Collected short fiction, p.248
Collected Short Fiction, page 248
His voice wheezed into silence. His dull eyes, staring into the green sky, seemed to film.
“Ah, ’tis well!” he sighed at last. “ ’Tis well we drank the wine.”
Bob Star saw a small and distant object, skimming swiftly toward them through the green. It was low over the violet-blue, flat infinity, in the direction of the vanished Halcyon Bird.
Jay Kalam caught at Giles Habibula’s arm, as he started getting to his feet.
“Don’t run,” he said. “There’s nowhere to go. If we crouch down, perhaps it won’t see us.”
Bob Star was huddled beside Kay Nymidee. He caught her hand, and it closed upon his with an urgent, desperate pressure. Her face was drawn, terrible with strain. Her skin was nearly bloodless; her pale lips quivered. Naked, overwhelming terror shuddered in her eyes.
Pity for her stabbed him like a blade. His face grimaced with the pain of his desire to shield her. He felt almost as if the doom of the universe was nothing, against the fate of this slender girl.
A nerve-severing sound tore through the quiet. He jumped, startled, terrified. For a moment he could not identify the sound. Then he knew that it had been Giles Habibula’s scream.
Now the old man was trembling, sinking slowly backward upon his knees. His moon face was yellow-gray, contorted with dread. His small round eyes were fixed, glazed, bulging.
“What is it, Giles?”
The reply was a hoarse croak of fear. “Mortal me! ’Tis the thing—the shining thing—that ate Mark Lardo——”
Bob Star looked up, then, and perceived that the thing he had seen a moment before, skimming above the far horizon, was already upon them. For the first time, his horror-distended eyes rested upon one of the Aythrin—the drivers of the comet.
It was hanging in the air, close beside them.
FLOATING low over the jewel-hard indigo plain was a tiny star of red, intensely, painfully brilliant. It was veiled in a misty moon of red. Ten feet above it was a violet star, equally bright, wrapped in violet fog. The red seemed hot as the core of a sun, and the violet as cold as outermost space.
A thick, glowing mist swirled in a spindle-shaped pillar between the moons. It was silver-green, like dust of silver mingled with powdered emeralds. There was life in the motion of it; it was like a throbbing artery of light.
Red star and violet star waxed and waned, beating like hearts of fire.
Girdling the middle of the misty pillar was a wide green ring. It might have been cut from a colossal emerald. It shone with a cool, steady radiance. It was the only part of the thing that looked altogether material, substantial—and even it, Bob Star knew, could pass through the hard alloys of a space cruiser’s hull.
His dazed mind first received the thing with startled incredulity. He blinked, and looked down at the dark plain, and rubbed his eyes. But the thing had not gone when he looked again. And its hideous reality ate into his mind, like a corrosive poison.
He recalled Giles Habibula’s comparison. It was a magnet turned to living fire, its opposite poles the twin stars, its field the green mist, its magnetism radiant horror.
In vain he strove against that horror. “Just colored lights,” he muttered. “Moving mist. Shouldn’t be afraid that——”
But mind-killing dread swept into him. His numbed senses perceived a terrible entity within, beyond, those colored lights—an alien being, of supernal fearful powers. Its very nature was malific. Every atom of his body reacted to it with automatic, shocked revulsion.
And the incessant beat of his old, strange pain, behind the white, ragged scar the omega ray had made, was suddenly redoubled. Every throb of it became a sickening, staggering blow against the naked tissues of his brain.
He braced himself against nausea and confusion. Swiftly, half unconsciously, his fingers had been slipping fresh cells into the two hand proton needles. And the two weapons came up, now, together.
The emerald ring, he thought, must be the most substantial part of the being. And he pointed the needles at that, through a red fog of pain. And he pulled the firing levers all the way, to exhaust the cells in one single blast of flaming destruction.
Those twin, blinding swords of violet ruin would have cut through a solid foot of tempered steel. They would have electrocuted any living being—as the system knew life—at the distance of a mile.
But, like phantom swords, they flashed through the green ring, harmless.
