be found, through the glands, to create sages, or the reverse. For ordinarily what can be accomplished in one direction might just as easily, and with just as great success, be done directly in the opposite. And what might actually be done, following up this line of action, is beyond the reasonableness of any stated fact. I’ve simply cannot tell. In this beautifully written story, that is so reminiscent of “The Moon Pool” and “The Metal Emperor,” our author gives us entertainment.

  CHAPTER I

  Into the Hidden Valley

  IN clearing up the mystery that had almost demoralized England’s aviation forces in India I owe my success to a thunderstorm. If Nature had delayed the unleashing of the tempest for five minutes, or if my plane had moved a few hundred feet farther, the affair might still be shrouded in mystery, aviators might still be disappearing, and the story of the hidden valley might never have been made known. But, regardless of what might have been, the fact remains that my plane was caught by a demon gale, and was hurled over miles of towering mountains, and was placed in—but that is the story.

  The storm had come upon me unheralded, or rather I had suddenly entered the storm in my flight. There was a curious fading of the sunlight, a falling of a gloom like that of dusk, and a sudden cooling of the air. Then I saw a gigantic cumulus cloud speeding toward me from the north—and the tempest broke in all its fury.

  A bolt of lightning cut the clouds like a knife, accompanied by a sullen roar of thunder that drowned the drone of the plane’s motor. Torrents of chilling rain fell in swirling walls of water that beat a deafening tattoo upon the wings.

  So merciless was the storm, that in a very few moments I sat in the plane in a daze. Incessantly I was being cuffed this way, whirled that, as though tossed by the hand of an invisible giant. Amid eddies and vortexes I pitched and spun, in the grip of a cyclone that seemed to be a living thing, possessed of a diabolic cunning.

  Suddenly the plane took a terrifying dip, turning end over end. Then it whirled upward, spinning like a top. “This is the end of Jimmie Newton,” I thought. I dared not try to control the machine with either rudder or joystick, lest I snap one or both controls, thus disabling the phone entirely. I was utterly helpless.

  Flash after flash of lightning played about the plane; momentarily I expected one of the bolts to strike the machine, and fill the cockpit with a mass of charred flesh. I was blinded by the glare around me; was deafened by the ceaseless roar of the thunder; and my mind was in a state of chaotic disorder. Thoughts, whose frenzy equalled that of the storm began to whirl through my brain.

  And then there was a lull in the storm. The prolonged reverberations of the thunder and the gleeful shrieking and howling of the wind abated. With hope gradually returning, I reached for the joystick.

  A moment later, a mighty, twisting whirlpool of air, the rear guard of the storm, caught the plane in its grip, and tossed it high above the clouds, a toy in the hands of a Titan. Tossed it, and caught it—and placed it gently upon the earth! And during that terrible dipping and whirling, I sat in the cockpit, overcome by an awful nausea. I had succumbed at last to the pitching and twisting of the monster wind that bore the plane.

  And the storm passed on——

  How long I sat there, I cannot say, but finally the sickness and dizziness left me, and I threw off my belts and le
aped from the plane. For a moment I tottered unsteadily, for I felt rather light-headed; then as my mind cleared, I stared around.

  I seemed to be in the heart of the Himalayas. On every hand arose lofty mountain peaks, enormous, snow-capped monuments of Nature. Towering spires of gray rock, their peaks covered by huge, silver crowns, gem-encrusted, glittering; gigantic turrets and steeples of ochre, pale sapphires for their diadems; giant pinnacles lifting their heads among the clouds, beautiful yet oppressive—these were the mountains with their covering of eternal ice and snow.

  I looked down—and caught my breath in surprise. Below me lay a scene unlike anything I had expected to see in the Himalayas. I was standing at the top of a rather steep, rocky slope that descended into a vast, tree-lined valley. It was a wide, green bowl, held in the hands of the clustered hills, with the peaks crowding around it, craning their lofty heads to peer within. A great hollow, it was, covered with tropical verdure, that seemed somehow to be filled with a spirit of unbelievable antiquity.

