Astounding Stories of Super-Science, August 1930
Page 2
The Planet of Dread
_By R. F. Starzl_
_This time Forepaugh was ready for it._]
[Sidenote: A stupid blunder--and Mark Forepaugh faces a life ofcastaway loneliness in the savage welter of the planet Inra'smonster-ridden jungles.]
There was no use hiding from the truth. Somebody had blundered--afatal blunder--and they were going to pay for it! Mark Forepaughkicked the pile of hydrogen cylinders. Only a moment ago he had brokenthe seals--the mendacious seals that certified to the world that theflasks were fully charged. And the flasks were empty! The supply ofthis precious power gas, which in an emergency should have beensufficient for six years, simply did not exist.
He walked over to the integrating machine, which as early as the year2031 had begun to replace the older atomic processes, due to theshortage of the radium series metals. It was bulky and heavy comparedto the atomic disintegrators, but it was much more economical and verydependable. Dependable--provided some thick-headed stock clerk at aterrestrial supply station did not check in empty hydrogen cylindersinstead of full ones. Forepaugh's unwonted curses brought a smile tothe stupid, good-natured face of his servant, Gunga--he who had beenbanished for life from his native Mars for his impiety in closing hissingle round eye during the sacred Ceremony of the Wells.
The Earth man was at this steaming hot, unhealthful trading stationunder the very shadow of the South Pole of the minor planet Inra foran entirely different reason. One of the most popular of his set onthe Earth, an athletic hero, he had fallen in love, and the devoutlywished-for marriage was only prevented by lack of funds. Theopportunity to take charge of this richly paid, though dangerous,outpost of civilization had been no sooner offered than taken. Inanother week or two the relief ship was due to take him and hisvaluable collection of exotic Inranian orchids back to the Earth, backto a fat bonus, Constance, and an assured future.
It was a different young man who now stood tragically before theuseless power plant. His slim body was bowed, and his clean featureswere drawn. Grimly he raked the cooling dust that had been forced inthe integrating chamber by the electronic rearrangement of theoriginal hydrogen atoms--finely powdered iron and silicon--the "ashes"of the last tank of hydrogen.
* * * * *
Gunga chuckled.
"What's the matter?" Forepaugh barked. "Going crazy already?"
"Me, haw! Me, haw! Me thinkin'," Gunga rumbled. "Haw! We got, haw!plenty hydr'gen." He pointed to the low metal roof of the tradingstation. Though it was well insulated against sound, the placecontinually vibrated to the low murmur of the Inranian rains that fellinterminably through the perpetual polar day. It was a rain such as isnever seen on Earth, even in the tropics. It came in drops as large asa man's fist. It came in streams. It came in large, shattering massesthat broke before they fell and filled the air with spray. There waslittle wind, but the steady green downpour of water and the brilliantcontinuous flashing of lightning shamed the dull soggy twilightproduced by the large, hot, but hidden sun.
"_Your_ idea of a joke!" Forepaugh growled in disgust. He understoodwhat Gunga's grim pleasantry referred to. There was indeed anincalculable quantity of hydrogen at hand. If some means could befound to separate the hydrogen atoms from the oxygen in the world ofwater around them they would not lack for fuel. He thought ofelectrolysis, and relaxed with a sigh. There was no power. Thegenerators were dead, the air drier and cooler had ceased its rhythmicpulsing nearly an hour ago. Their lights were gone, and the automaticradio utterly useless.
"This is what comes of putting all your eggs in one basket," hethought, and let his mind dwell vindictively on the engineers who haddesigned the equipment on which his life depended.
An exclamation from Gunga startled him. The Martian was pointing tothe ventilator opening, the only part of this strange building thatwas not hermetically sealed against the hostile life of Inra. A darkrim had appeared at its margin, a loathsome, black-green rim that wasmoving, spreading out. It crept over the metal walls like thelow-lying smoke of a fire, yet it was a solid. From it emanated astrong, miasmatic odor.