Quivering to the shock of icy dismay, Bob Star recalled Jay Kalam’s opinion that men had never made a weapon that could injure the Cometeers. His numbed hands dropped the useless guns. He shrank back, stiff, nerveless, paralyzed. His drawn face was fixed on the shining terror, his eyes wide and glassy with dread. Chill sweat drenched him.
“Kay”—despair rasped from his leathery throat—“Kay——”
HIS VOICE stopped, as if to the touch of death.
For out of the pillar of swirling light another voice had spoken, whose careless, mocking levity was the most appalling thing Bob Star had ever heard.
“That’s rather useless, Bob,” it said.
It was the voice of Stephen Orco.
Bob Star staggered backward. That light, ringing voice was more terrible than all the shining horror.
“You had your chance, Bob,” said the voice. “When I was in prison on Neptune, you had only to touch a little red button to kill me. But you failed, Bob. You couldn’t do it. And I’m afraid you’ll never have another.
“For now, Bob, I’ve a body that cannot be destroyed.”
“You”—dread drew Bob Star’s tone to a quivering edge—“you’re that?”
“I am what you see, Bob. One of the masters of the comet.”
A low, mocking chuckle rang away from the shining being. There was a little silence, and then the clear, perfect voice spoke out again: “Perhaps, Bob,” it suggested lightly, “you would be glad to hear of your mother? It must be some time since you left her.”
Bob Star leaned forward, trembling apprehensively. A gloating satisfaction in that careless voice cleft his spine like a cold ax. Hoarsely, from stiff, unwilling lips, he forced the whisper: “Yes?”
“I was alarmed for your mother, Bob”—the liquid mockery of Stephen Orco’s voice flowed on—“for she has been lost. My new associates searched the system for her, in vain. And I was frankly worried, for her life is the only barrier before me, now.
“But her discovery has just been reported to me. It appears that your father, on his Phantom Star, was taking her away from the system, toward the star 61 Cygni. My associates have captured them. And I hope soon, Bob, for the pleasure of meeting your mother, here within the comet.”
To be concluded.
The Cometeers
Conclusion
UP TO NOW:
“STEPHEN ORCO must be killed!” That grim, apparently hopeless purpose drives four members of the legion of space—lean, young Bob Star; the legion’s grave, scholarly commander, Jay Kalam; powerful Hal Samdu; and fat old Giles Habibula—into the strange peril of the comet.
So, for want of a better word, the startled astronomers of the thirtieth century had termed it. A colossal cloud of shining green, twelve million miles long, it came out of space, controlled like a ship.
Man’s amazement changed to panic as invisible raiders—the Cometeers—carried off Stephen Orco. A brilliant, mysterious rebel, he had been the system’s most dangerous prisoner—dangerous because he had discovered the secret of AKKA.
AKKA is the symbol for humanity’s secret weapon. Its keeper, with a simple instrument, can destroy any object in the universe—by so altering the warp of space that matter and energy cannot exist within it. The only possible barrier is the counter-warp, by whose means any master of the principle can prevent all destructive use of the weapon.
Bob Star’s mother, lovely Aladoree, is keeper of AKKA. Her husband, John Star, has taken her into hiding from Stephen Orco. For he, now at liberty, means to murder her, to make himself sole master of AKKA.
Bob Star has sworn to kill Stephen Orco. But he fears that he will be unable to do it, because of a singular, painful injury which Stephen Orco has inflicted on his brain with the dread omega ray. He blames himself for the prisoner’s escape.
Entering the comet to seek Stephen Orco, the four legionnaires are joined by a lovely, mysterious girl, Kay Nymidee, with whom Bob Star falls in love. She tries to aid the four, to give them some important message. But they cannot understand her language.
They find the comet a swarm of planets, within the green cloud. The Cometeers are raiders of space. Their tremendous science drives the comet from sun to sun, drags captured planets into the swarm. Their uncanny, vampiric lives are fed upon the luckless inhabitants.
The five are upon the jewellike, indigo surface that armors the master planet, when one of the Cometeers appears beside them. Bob Star tries in vain to destroy its shining, supermaterial body with his proton guns.
