"No strikes yet!" Bill Nardon said softly, his eyes glued to the
Electronoscope. "Sense anything, Freml?"
"Only an outflow of thought-energy ... infinitely distant.... I
don't quite know, Nardon. It's voiceless ... patternless, to me at
least." The Panadur leader sounded uncertain. Even to his stupendous
mind-power, the voiceless susurration, alive, malignant, was a tenuous
thing sensed more than felt, directionless, part of the vast, galactic
night that engulfed the _bait ship_ in blackness so velvety it was
like smothering charred ash. The gigantic super-spacer in the building
of which six planets had tried to outdo each other, knifed through
the impalpable vibrations in its endless flight. Back of it, a tiny
smouldering disk, like a glowing ruby-brooch, nearly three-quarters of
a billion miles away, was the sun.
Ahead, Saturn was slowly coming into position, and the great wings of
light that were its rings shone with the glory of an eternal rainbow,
paling the immense crystalline jewel that was Pluto.
The tension within the spacer mounted perceptibly. Yet interminably
the hours dragged on and on. All screens were down, save those for
meteorite protection, as if deliberately inviting an attack. Every
member of the heterogeneous crew knew their assigned tasks so that
mechanically they would spring to their stations at the least warning.
Saturn grew immense, glorious beyond belief, until Bill Nardon was
forced from the Electronoscope by the intolerable light. It was then
that some one laughed. Rather, it was a cachinnation sounding eerily in
their midst.
Abruptly, Bill Nardon tensed, his preternatural faculties alert.
He swung slowly from the eye piece of the 'scope and faced the
emissaries--scientists-explorers all, of the six planets. It was the
Neptunian who had laughed. He was shaking silently now, as if some
hidden mirth convulsed him.
"We're close to the last planetary outpost," he observed, "and, nothing
yet! This isn't an expedition, Nardon ... it's a farce! What can you
expect to find in Saturn? A frozen waste of solid, glassy hydrogen and
helium, an infinite wilderness of 'hot-solid' gases under unimaginable
pressure. You know Saturn has an atmosphere of at least twenty thousand
miles in depth!"
"I know nothing of the kind," Bill answered evenly, with studied calm.
"Saturn has never been properly 'correlated.' Liquids and solids don't
compress; besides, even if Saturn were as you say a frozen waste with
a temperature of say 180° C. below zero, that would still be too hot
for hydrogen, which cannot exist as a liquid at that temperature. I
needn't mention helium which requires a temperature lower still for
liquefaction."
"You're leading us," the Neptunian hissed through clenched teeth, "into
gales of methane and ammonia roaring around a dead world of frightful
cold; into a frozen hell where if the atmosphere doesn't crush us,
we'll never escape the overwhelming gravitational pull.... You ... you
fiend." The last words were a shriek just as he launched himself in a
tigerish leap straight for the throat of the Terran "Correlator."
And Bill sprang aside, his left hook instinctively catapulting to
the unprotected chin of the Neptunian. But it failed to stop him.
Off balance, slightly stunned by the blow, the maddened delegate
from Neptune whirled on the Terran, aiming a staggering blow that
whizzed past Bill's head with savage force. Off balance, the Neptunian
staggered forward, his lean features contorted by bestial rage and the
lust to kill. He was like a man possessed.
Bill Nardon was icy calm now. The harrowing training all members of the
Explorer Class had to undergo, had come to the surface, and to the tall
Terran everything had ceased to exist but the task at hand. He rolled
aside slightly, sending a straight left to the Neptunian's head,
driving him off balance again. Bill weaved to and fro, lightly balanced
on his toes as the Neptunian came boring back with terrible tenacity.
Bill's right arm was a peg on which he hung the blows of the man
from Neptune, while lashing like a cobra, his boxer's left, long and
weaving, stabbed in again and again. The "Correlator" didn't want to
kill the man. For here was another mystery. The attack was absurd, from
the standpoint of their aims and goals. But he had no time to correlate
the facts and arrive at a decision.