"The giant mold!" Forepaugh cried. He rushed to his desk and took outhis flash pistol, quickly set the localizer so as to cover a largearea. When he turned he saw, to his horror, Gunga about to smash intothe mold with his ax. He sent the man spinning with a blow to the ear.
"Want to scatter it and start it growing in a half-dozen places?" hesnapped. "Here!"
* * * * *
He pulled the trigger. There was a light, spiteful "ping" and for aninstant a cone of white light stood out in the dim room like a solidthing. Then it was gone, and with it was gone the black mold, leavinga circular area of blistered paint on the wall and an acrid odor inthe air. Forepaugh leaped to the ventilating louver and closed ittightly.
"It's going to be like this from now on," he remarked to the shakenGunga. "All these things wouldn't bother us as long as the machinerykept the building dry and cool. They couldn't live in here. But it'sgetting damp and hot. Look at the moisture condensing on the ceiling!"
Gunga gave a guttural cry of despair. "It knows, Boss; look!"
Through one of the round, heavily framed ports it could be seen, thelower part of its large, shapeless body half-floating in the lashingwater that covered their rocky shelf to a depth of several feet, theupper part spectral and gray. It was a giant amoeba, fully six feet indiameter in its present spheroid form, but capable of assuming anyshape that would be useful. It had an envelope of tough, transparentmatter, and was filled with a fluid that was now cloudy and thenclear. Near the center there was a mass of darker matter, and this wasundoubtedly the seat of its intelligence.
The Earth man recoiled in horror! A single cell with a brain! It wasunthinkable. It was a biological nightmare. Never before had he seenone--had, in fact, dismissed the stories of the Inranian natives as abit of primitive superstition, had laughed at these gentle, stupidamphibians with whom he traded when they, in their imperfect language,tried to tell him of it.
They had called it the Ul-lul. Well, let it be so. It was an amoeba,and it was watching him. It floated in the downpour and watched him.With what? It had no eyes. No matter, it was watching him. And then itsuddenly flowed outward until it became a disc rocking on the waves.Again its fluid form changed, and by a series of elongations andcontractions it flowed through the water at an incredible speed. Itcame straight for the window, struck the thick, unbreakable glass witha shock that could be felt by the men inside. It flowed over the glassand over the building. It was trying to eat them, building and all!The part of its body over the port became so thin that it was almostinvisible. At last, its absolute limit reached, it dropped away,baffled, vanishing amid the glare of the lightning and the frothingwaters like the shadows of a nightmare.
* * * * *
The heat was intolerable and the air was bad.
"Haw, we have to open vent'lator, Boss!" gasped the Martian.
Forepaugh nodded grimly. It wouldn't do to smother either. Though toopen the ventilator would be to invite another invasion by the blackmold, not to mention the amoebae and other fabulous monsters that hadup to now been kept at a safe distance by the repeller zone, a simpleadaptation of a very old discovery. A zone of mechanical vibrations,of a frequency of 500,000 cycles per second, was created by a largequartz crystal in the water, which was electrically operated. Withoutpower, the protective zone had vanished.
"We watch?" asked Gunga.
"You bet we watch. Every minute of the 'day' and 'night.'"
He examined the two chronometers, assuring himself that they were wellwound, and congratulated himself that they were not dependent on thedefunct power plant for energy. They were his only means of measuringthe passage of time. The sun, which theoretically would seem to travelround and round the horizon, rarely succeeded in making its exactlocation known, but appeared to shift strangely from side to side atthe whim of the fog and water.
"Th' fellas," Gunga remarked, coming out of a study. "Why not come?"He referred to the Inranians.
"Probably know something's wrong. They can tell the quartz oscillatoris stopped. Afraid of the Ul-lul, I suppose."
"'Squeer," demurred the Martian. "Ul-lul not bother fellas."
"You mean it doesn't follow them into the underbrush. But it wouldfind tough going there. Not enough water; trees there, four hundredfeet high with thorny roots and rough bark--they wouldn't like that.Oh no, these natives ought to be pretty snug in their dens. Why,they're as hard to catch as a muskrat! Don't know what a muskrat is,huh? Well, it's the same as the Inranians, only different, and not sougly."