  I CIRCLED the valley with my eyes. There seemed to be nothing other than an endless stretch of mist-obscured jungle, broken at frequent intervals by a splash of color, or the flash of a stream or lake. Nothing, that is, except for a towering, conical mount that rose from the floor of the valley, five or six miles away. Its sides sloped rather gently, ascending gradually to the apex of the hill that was flattened like a huge platform, as though in the distant past it had been shorn away by some gigantic, keen-edged blade. And in the very center of that flat area in rough imitation of a table, lay a great boulder. Its smooth, flat top, and fairly even sides were suggestive of the hand of man.

  I turned then and examined the elevation upon which the storm had placed the plane. Apparently I had landed on the floor of a deep, wide ravine that lay between two peaks. On the both sides of me, separated by about a hundred feet of rocky earth, towered two mighty rock walls. Several hundred feet above, I saw the top of each.

  As I shifted my gaze, I heard a loud, grating sound, the rasp of metal upon rocks, and heard something falling headlong down the slope. I turned in time to see my plane settle into a precarious position on the edge of the incline. In landing, it had wedged itself into a crevice in the wall of the gorge, with its front end leaning over the edge. And now, probably because of the weight of the motor, and its insecurity, it was settling toward the valley, freeing rocks which bounded down the slope.

  Even as I took a step toward the plane, it moved a bit farther. I could see that it would fall in another minute. Without the plane I was lost; there was a bare chance that, once in the machine, I could fly free; J sprang into the cockpit.

  My added weight was all that was needed to start the plane; and in a moment it was falling in a tail-spin toward the valley below.

  I had been counting on a moment or two before the plane started, to set the motor in motion, but this had been denied me. Shortly before it reached the valley, however, I managed to straighten into a steep glide. And in that position I struck.

  If the plane had landed on the open ground, there is little question but that I would have been killed; fortunately for me, however, the force of my fall was broken by the branches of a mighty monarch of the forest. Instead of being killed, I escaped injury entirely, suffering nothing worse than a bad shaking-up.

  With some difficulty I freed myself from the wreckage of my plane—for wreckage it was—and holding fast to the plane’s struts, balanced myself on a heavy limb. All around lay the jungle, a wilderness of gigantic tree-ferns, interspersed with tall, stately palm trees, the whole matted together by vines and creepers as thick as a man’s arm. It was a tropical jungle, the wildness of which was not equalled by that of Africa.

  About thirty feet below lay the earth. As I gazed around, inspecting the peculiar growths that covered the ground, my eyes came to rest upon a small stream, little more than a gutter, that flowed near by. Sight of the water made me conscious of the fact that I was thirsty.

  To secure water I decided to descend from my precarious position without further delay. Besides, I was curious to see just what kind of a place I had landed in. My plane was wrecked beyond repair, so there was no question but that I was stranded in the valley. The quicker I adjusted myself to my new environment, the better it would be for me.

  Finally, after inspecting my automatic and filling my belt with cartridges from the supply in the plane, I descended to the ground. The plane held a machine gun, but that was too cumbersome for use. The pistol would have to do.

  A moment after reaching the ground, I knelt down beside the stream, and with cupped hands, started drinking.

  Suddenly I heard a guttural exclamation behind me, and whirled. A short distance away stood three squat, shaggy creatures, human in form, but little superior to apes. Powerful, hairy arms, appended to wide, muscular shoulders, placed their hamlike hands parallel with their knees. Short, bowed legs supported their heavy bodies. Small, close-set, rat-like eyes; huge flat noses, nostrils distended; wide, thick-lipped mouths from which large, yellow teeth protruded; and heavy, bearded jaws—such were their faces. They were men of the past, creatures from some long-forgotten age.

  The three stared at me with curious, surprised expressions on their faces. They were motionless for a moment; then they sprang toward me.

  Quickly I drew my pistol and fired. The foremost savage grunted and pitched forward on his face. His two companions stopped short. When I fired a second shot over their heads, they turned and fled in mad haste.