Out of the pillar of its shining mist speaks Stephen Orco’s mocking voice: “You had your chance to kill me, Bob. But now I’ve a body that cannot be destroyed.”
The dread voice tells him that his mother has been captured, and is being brought into the comet.
“Her life,” it says, “is the only barrier before me, now.”
XXIII.
BOB STAR woke from a singular dream.
In the dream he had thought that his body had been exchanged for the shining form of one of the Cometeers. And this bodiless entity—himself—was flying through the green vacancy of the comet’s interior. Ahead of him, fleeing in a similar shining guise, was Stephen Orco.
This Stephen Orco, of the dream, was carrying away a woman. He was going to consume her—dreadfully, so that only a shrunken husk would be left, bleached, wrinkled, hideous. And even the whimpering husk would die, and crumble to iridescent ash and fluid.
Sometimes the woman was his mother, and sometimes she was goldeneyed Kay Nymidee.
Somehow, in his bodiless form, Bob Star carried a weapon. He had no picture of its shape, but it was something that could destroy Stephen Orco and save the changing woman.
But a terrible fear was beating him down, out of the green abysm. His shining shape was reeling under the incessant blows of a great red hammer of pain. And ancient, haunting terror screamed at him: “You can’t! You can’t kill him!”
He woke, and knew that it was the low, anxious voice of Kay Nymidee that had roused him.
“Sa daspete!” she was urging. “Sa daspete!”
He realized that he was lying down, with his head on her knees. Her cool, firm hands were on his forehead; they seemed to soothe the eternal pain behind the scar. The hard polish of the planet’s indigo surface was under his body.
He blinked against the singular dullness of his vision. He tried to sit up, and discovered the curiously unpleasant, prickling numbness of his body. It was the same feeling, he thought, that previously had followed the paralysis and unconsciousness induced by the Cometeers.
Hideous as a nightmare, piercingly real as the gray chill of winter rain, recollection returned.
And his dream, he knew, reflected bitter truth—save that his frail human body was no match for Stephen Orco’s shining form, and that he had no weapon that could possibly destroy the other.
ONCE AGAIN he heard the reckless, boasting mockery of Stephen Orco’s voice, pealing out of that upright pillar of spinning mist: “Yes, Bob, this is I.”
He heard a chuckle, light, careless, indifferent.
“You needn’t try to express your surprise, Bob. Your face makes it evident. And I must admit that the surprise is mutual. The discovery of your uninvited presence in the comet has caused a certain consternation among my associates, which they will take steps to relieve.
“For my part, Bob, I am not anxious to hasten your destruction, for I value you as my oldest enemy. You have been my enemy, Bob, since I was a lonely, orphaned child, and my foster father told me of you, another child, who would one day inherit a name and a wealth and a power that would make you supreme in the system.”
That voice had become suddenly savage, with a black and ancient hate.
“From that hour, Bob, we have been enemies. From that hour I have lived to crush you and take that heritage from you. It’s really mine as much as yours; I might have been born John Star’s son, as well as you. I might have brought more honor to the name, Bob, than the weakling you have been.
“I’m not going to hasten your destruction, Bob,” the voice from the swirling flame went on. “A ship is coming for you and your companions. You will be taken, along with a load of the prisoners from Pluto, down into the center of the planet.
“And ultimately——”
“Have you ever watched the Cometeers feed, Bob? Well, you will.” There was a pause, and the light voice went on, tinged with malicious mockery: “There is one fact, Bob, that I wish to impress upon you. I believe that reflection upon it will sweeten the days that are before you, Bob. And before you die, I wish you to know well the taste of helpless futility that was mine when I was a child, Bob.
“I assume from your presence in the comet that you and your motley companions have still cherished the thought of killing me—in spite of the fact you have proved you couldn’t kill me, Bob, when all you had to do was to press a little red button; and the fact that Commander Kalam has given his word to protect my life under all circumstances.
“But what I wish to impress upon you, Bob, is this: I can’t be killed!