* * * * *
The Neptunian rushed murderously eager, and Bill let his heels
touch the floor, refused to give way. He took a staggering blow to
the midriff, and went pale from pain, but with the swiftness of a
striking _Calamar_, he countered with a vicious left to the face and
a slashing right cross. The Neptunian staggered uttering a hoarse cry
as his features seemed to run like the quicksilver face of the Amazon
from Mercury. He staggered and fell to the blood-spattered ordine
plastic floor of the cruiser. Bill stood heaving, only now the answer
was apparent to him, but again his thoughts were cut short, for the
Neptunian was far from through. Into the ghastly face, a new expression
of diabolical fury had appeared, and as he lurched to his feet, his
right hand clawed at his belt for a weapon. Only power-rapiers had been
allowed them individually until a landing was effected, and it was
fortunate, for as the clawing fingers closed about the rapier's hilt,
an unholy light came into the Neptunian's eyes.
Bill heard a thunderous battle-cry as a bulky shape sprang between him
and the Neptunian, but he swept his rescuer aside. It was the Amazon,
her own power-rapier drawn for battle.
"No interference!" he exclaimed in a voice as cold as outer space. His
own blade was in his hand now, the flexible Columbium-steel activated
by the dreadful electronic fire. The touch of that blade disintegrated
flesh and bone and metal even. They were face to face now, confronting
each other with the wary savagery of Venusian Ocelandians. The smell of
death was in the air, and too, the wordless, tremendous, inarticulate
vibration from an unknown source that seemed to hint at inconceivable
horror, and ebbed and flowed about them. They could all sense it now,
as it increased as if in a crescendo of triumph.
And at that instant the Neptunian struck. One moment they were circling
for an opening, their ghastly weapons ready, and the next the singing
blades met in midair as Bill Nardon parried the slashing blow. And
then reason tottered as time stood still. Where the blades had been a
flaring vortex of unendurable blue light sprang between them like a
hellish fan of electronic fury opening before their eyes.
The Neptunian's blade had disappeared, consumed in the incredible
holocaust; only the neutralized hilt of Vulcanite remained in his
palsied hand as they reeled aside, blinded and unnerved. Bill's blade
swished through the air as he reversed it and struck the Neptunian on
the left temple with the Vulcanite hilt. The man's knees went rubbery
and without a sound he slumped to the floor.
"The screen ... throw on the Multi-Energon screen!" Bill bellowed.
"This man was being _directed_, someone else may be next!" The powerful
hum of the inner screen within the cruiser, that rendered everything
within impervious to every known power, arose in the brief silence. And
none too soon. Suddenly the cruiser lurched, and trembled like a great
wounded stallion.
Bill had a confused picture of the addled members of several planets
clinging to ultra-mullioned gravity seats as the ship began to spin.
Every possible aid of science had been lavished on the cruiser, even
to the most exacting provisions against physical injury, or the danger
from an unexpected crash-landing in some far off world. But even their
combined science, great as it was, had not foreseen the unpredictable
enough to counteract this blow.
As if a cosmic hand had grasped the hurtling, spinning ship, it
described an orbital parabola, flashing like a living thing through
space, and headed at an unimaginable acceleration directly into the
phantasmal light of the great winged world. Bill's dazzled eyes saw
the tiny Panadur fight to strap himself to the acceleration seat on
which he perched, while frantically he strove to retain consciousness.
Everything seemed ringed with prismatic rainbows from the awful glare
of the electronic flash, as Bill resolutely set his conscious and
sub-conscious mind in alignment to fight off oblivion. But nothing
human could withstand consciously the orbital fall of the great ship,
as it dived into the fathomless abyss of night in a concentric spiral
that narrowed tighter and tighter, wheeling in direct ratio with the
rotation of the mammoth planet, at which it was aimed like the spear of
a cosmic angel.