  Although I was the victor, I regretted the incident exceedingly, for it could only serve to make my way more difficult. But the thing had been thrust upon me; and nothing could be gained by vain regrets. With all possible speed I returned to the tree that bore the wreck of the plane.

  I HAD just reached the comparative safety of the limb, when I heard a great commotion, and loud throaty voices a short distance to my right. Several minutes later I saw fully twenty beastmen creeping stealthily through the underbrush in my general direction. After circling warily for a few minutes, they gathered by common consent in the open space directly beneath my tree!

  Suddenly one of the last ones to arrive pointed up at me, gesticulating wildly, while a jumbled stream of jargon flowed from his lips. In exasperation I fired at the brute, but I must have missed, for he dashed off through the jungle as though pursued by devils. The shot had one result, however; instantly the beastmen disappeared, hiding behind every tree and shrub that offered concealment.

  I was in a worse position now than I had been before. There was no place for me to hide; I had to remain there in plain sight, a perfect target. With every sense alert, and my nerves on edge, I stood on the limb, waiting with my automatic held in readiness. Minute after minute, each seemingly endless, dragged by, and nothing happened. The silence was unbroken save for the natural noises of the jungle.

  My nerves had almost reached the limit of their endurance, when things began to happen. On all sides arose a loud crashing. The tree-tops shook violently as though a great wind was passing through them. Then, thrusting aside mighty tree-ferns as though they were blades of grass, five nightmare monsters came into the clearing. On the back of each was a beastman.

  I had no time for more than cursory glance at the creatures, but they were so amazing that that glance served to impress their appearance indelibly upon my mind.

  The monsters which traveled on all fours, looked exceedingly awkward; their short, stumplike forelegs were only one third as long as their hind limbs. Indeed, the difference in the length of their limbs seemed to throw them off balance; apparently they were in danger of falling end over end. When I first saw the creatures, I was impressed by their great size, but later I learned that they were diminutive when compared with the other monsters of the valley. Their armor-plated backs at their highest points were fully ten feet above the ground, and they must have measured all of twenty-five feet from the tips of their tiny, pointed, triangular heads to the ends of their blunt, sp
iked tails. The monsters’ backs were covered with a protective armor of huge, overlapping plates of horn, dark green in color. Their under sides seemed unprotected; in all probability they defended that vulnerable point with their massive tails. From the base of the creatures’ heads to the ends of their powerful, tapering tails, following the backbone, were double columns of upright, triangular plates, ranging from three to fifteen inches in height. The edges of those plates appeared to be as sharp as a knife blade. Where the plates ended, the tail was studded with eight, pointed spikes, a foot or more in length. I could well imagine those spiked tails lashing out like whips, to tear and cut the flesh of an adversary.

  I have written that I had no time for more than a cursory glance; this was so, because immediately after the five monsters entered the clearing, and before I could recover from my surprise, one of the beastmen stood upright on the back of his strange steed and hurled a heavy, ten-foot club at me. It struck me a glancing blow on the side of my head; I swayed drunkenly for a moment, a cloud of blackness before my eyes; then I toppled from the limb.

  I suppose one of the brutes caught me as I fell for when I awoke some time later I was uninjured.

  I came to my senses in a gloomy, filthy, foul-smelling cave, lying on the damp, stone floor, bound hand and foot. How long I had been unconscious I had no way of determining, but it must have been hours, for night was falling, rendering my view of my surroundings anything but clear.

  That night seemed to be an endless eternity. Fear kept me awake; I dared not close my eyes. I am not an imaginative individual, but I could not help peopling the blackness around me with frightful phantoms, weird shapes, and hordes of indescribable monsters. And even if I had felt safe enough to sleep, the frightful noises of the jungle would have made it impossible. There were shrill, high-pitched screams, low, ominous roars, cries of pain, and howls of triumph, all intermingled in a chaotic, terrifying bedlam of sound.