* * * * *
For the next six days they existed in their straitened quarters, oneguarding while the other slept, but such alarms as they experiencedwere of a minor nature, easily disposed of by their flash pistol. Ithad not been intended for continuous service, and under the frequentdrains it showed an alarming loss of power. Forepaugh repeatedlywarned Gunga to be more sparing in its use, but that worthy persistedin his practice of using it against every trifling invasion of thepoisonous Inranian cave moss that threatened them, or the warm, soggywater-spiders that hopefully explored the ventilator shaft in searchof living food.
"Bash 'em with a broom, or something! Never mind if it isn't nice.Save our flash gun for something bigger."
Gunga only looked distressed.
On the seventh day their position became untenable. Some kind of seacreature, hidden under the ever-replenished storm waters, had foundthe concrete emplacements of their trading post to its liking. Justhow it was done was never learned. It is doubtful that the creaturescould gnaw away the solid stone--more likely the process was chemical,but none the less it was effective. The foundations crumbled; themetal shell subsided, rolled half over so that silty water leaked inthrough the straining seams, and threatened at any moment to bebuffeted and urged away on the surface of the flood toward thatdistant vast sea which covers nine-tenths of the area of Inra.
"Time to mush for the mountains," Forepaugh decided.
Gunga grinned. The Mountains of Perdition were, to his point of view,the only part of Inra even remotely inhabitable. They were sometimesfairly cool, and though perpetually pelted with rain, blazing withlightning and reverberating with thunder, they had caves that werefairly dry and too cool for the black mold. Sometimes, under favorablecircumstances on their rugged peaks, one could get the full benefit ofthe enormous hot sun for whose actinic rays the Martian's starvedsystem yearned.
"Better pack a few cans of the food tablets," the white man ordered."Take a couple of waterproof sleeping bags for us, and a few hundredfire pellets. You can have the flash pistol; it may have a few morecharges in it."
* * * * *
Forepaugh broke the glass case marked "Emergency Only" and removed twomore flash pistols. Well he knew that he would need them after passingbeyond the trading area--perhaps sooner. His eyes fell on his personalchest, and he opened it for a brief examination. None of the contentsseemed of any value, and he was about to pass when he dragged out along, heavy, .45 caliber six-shooter in a holster, and a cartridgebelt filled with shells. The Martian stared.
"Know what it is?" his master asked, handing him the weapon.
"Gunga not know." He took it and examined it curiously. It was a finemuseum piece in an excellent state of preservation, the metal overlaidwith the patina of age, but free from rust and corrosion.
"It's a weapon of the Ancients," Forepaugh explained. "It was a sortof family heirloom and is over 300 years old. One of my grandfathersused it in the famous Northwest Mounted Police. Wonder if it'll stillshoot."
He leveled the weapon at a fat, sightless wriggler that came squirmingthrough a seam, squinting unaccustomed eyes along the barrel. Therewas a violent explosion, and the wriggler disappeared in a smear ofdirty green. Gunga nearly fell over backward in fright, and evenForepaugh was shaken. He was surprised that the ancient cartridge hadexploded at all, though he knew powder making had reached a high levelof perfection before explosive chemical weapons had yielded to thenewer, lighter, and infinitely more powerful ray weapons. The gunwould impede their progress. It would be of very little use againstthe giant Carnivora of Inra. Yet something--perhaps a sentimentalattachment, perhaps what his ancestors would have called a"hunch"--compelled him to strap it around his waist. He carefullypacked a few essentials in his knapsack, together with one chronometerand a tiny gyroscopic compass. So equipped, they could travel with afair degree of precision toward the mountains some hundred miles onthe other side of a steaming forest, a-crawl with feral life, and hotwith blood-lust.
* * * * *
Man and master descended into the warm waters and, without a backwardglance, left the trading post to its fate. There was not even any usein leaving a note. Their relief ship, soon due, would never find thestation without radio direction.