“I see upon your face your admiration of my new physical equipment. It is far superior to the old, on both aesthetic and utilitarian grounds. It has certain great powers; space is no barrier to it; neither is any material wall. But its most important feature is that it cannot be destroyed.
“My new body is immortal, truly eternal. It has mass and potential energy. But its mass is in no form you know as matter, Bob, and its energy is beyond the comprehension of your physics. Not even the power of AKKA could destroy it, Bob.
“These deathless embodiments of intelligence are the supreme accomplishments of my new associates, Bob. You had not guessed that they were artificial?
“But the drivers of the comet once were beings of flesh. They were not far different, perhaps, from mankind. But they wearied of frailty, incapacity, death. And they called upon their high science for a means of transferring their minds to eternal constructs of vibration.
“For a mind is but a synaptic pattern. It is a mind, whether its physical medium be fragile, neurone fibers or eternal etheric vortexes.
“The Cometeers were glad to make me one of their number, if only to make themselves more secure in the protection I could offer from your mother’s weapon. AKKA could destroy the comet, greatly inconvenience the Cometeers, even if it could not directly annihilate their bodies.
“And now, Bob”—the light voice mocked him—“I shall be forced to leave you. For your parents, as I told you, are being brought into the comet. I must go to welcome your mother.”
Stephen Orco chuckled at the mute agony that twisted Bob Star’s face.
“I wish to discuss with her the principle of AKKA. There are points not clear from my own research. And when our discussions are ended, Bob——Well, it is an imperfection of my new body, Bob, that it cannot subsist entirely upon dead elements. It must assimilate living organisms. It consumes not the chemical elements alone, but the vital essence, the mind, the soul. Life must ever perish without life, Bob.
“Perhaps, Bob, if your mother is unwilling to tell me what I wish to know, I can still learn it—after her mind is part of me.
“Have you seen what is left after one of the Cometeers has fed, Bob? Can you see your mother so? As small as a child, shriveled, colorless, whimpering for death——”
And, as the fog of the strange paralysis closed upon Bob Star and smothered his consciousness, the voice had faded.
BOB STAR struggled again; the eager hands of Kay Nymidee helped him to sit up upon the cold, violet-blue flatness of the master planet. His clearing eyes blinked this way and that at the pale-green sky, at the huge purple disk of the heatless sun, at the many-hued disks of the clustered worlds, fixed in the green.
The two improvised sledges were close beside him. Jay Kalam, Hal Samdu and Giles Habibula were unpacking them hastily, flinging aside one after another the spare proton guns and extra cells they had carried.
“Ah, so,” Bob heard Giles Habibula wheeze mournfully. “The mortal monster ruined them, every one, like my blessed geodynes aboard the Halcyon Bird!”
His small, round eyes saw Bob Star, and momentarily brightened.
“Ah, lad, old Giles is glad to see you up again,” he said cheerfully. “We thought you would never wake. It must have given you a mortal heavy dose——”
His voice broke off, as Hal Samdu rumbled, alarmed: “There! It must be the ship he said was coming for us.”
Lurching stiffly to his feet, Bob Star peered into the green sky.
He saw a flying thing slanting toward them. It was a thick, horizontal disk. It gleamed red, metallic, like the colossal machine looming above the indigo plain. Dark, circular ports were becoming visible in its wide, glistening edge.
Its upper side formed a circular, railed deck. In the center of this deck was a low, red dome, thickly studded with ports. There was no roar of rockets, nor any visible mechanism of propulsion. It would be moved—Bob Star recalled Jay Kalam’s supposition—by fields of invisible force, reacting against the planet.
The tall commander had straightened beside him to look at the ship. Bob Star caught apprehensively at his arm.
“What,” he whispered hoarsely, “can we do?”
“Nothing,” said Jay Kalam’s calm voice, wearily, “but try to preserve our lives by watching for some chance—some miracle of fate. For so long as we live——”
The red disk came down gently upon the violet-blue level, at some little distance. The deceptive conditions made distance and size difficult to estimate, but Bob Star realized that the disk was much larger than he had at first supposed.