Bill's last comforting thought was the Multi-Energon screen. Nothing,
his superb mind conceived, could possibly penetrate that. A crash was
imminent, he knew, but against that they were prepared. He tried to
contact whatever it was that had sent the polyglot vibrations and had
managed to grip the Neptunian's brain, and only a confused disorder,
as of many minds abandoning their temporary union came to him, and
then ... the profound illimitable darkness of complete oblivion.
* * * * *
None aboard saw the fantastic scene as the cruiser neared Saturn and
was trapped by the hungry pull of the planet. None witnessed the
macabre sight of stupendous mountains rising to impale them as they
struck its atmosphere. Uncannily, the cruiser began to decelerate
as the robot control went into action, activated by the atmospheric
pressure. In a great swinging arc, the super-spacer settled lower and
lower, until at last, immense lateral fins shot out of its sides, and
secondary rockets belched forth, braking the headlong rush.
Beneath them, a world of light and shadows shimmered under the
unearthly loveliness of the great rings, as if illumined by a sidereal
current of glowing jewels. Three of the nine moons were in transit,
phantasmal in their silent loveliness as they hovered over the parent
world. Beneath, the liquid sparkle of an unknown ocean undulated
softly, twinkling with myriad star points as if spangled with stardust.
At last the inter-planetary cruiser came to rest, ploughing up
immense furrows in the glittering sands of the shore, in a partial
crash-landing. The robot controls, magnetically activated to decelerate
in direct ratio with the proximity of land, had held true. The almost
incandescent tertiary-outer hull of the ship, began to cool to a dull
silvery hue. In the near distance, a glorious city of towering spires
and prismatic domes, was like a fairy scene on a colossal scale. But
no fingers of light issued from its towers and domes. No living beings
issued from its portals to investigate the arrival of these voyagers of
space.
Only the querulous susurration of the spumeless waves of the great
shining sea disturbed the eternal silence of Saturn. The silence of
a dead world had enveloped the Terran ship, even as within it, the
unconscious members of its heterogeneous crew were wrapped in the
silence of oblivion.
The wheeling moons, one blue, one palest amber, and one, the largest
like a glowing ruby of the skies, passed on, while time marched on in
its endless cavalcade.
* * * * *
Bill gasped in a spasm of living torture as consciousness returned in
a flood. Slowly he opened long blue eyes that were tragic with pain,
and surveyed the inert forms all about him in the great control cabin
of the ship. To one side, the partly crushed form of the Neptunian
delegate sprawled abnormally twisted. Bill knew instantly the man was
dead, and a flicker of sorrow touched his eyes. There had been no time
to strap him to an acceleration chair. It was their first casualty. To
his right a slight movement betrayed returning life to the Amazonian
being from tiny Mercury. The woman, if she could be termed that, moaned
unconsciously and then opened her coal black eyes with a stupefied
look. They widened as comprehension came. The great cruiser was at
rest, and through the visiports flooded the jewelled illumination of
Saturn's rings. An indistinct croak issued from her throat, and was
echoed by the "_Ahh_" of excruciating pain as the fastidious Martian
also came to. With an effort, Bill Nardon unstrapped himself and rose
unsteadily, flexing cramped muscles that shrieked exquisite torture at
every movement he made. But he managed to reach the emergency cabinet
and extract a priceless Neptunian flask of Jadite, jewelled with
Sapphirines. He opened and satisfied himself that it was filled with
_Sulfalixir_, then ministered to their needs. The miraculous stimulant
was like a draught of life-essence to them. Not until then, did he
ascend to the observation dome. The sight that greeted his eyes was to
remain as long as he lived a memorable experience.
Behind him trooped the others, to stand in awe at the spectacle before
them. "Saturn!" Bill Nardon breathed. "For countless ages unvisited by
man ... and yet, a habitable world!" In the distance, the shimmering
city glowed with a thousand hues under the illumination of the rings,
silent, aloof.
"Cut multiple screen briefly and obtain atmospheric samples," Bill
Nardon broke the spell. "I'll want everyone wearing Energon helmets for
the interval while the screen's off."