The current was strong, but the water gradually became shallower asthey ascended the sloping rock. After half an hour they saw ahead ofthem the loom of the forest, and with some trepidation they enteredthe gloom cast by the towering, fernlike trees, whose tops disappearedin murky fog. Tangled vines impeded their progress. Quagmires lay inwait for them, and tough weeds tripped them, sometimes throwing one oranother into the mud among squirming small reptiles that lashed atthem with spiked, poisonous feet and then fell to pieces, each pieceto lie in the bubbling ooze until it grew again into a whole animal.
Several times they almost walked under the bodies of great,spheroidal creatures with massive short legs, whose tremendously long,sinuous necks disappeared in the leafy murk above, swaying gently likelong-stalked lilies in a terrestial pond. These were azornacks,mild-tempered vegetarians whose only defense lay in their thick,blubbery hides. Filled with parasites, stinking and rancid, theirdecaying covering of fat effectively concealed the tender fleshunderneath, protecting them from fangs and rending claws.
Deeper in the forest the battering of the rain was mitigated. Giantneo-palm leaves formed a roof that shut out not only most of the weakdaylight, but also the fury of the downpour. The water collected incataracts, ran down the boles of the trees, and roared through thesemi-circular canals of the snake trees, so named by early explorersfor their waving, rubbery tentacles, multiplied a millionfold, thatperformed the duties of leaves. Water gurgled and chuckled everywhere,spread in vast dim ponds and lakes writhing with tormented roots,up-heaved by unseen, uncatalogued leviathans, rippled by translucentdiscs of loathsome, luminescent jelly that quivered from place toplace in pursuit of microscopic prey.
Yet the impression was one of calm and quiet, and the waifs from otherworlds felt a surcease of nervous tension. Unconsciously they relaxed.Taking their bearings, they changed their course slightly for thenesting place of the nearest tribe of Inranians where they hoped toget food and at least partial shelter; for their food tablets hadmysteriously turned to an unpleasant viscous liquid, and theirsleeping bags were alive with giant bacteria easily visible to theeye.
* * * * *
They were doomed to disappointment. After nearly twelve hours ofdesperate struggling through the morass, through gloomy aisles, andcountless narrow escapes from prowling beasts of prey in which onlythe speed and tremendous power of their flash pistols saved them frominstant death, they reached a rocky outcropping which led to thecomparatively dry rise of land on which a tribe of Inranians made itshome. Their faces were covered with welts made by the hangingfilaments of blood-sucking trees as fine as spider webs, and theirsenses reeled with the oppressive stench of the abysmal jungle. If thepampered ladies of the Inner Planets only knew where theirthousand-dollar orchids sprang from!
Converging runways showed the opening of one of the underground dens,almost hidden from view by a bewildering maze of roots, rendered moreformidable by long, sharp stakes made from the iron-hard thigh-bones
of the flying kabo.
Forepaugh cupped his hands over his mouth and gave the call.
"Ouf! Ouf! Ouf! Ouf! Ouf!"
He repeated it over and over, the jungle giving back his voice in amuffled echo, while Gunga held a spare flash pistol and kept a sharplookout for a carnivore intent on getting an unwary Inranian.
There was no answer. These timid creatures, who are often rated themost intelligent life native to primitive Inra, had sensed disasterand had fled.
Forepaugh and Gunga slept in one of the foul, poorly ventilated dens,ate of the hard, woody tubers that had not been worth taking along,and wished they had a certain stock clerk at that place at that time.They were awakened out of deep slumber by the threshing of an evillooking creature which had become entangled among the sharpenedspikes. Its tremendous maw, splitting it almost in half, was opened inroars of pain that showed great yellow fangs eight inches in length.Its heavy flippers battered the stout roots and lacerated themselvesin the beast's insensate rage. It was quickly dispatched with a flashpistol and Gunga cooked himself some of the meat, using a fire pellet;but despite his hunger Forepaugh did not dare eat any of it, knowingthat this species, strange to him, might easily be one of the many onInra that are poisonous to terrestials.
