Only once could a man defy the deathless
guardians of the Ancient's tomb-city deep
in Ganymede's hell-forest and expect to
live. Yet Ed Garth had to return, had to
lead men to certain doom--to keep a promise
to a girl he would never see again.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Icy water splashed into Ed Garth's face and dripped down his tattered,
grimy shirt. It was a tremendous effort to open his eyes. Fumes of the
native Ganymedean rotgut liquor were swimming in his brain.
Someone was shaking him roughly. Garth's stocky body jerked
convulsively. He struck out, his drink-swollen face twisted with
frightened fury, and gasped, "_Ylgana! Vo m'trana al-khron_--"
The hand on his shoulder fell away. Someone said, "That's it, Paula!
The Ancient Tongue!"
And a girl's voice, doubtful, a little disgusted.
"You're sure? But how in the System did this--this--"
"Bum. Tramp," Garth muttered, peering blearily at the pale ovals of
unfocused faces above him. "Don't mind me, sister. Beachcomber is the
word--drunk, right now. So please get the hell out and let me finish my
bottle."
More water was sluiced on Garth. He shook his head, groaning, and saw
Tolomo, the Ganymedean trader, scowling down at him. The native's
three-pupiled eyes were angry.
English hissed, oddly accented, on his tongue.
"You wake up, Garth! Hear me? This is a job for you. You owe me too
much already. These people come looking for you, say they want a guide.
Now you do what they want, and pay me for all that liquor you buy on
credit."
"Sure," Garth said wearily. "Tomorrow. Not now."
Tolomo snorted. "I get you native guides, Captain Brown. They know way
to Chahnn."
The man's voice said stubbornly, "I don't want natives. I want Ed
Garth."
"Well, you won't get him," Garth growled, pillowing his head on his
arms. "This joint smells already, but you make it worse. Beat it."
He did not see Captain Brown slip Tolomo a folded credit-current. The
trader deftly pocketed the money, nodded, and gripped Garth by the
hair, lifting his head. The bluish, inhuman face was thrust into the
Earthman's.
"Listen to me, Garth," Tolomo said, fairly spitting the words. "I let
you come in here and get drunk all the time on the cuff. You pay me
a little, not much, whenever you gather enough alka-roots to sell.
But you owe plenty. People ask me why I let a bum like you come to my
_Moonflower-Ritz Bar_--"
"That's a laugh," Garth mouthed. "A ramshackle plastic flophouse full
of cockroaches and bad liquor. _Moonflower-Ritz_, hogwash!"
"Shut up," Tolomo snapped. "I let you run up a bill here when nobody
else would. Now you take this job and pay me or I have the marshal put
you in jail. At hard labor, in the swamps."
Garth called Tolomo something unprintable. "Okay," he groaned. "You
win, louse. You know damn well no Earthman can stand swampwork, even
with bog-shoes. Now let go of my hair before I smash your teeth in."
"You do it? You guide these people?"
"I said I would, didn't I?" Garth reached fumblingly for the bottle
before him. Someone thrust a filled glass into his hand. He gulped the
fiery purplish liquor, shuddered, and blew out his breath.
"Okay," he said. "Welcome to Ganymede, the pleasure spot of the System.
The worst climate outside Hell, the only world almost completely
unexplored, and the nicest place for going to the dogs I've ever
seen. The Chamber of Commerce greets you. Here's the representative."
He pointed to a six-legged lizard with the face of a gargoyle that
scuttled over the table and leaped into the shadows where the light of
the radio-lamp did not reach.
Captain Brown said, "I can offer you fifty dollars to guide us to the
ruined city--Chahnn. And, maybe, I can offer you _ten thousand bucks_
to do another little job for us."
* * * * *
The shock of that was more effective than cold water had been. Garth
jerked back, for the first time looking at his companions. There were
two of them--a man and a girl, their neat tropical outfits looking out
of a place in this grimy dive. The man was thin and bronzed, looking
as though all the moisture had been boiled out of him by hot suns.