He gestured to the assembled scientists, coldly efficient. The
breathless moment of matchless thrill was over. The winged Venusian
left immediately on his way to the Geology lab, while the Martian
followed to make atmospheric tests. The Neptunian scientist in charge
of chemistry was dead, so Bill sent a Terran subordinate in his stead.
At last only the Panadur whose task was psycho-synthesis due to his
abnormal telepathic sensitiveness remained with Bill, who besides being
Commander, had the arduous task of correlating findings.
"We've landed _alive_! That is the incredible fact," the Panadur
flashed. "And now that we're here, it seems our enemy--whatever it is,
has changed its plans. At least, I sense no peril."
"Here," Bill replied mentally, handing the silvery creature a flexible
crysto-plast helmet powered by the Energon principle, "Don your helmet.
The screen is being cut, and we can't risk any more _seizures_." He
paused while he adjusted his own helmet, then went on: "If we are
alive, we have the multiple-energon screen to thank," he said slowly.
"Whatever seized us in space meant to end our journey right then and
there. Remember the man from Neptune!"
"That city is human ... I sense it!" The Panadur telepathed, as the
impenetrable barrier of the screen was cut off. "Odd, the vibration
is low, almost imperceptible, where it should be tremendous if it's
inhabited!"
"We're plagued by mysteries!" Bill replied exasperated. "Well, next
thing's to vibrate the news to Europa and Neptune via Astro-Magnum....
Hope it hasn't been damaged--no Ethero-Magnum could bridge the distance
to the nearest planets!"
But Freml, the Panadur, wasn't listening even with part of his mind;
the great shining city in the near distance seemed to have a hypnotic
fascination for him. Slowly he took off the Energon screen helmet,
and seemed to concentrate its mental power into its highest apex of
ultra-sensitivity. At last it turned its glaucous beryl eyes on Bill
Nardon, shining with a great excitement, and poured a telepathic stream:
"There is life in that city ... an ocean of life! But it's not
active ... it's dormant, submerged ... helpless!" The Panadur seemed to
grope for qualifying adjectives; impatiently it went on: "But _there is
one_ that is not dormant, and it is a mind of power!"
Into their midst the Martian scientist raced with a wild look in his
eyes.
* * * * *
"The atmosphere ... Commander ... it can't be! It's a hydrogen, oxygen
compound stabilized by an unknown gas that has properties of living
energy ... there's nothing like it in our known universe ... it's like
a sentient thing!"
"Is it breathable?" Bill's laconic query.
"Yes, exhilarating even ... but I have yet to test for secondary
metabolic effects.... I ... for once in my existence I was too excited
to complete the tests!" The Martian scientist was abashed. "It has one
remarkable property, though, its vibratory conductivity exceeds that of
water many times, not to speak of air."
"That will aid us in sending by Astro-Magnum," Bill thought instantly,
and their attuned minds received the message. "Astro-radio will receive
an impetus in its passage through this atmosphere we had not counted
on!"
And something else they had not counted on was advancing toward them
like a vast curtain of scintillating light. It was Bill who saw it
first, covering half of the vast horizon, terrible in the unearthly
beauty of its swirling vortices of prismatic stars.
In a prodigious leap Bill Nardon was at the conveyor that slid
noiselessly into the control room, in those few dreadful seconds, it
seemed to him he would never have time to reach the control board as
he raced with extinction. When his hand closed over the switch that
activated the outer Multi-Energon Screen, a wave of nausea swept him
from the intensity of the reaction.
And without warning the starry swarm struck. Like billions of miniature
stars exploding, the ship was enveloped in coruscating flame, lurid,
unbearable in the dazzling glare of the holocaust, until even
Bill Nardon doubted if the mathematically perfect Energon Screen
providing an infinite overlapping series, would hold. Beneath was the
invulnerable hull of Vulcanite, he knew. But would even Vulcanite be
impervious to this bombardment once the screen gave way?
"All scientists at emergency stations!" He barked as he telepathed at
the same time. "Battle crews man all weapons and hold fire pending
orders. Everyone wear helmets!"