* * * * *
They resumed their march toward the distant invisible mountains, andwere fortunate in finding somewhat better footing than they had ontheir previous march. They covered about 25 miles on that "day,"without untoward incident. Their ray pistols gave them an insuperableadvantage over the largest and most ferocious beasts they could expectto meet, so that they became more and more confident, despite theknowledge that they were rapidly using up the energy stored in theirweapons. The first one had long ago been discarded, and the chargeindicators of the other two were approaching zero at a disquietingrate. Forepaugh took them both, and from that time on he was carefulnever to waste a discharge except in case of a direct and unavoidableattack. This often entailed long waits or stealthy detours throughsucking mud, and came near to ending both their lives.
The Earth man was in the lead when it happened. Seeking an uncertainfooting through a tangle of low-growing, thick, ghastly whitevegetation, he placed a foot on what seemed to be a broad, flat rockprojecting slightly above the ooze. Instantly there was a violentupheaval of mud; the seeming rock flew up like a trap-door, disclosinga cavernous mouth some seven feet across, and a thick, triangulartentacle flew up from its concealment in the mud in a vicious arc.Forepaugh leaped back barely in time to escape being swept in andengulfed. The end of the tentacle struck him a heavy blow on thechest, throwing him back with such force as to bowl Gunga over, andwhirling the pistols out of his hands into a slimy, bulbous growthnearby, where they stuck in the phosphorescent cavities the force oftheir impact had made.
* * * * *
There was no time to recover the weapons. With a bellow of rage thebeast was out of its bed and rushing at them. Nothing stayed itsprogress. Tough, heavily scaled trees thicker than a man's bodyshuddered and fell as its bulk brushed by them. But it was momentarilyconfused, and its first rush carried it past its dodging quarry. Thismomentary respite saved their lives.
Rearing its plumed head to awesome heights, its knobby bark runningwith brown rivulets of water, a giant tree, even for that world ofgiants, offered refuge. The men scrambled up the rough trunk easily,finding plenty of hand and footholds. They came to rest on one of theshelflike circumvoluting rings, some twenty-five feet above theground. Soon the blunt brown tentacles slithered in search of them,but failed to reach their refuge by inches.
And now began the most terrible siege that interlopers in thatprimitive world can endure. From that cavernous, distended throat camea tremendous, world-shaking noise.
"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"
Forepaugh put his hand to his head. It made him dizzy. He had notbelieved that such noise could be. He knew that no creature could longlive amidst it. He tore strips from his shredded clothing and stuffedhis ears, but felt no relief.
"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"
It throbbed in his brain.
Gunga lay a-sprawl, staring with fascinated eye into the pulsatingscarlet gullet that was blasting the world with sound. Slowly, slowlyhe was slipping. His master hauled him back. The Martian grinned athim stupidly, slid again to the edge.
Once more Forepaugh pulled him back. The Martian seemed to acquiesce.His single eye closed to a mere slit. He moved to a position betweenForepaugh and the tree trunk, braced his feet.
"No you don't!" The Earth man laughed uproariously. The din was makinghim light-headed. It was so funny! Just in time he had caught thatcunning expression and prepared for the outlashing of feet designed toplunge him into the red cavern below and to stop that hellish racket.
"And now--"
He swung his fist heavily, slamming the Martian against the tree. Thered eye closed wearily. He was unconscious, and lucky.
Hungrily the Earth man stared at his distant flash pistols, plainlyvisible in the luminescence of their fungus bedding. He began a slow,cautious creep along the top of a vine some eight inches thick. If hecould reach them....
* * * * *
Crash! He was almost knocked to the ground by the thud of a frantictentacle against the vine. His movement had been seen. Again thetentacle struck with crushing force. The great vine swayed. He managedto reach the shelf again in the very nick of time.
"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"
A bolt of lightning struck a giant fern some distance away. The crashof thunder was hardly noticeable. Forepaugh wondered if his tree wouldbe struck. Perhaps it might even start a fire, giving him a flamingbrand with which to torment his tormentor. Vain hope! The wood wassaturated with moisture. Even the fire pellets could not make it burn.