He was made of tough leather, Garth thought. His face was the most
expressionless one Garth had ever seen--pale, shallow eyes, a rat-trap
mouth, and the general air of a tiger taking it easy.
The girl ... sudden sick pain struck through Garth. She looked like
Moira. For an incredible moment he thought, with his liquor-dulled
mind, that she had come back. But Moira was dead--had been, for nearly
five years now.
Five years of living death--hitting the skids on Ganymede, where men
go down fast. Garth's ravaged face hardened. He forced himself to look
squarely at the girl.
She wasn't Moira, after all. She had the same look of sleek, clean
femininity, but her hair was golden-red instead of brown, and her eyes
were greenish, not blue. The softness in her face was belied by the
stubborn, rounded chin.
"Ten thousand?" Garth repeated softly. "I don't get the picture. Any
native could take you to Chahnn."
The girl said, "We know that. We're interested in--something else.
Could you use ten grand?"
"Yeah! Yeah, I could," Garth said.
"What would you do with it? Go back to Earth? We might swing it so you
could get a job there. There's been a shortage of men ever since the
Silver Plague started."
Garth laid his fingers gently around the glass and squeezed, till the
transparent plastic was bent out of shape. He didn't look at the girl.
"I'm through with Earth. If I could collect--ten thousand?--I'd commit
suicide, in a very funny way. I'd go into the Black Forest. The money
could get me the men and equipment I'd need, but--well, nobody gets out
of the Black Forest alive."
"You did," Captain Brown said.
"Eh? You heard about that?"
"We've heard stories--plenty of them. About how you came out of the
Black Forest six years ago, raving with fever and talking in a language
nobody could understand. And how you've been taking trips into the
Forest ever since. Just what happened? I know you tried to get up
expeditions to rescue a man named Willard--he was with you, wasn't he?"
Garth felt again that sick deadness in his brain--the monstrous
question that had been tormenting him for five years now. Abruptly he
slammed his fist on the table. Tolomo's face appeared behind a curtain
and vanished again as Brown waved him back.
"Forget it," Garth said. "Even on Ganymede, men mind their own
business--usually."
Brown stroked his cheek with a calloused thumb. "Suit yourself. Here's
the set-up, then. It's strictly confidential, or the deal's off. You'll
know why later. Anyhow--we want you to guide us into the Black Forest."
* * * * *
Garth's laughter rang harsh and bitter. Brown and the girl watched him
with impassive eyes.
"What's so funny about it?" she asked, scowling.
Garth sobered. "Nothing much. Only for five years I've been sweating
blood trying to get into the Forest, and I know the place better than
anybody on Ganymede. See this?" He rolled up his sleeve and exhibited a
purplish scar along his arm. "A cannibal-plant did that. I couldn't get
away from the thing. Bullets and knives don't hurt the bloodsucker. I
had to stand there for two hours, helpless, till it got all the blood
it wanted. After that I managed to pull away."
"I've picked up a few scars myself," Brown said quietly.
Garth glared at him. "Not in the Black Forest. The only way to get
through that pest-hole is with a big, armed expedition. Even then ...
you ever heard of the Noctoli?"
"No. Who--"
"Flowers. Their pollen works funny--plenty funny. They grow in the
interior, and they give you amnesia. Not even gas-masks help. The stuff
works in through your skin."
"Doesn't it affect you?" the girl wanted to know.
Garth shivered and drank again. "It did--once. Later I managed to work
out an antitoxin. And I've built up immunity, anyway. But it's quite a
laugh. The two of you wanting to go into the Black Forest!"
Brown's face was emotionless. "With an expedition, well armed. I'll
provide that."
"Oh. That's a bit different. Just the same--what are you after?"
"Just sightseeing," the girl said.
Garth grinned crookedly. "Okay. I know the stories. Everybody on
Ganymede's heard of the _Ancients_."