* * * * *
He, himself took over the Electro-Flash, Neptune's gift to the
Expedition. In a way, it was the ultimate weapon, disrupting as it did
the very electronic balances of organic and inorganic matter.
And then, as abruptly as it had come, the terrible grandeur of the
living curtain was withdrawn, receding into the far distance like a
vast nebula of microscopic stars.
Bill shook himself. This must be telekinesis, a nightmare instilled
into their minds, it couldn't be real! But the white-faced Venusian
that fluttered in, flashing incoherent messages as he tried to
telepath, dispelled that thought.
"Commander ... I have checked the graph of power intake of automatic
absorber P-6, set to absorb cosmic rays for auxiliary power.... I...."
He passed a tiny, weary hand over his smooth brow, and his azure wings
hung limp, "I can't believe it ... we have more power, _more atomic
power_ than when we began this trip! It is as if we had tapped an
incredible source of radio-active energy!"
Silently, a Terran scientist handed Nardon a developed electro-photo
of a small segment of the "curtain" of fire. Unmistakably outlined
were myriad tiny insect bodies, unquestionably composed of some living
radio-active substance.
"The Absolute be praised!" Bill breathed fervently. "No known ship--not
even Vulcanite could possibly withstand a radio-active bombardment
of such scope!" He turned slowly to where the Martian scientists
stood silent in a group. "I salute you," he telepathed gravely.
"Your Multi-Energon screen is the greatest defensive weapon in our
Universe." Embarrassedly, the tall, violet-eyed Martians stirred
uncomfortably; they had a deep distaste for any emotions and suppressed
them ruthlessly. Other findings began to trickle in. The nameless
inter-stellar spacer that had emerged from the combined ingenuity of
half a dozen worlds, spurred by the ultimate incentive of a brooding
and catastrophic peril, all the more terrible because it was unknown,
literally swarmed with specialists in every known science. It remained
for the special mind of Bill Nardon to correlate all the scientific
details and weld them into a final complete knowledge, behind which
it was his task to find and solve the _primum mobile_--the motivating
factor that they sought.
One thing emerged beyond the shadow of a doubt. Each attack had
been characterized by a complete absence of a known _presence_. The
individual attempt on Bill's life on earth had been carried out by
a creature acting outside its own volition; the magnetic force that
had drawn their ship into Saturn itself, likewise was disembodied,
and now this radio-active swarm that would have consumed them but for
the Energon screen--it too gave no clue as to the final, directing
intelligence behind. And yet, in their very midst, a great scientific
mind had gone mad.
The stalemate was clear. Thus far they had weathered the unimaginable
behind their Energon Screen. But they were trapped within just as
effectively as long as they were unable to emerge. The sum total of
their knowledge resolved itself to a series of bizarre incidents--to
which it might be added the cryptic thought-projection of Freml, the
Panadur. He had mentioned "_an ocean of submerged life ... helpless_"
had been his final description. Yet he had also indicated a "Mind
of Power" far from helpless or submerged indeed. And great as it
might be, _one single entity_ was, foe or not, worthy of challenge.
The incomplete puzzle in Bill Nardon's mind revolved with all the
maddening quality of a picture almost discerned, yet eluding the final
composition that would give it recognizable form.
The question was, should they correlate all findings and attempt a
return to Earth, and utilize their meager knowledge in preparation of
some sort of a defense. Or, take the final risk and visit that silent
city whence Freml had drawn vibrations of intelligent life. Bill Nardon
already knew what his decision would be. He would call a conference,
of course, but in his mind the determination to confront whatever that
'Mind of Power' was--_alone_, had already crystallized.
And in another mind, alien beyond belief, in comparison with his, the
same idea had taken root. For Freml, the Panadur, had not told Bill
Nardon all he had obtained in that last mental projection of his. A
deep, inhuman horror had traveled the incredibly-faint thought waves.
Something ancient beyond calculation, as if the essence of evil itself
had come alive, had bridged the gap.