"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"
The six-shooter! He had forgotten it. He jerked it from its holsterand pointed it at the red throat, emptied all the chambers. He saw theflash of yellow flame, felt the recoil, but the sound of thedischarges was drowned in the Brobdignagian tumult. He drew back hisarm to throw the useless toy from him. But again that unexplainable,senseless "hunch" restrained him. He reloaded the gun and returned itto its holster.
"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"
A thought had been struggling to reach his consciousness against thepressure of the unbearable noise. The fire pellets! Couldn't they beused in some way? These small chemical spheres, no larger than the endof his little finger, had long ago supplanted actual fire along thefrontiers, where electricity was not available for cooking. In contactwith moisture they emitted terrific heat, a radiant heat whichpenetrated meat, bone, and even metal. One such pellet would cook ameal in ten minutes, with no sign of scorching or burning. And theyhad several hundred in one of the standard moisture-proof containers.
* * * * *
As fast as his fingers could work the trigger of the dispenserForepaugh dropped the potent little pellets down the bellowing throat.He managed to release about thirty before the bellowing stopped. Averitable tornado of energy broke loose at the foot of the tree. Thegiant maw was closed, and the shocking silence was broken only by thethrashing of a giant body in its death agonies. The radiant heat,penetrating through and through the beast's body, withered nearbyvegetation and could be easily felt on the perch up the tree.
Gunga was slowly recovering. His iron constitution helped him to rallyfrom the powerful blow he had received, and by the time the jungle wasstill he was sitting up mumbling apologies.
"Never mind," said his master. "Shin down there and cut us off a goodhelping of roast tongue, if it has a tongue, before something elsecomes along and beats us out of a feast."
"Him poison, maybe," Gunga demurred. They had killed a specimen new tozoologists.
"Might as well die of poison as starvation," Forepaugh countered.
Wit
hout more ado the Martian descended, cut out some large, juicychunks as his fancy dictated, and brought his loot back up the tree.The meat was delicious and apparently wholesome. They gorgedthemselves and threw away what they could not eat, for food spoilsvery quickly in the Inranian jungles and uneaten meat would only serveto attract hordes of the gauzy-winged, glutinous Inranian swamp flies.As they sank into slumber they could hear the beginning of a bedlam ofsnarling and fighting as the lesser Carnivora fed on the body of thefallen giant.
When they awoke the chronometer recorded the passing of twelve hours,and they had to tear a network of strong fibers with which the treehad invested them preparatory to absorbing their bodies as food. Forso keen is the competition for life on Inra that practically allvegetation is capable of absorbing animal food directly. Many anInranian explorer can tell tales of narrow escapes from some of themore specialized flesh-eating plants; but they are now so well knownthat they are easily avoided.
* * * * *
A clean-picked framework of crushed and broken giant bones was allthat was left of the late bellowing monster. Six-legged water dogswere polishing them hopefully, or delving into them with their long,sinuous snouts for the marrow. The Earth man fired a few shots withhis six-shooter, and they scattered, dragging the bodies of theirfallen companions to a safe distance to be eaten.
Only one of the flash pistols was in working order. The other had beentrampled by heavy hoofs and was useless. A heavy handicap under whichto traverse fifty miles of abysmal jungle. They started with nothingfor breakfast except water, of which they had plenty.
Fortunately the outcroppings of rocks and gravel washes were becomingmore and more frequent, and they were able to travel at much betterspeed. As they left the low-lying jungle land they entered a zonewhich was faintly reminiscent of a terrestial jungle. It was stillhot, soggy, and fetid, but gradually the most primitive aspects of thescene were modified. The over-arching trees were less closely packed,and they came across occasional rock clearings which were bare ofvegetation except for a dense carpet of brown, lichenlike vegetationthat secreted an astonishing amount of juice. They slipped and sloshedthrough this, rousing swarms of odd, toothed birds, which dartedangrily around their heads and slashed at them with the razor-sharpsaw edges on the back of their legs. Annoying as they were, they couldbe kept away with branches torn from trees, and their presenceconnoted an absence of the deadly jungle flesh-eaters, permitting atemporary relaxation of vigilance and saving the resources of the lastflash gun.
They camped that "night" on the edge of one of these rock clearings.For the first time in weeks it had stopped raining, although the sunwas still obscured. Dimly on the horizon could be seen the first ofthe foothills. Here they gathered some of the giant, oblong fungusthat early explorers had taken for blocks of porous stone because oftheir size and weight, and, by dint of the plentiful application offire pellets, managed to set it ablaze. The heat added nothing totheir comfort, but it dried them out and allowed them to sleepunmolested.
* * * * *
An unwary winged eel served as their breakfast, and soon they were ontheir way to those beckoning hills. It had started to rain again, butthe worst part of their journey was over. If they could reach the topof one of the mountains there was a good chance that they would beseen and rescued by their relief ship, provided they did not starvefirst. The flyer would use the mountains as a base from which tosearch for the trading station, and it was conceivable that theskipper might actually have anticipated their desperate adventure andwould look for them in the Mountains of Perdition.
They had crossed several ranges of the foothills and were beginning tocongratulate themselves when the diffused light from above wassuddenly blotted out. It was raining again, and above theecho-augmented thunder they heard a shrill screeching.
"A web serpent!" Gunga cried, throwing himself flat on the ground.
Forepaugh eased into a rock cleft at his side. Just in time. A greatgrotesque head bore down upon him, many-fanged as a medieval dragon.Between obsidian eyes was a fissure whence emanated a wailing and afoul odor. Hundreds of short, clawed legs slithered on the rocks undera long sinuous body. Then it seemed to leap into the air again. Websgrew taut between the legs, strumming as they caught a strong uphillwind. Again it turned to the attack, and missed them. This timeForepaugh was ready for it. He shot at it with his flash pistol.
* * * * *
Nothing happened. The fog made accurate shooting impossible, and thegun lacked its former power. The web serpent continued to course backand forth over their heads.
"Guess we'd better run for it," Forepaugh murmured.
"Go 'head!"
They cautiously left their places of concealment. Instantly theserpent was down again, persistent if inaccurate. It struck the placeof their first concealment and missed them.
"Run!"
They extended their weary muscles to the utmost, but it was soonapparent that they could not escape long. A rock wall in their pathsaved them.
"Hole!" the Martian gasped.
Forepaugh followed him into the rocky cleft. There was a strong draftof dry air, and it would have been next to impossible to hold theMartian back, so Forepaugh allowed him to lead on toward the source ofthe draft. As long as it led into the mountains he didn't care.
The natural passageway was untenanted. Evidently its coolness anddryness made it untenable for most of Inra's humidity and heat lovinglife. Yet the floor was so smooth that it must have been artificiallyleveled. Faint illumination was provided by the rocks themselves. Theyappeared to be covered by some microscopic phosphorescent vegetation.
After hundreds of twists and turns and interminable straight galleriesthe cleft turned more sharply upward, and they had a period of stiffclimbing. They must have gone several miles and climbed at least20,000 feet. The air became noticeably thin, which only exhilaratedGunga, but slowed the Earth man down. But at last they came to the endof the cleft. They could go no further, but above them, at least 500feet higher, they saw a round patch of sky, miraculously bright bluesky!
"A pipe!" Forepaugh cried.
He had often heard of these mysterious, almost fabulous structuressometimes reported by passing travelers. Straight and true, smooth asglass and apparently immune to the elements, they had beenoccasionally seen standing on the very tops of the highestmountains--seen for a few moments only before they were hidden againby the clouds. Were they observatories of some ancient race, placedthus to pierce the mysteries of outer space? They would find out.
* * * * *
The inside of the pipe had zigzagging rings of metal, convenientlyspaced for easy climbing. With Gunga leading, they soon reached thetop. But not quite.
"Eh?" said Forepaugh.
"Uh?" said Gunga.
There had not been a sound, but a distinct, definite command hadregistered on their minds.
"Stop!"
They tried to climb higher, but could not unclasp their hands. Theytried to descend, but could not lower their feet.
The light was by now relatively bright, and as by command their eyessought the opposite wall. What they saw gave their jaded nerves anunpleasant thrill--a mass of doughy matter of a blue-green color aboutthree feet in diameter, with something that resembled a cyst filledwith transparent liquid near its center.
And this thing began to flow along the rods, much as tar flows. Fromthe mass extended a pseudopod; touched Gunga on the arm. Instantly thearm was raw and bleeding. Terrified, immovable, he writhed in agony.The pseudopod returned to the main mass, disappearing into itsinterior with the strip of bloody skin.
Its attention was centered so much on the luckless Martian that itscontrol slipped from Forepaugh. Seizing his flash pistol, he set thelocalized for a small area and aimed it at the thing, intent onburning it into nothingness. But again his hand was stayed. Againstthe utmost of his will-power his fingers opened, letting
the pistoldrop. The liquid in the cyst danced and bubbled. Was it laughing athim? It had read his mind--thwarted his will again.
Again a pseudopod stretched out and a strip of raw, red flesh adheredto it and was consumed. Mad rage convulsed the Earth man. Should hethrow himself tooth and nail on the monster? And be engulfed?
He thought of the six-shooter. It thrilled him.
But wouldn't it make him drop that too?
* * * * *
A flash of atavistic cunning came to him.
He began to reiterate in his mind a certain thought.
"This thing is so I can see you better--this thing is so I can see youbetter."
He said it over and over, with all the passion and devotion of acelibate's prayer over a uranium fountain.
"This thing is harmless--but it will make me see you better!"
Slowly he drew the six-shooter. In some occult way he knew it waswatching him.
"Oh, this is harmless! This is an instrument to aid my weak eyes! Itwill help me realize your mastery! This will enable me to know yourtrue greatness. This will enable me to know you as a god."
Was it complacence or suspicion that stirred the liquid in the cyst sosmoothly? Was it susceptible to flattery? He sighted along the barrel.
"In another moment your great intelligence will overwhelm me,"proclaimed his surface mind desperately, while the subconscious tensedthe trigger. And at that the clear liquid burst into a turmoil ofalarm. Too late. Forepaugh went limp, but not before he had loosed asteel-jacketed bullet that shattered the mind cyst of the pipedenizen. A horrible pain coursed through his every fibre and nerve. Hewas safe in the arms of Gunga, being carried to the top of the pipe tothe clean dry air, and the blessed, blistering sun.
The pipe denizen was dying. A viscous, inert mass, it dropped lowerand lower, lost contact at last, shattered into slime at the bottom.
* * * * *
Miraculous sun! For a luxurious fifteen minutes they roasted there onthe top of the pipe, the only solid thing in a sea of clouds as far asthe eye could reach. But no! That was a circular spot against thebrilliant white of the clouds, and it was rapidly coming closer. In afew minutes it resolved itself into the _Comet_, fast relief ship ofthe Terrestial, Inranian, Genidian, and Zydian Lines, Inc. With a lowbuzz of her repulsion motors she drew alongside. Hooks were attachedand ports opened. A petty officer and a crew of roustabouts made herfast.
"What the hell's going on here?" asked the cocky little terrestial whowas skipper, stepping out and surveying the castaways. "We've beenlooking for you ever since your directional wave failed. But come onin--come on in!"
He led the way to his stateroom, while the ship's surgeon took Gungain charge. Closing the door carefully, he delved into the bottom ofhis locker and brought out a flask.
"Can't be too careful," he remarked, filling a small tumbler forhimself and another for his guest. "Always apt to be some snooper toreport me. But say--you're wanted in the radio room."
"Radio room nothing! When do we eat?"
"Right away, but you'd better see him. Fellow from the InterplanetaryNews Agency wants you to broadcast a copyrighted story. Good for aboutthree years' salary, old boy."
"All right. I'll see him"--with a happy sigh--"just as soon as I putthrough a personal message."
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